29 SEPTEMBER 2007, Page 34

The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau

While my mother chokes on a fishbone, I am shuffled into another room to watch The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau. Bubbles rush upwards from a diver's mouthpiece as my mother coughs up blood.

Beyond the window, snowflakes rim the leafless trees.

The deep teems with presences. My mother's face takes on a distressing error in form. The ocean generates a sad music all of its own.

Ambulance lights dye the snow blue. A siren bends the air to zero.

Chris Greenhalgh