The antigen giant

I used to go diving a lot. Not so much anymore, but a couple years ago I was really into it, had my license and everything. It's really beautiful down there: the pale patterned sand, the water washing away the distance like a blue mist, and flashes of the brightest colors you've ever seen as some fish darts into view. I've done my share of exploring wrecks and grottoes, but my favorite thing to do is hover right where the shelf plunges into the deep. You get the greatest dynamics there as deep-sea creatures come up to feed. Anyway, one time I was drifting along near Antigua about 40 feet down. I had two tanks with me so I could stay down for several hours. The shelf sloped off to my left and rocks and coral broke the monotony of the sand to my right. I hadn't seen much that day and was getting a bit bored, but then I noticed a large octopus. It was a deep-sea type, probably washed up accidentally (they don't usually come up to hunt). It seemed sluggish and didn't react much when I drifted over to it. Now, octopuses aren't very friendly creatures; if you manage to get near one they usually flee within seconds. I'm sure you've seen videos of them changing colors to match their environment. Not all species can do that, but they're all very good at hiding. So seeing a deep-sea octopus up close was quite an opportunity. It was about a foot from crown to beak and dark mottled green. Its tentacles curled around it, perhaps four feet long when extended and pale on the underside. Its eyes looked like golden rings around narrowed black pupils. It was having trouble moving and looked half dead. I decided to try to get near it. There were some yellowtail jacks nearby and I speared one with my knife. Sorry if that offends you, I'm not one of those 'touch nothing' divers. Cautiously I approached the octopus and offered it my fish, shoving it out ahead of me and letting it drift toward the creature. Success! It didn't run, but lazily reached an arm out to capture the morsel. It brought it under its beak and began to devour it. I drifted closer, trying to acclimate it to my presence. Over maybe half an hour or so it became more lively and used to my presence. Apparently I had bought its tolerance with my offering, and it even began to play a little bit, darting away from me and then back. I had a stick with me that I used to test holes and mud and such, and it occurred to me that maybe I could teach it to play fetch. I brought the stick out and waved it until it seemed like I had its attention, and then threw the stick out sideways. It didn't go very far underwater, of course, but the octopus went after it and grabbed hold with its tentacles. It didn't seem inclined to return to me, though, so I swam closer. It was waving the stick at me, and then it tossed it out to the side. It was copying me! I retrieved the stick and then an interesting idea came into my head. Next to us was a large flat rock covered in half an inch of mud and detritus. Careful not to disturb the layers, I took the stick and slowly drew a crude figure of a man: two legs, two arms, and a round head coming off a central cylinder. The octopus seemed to be watching with interest. I tossed it the stick and it caught it easily. It sat there toying with it, and for a few moments I thought my expectations had been too high. But then it reached out with the stick and began tracing its own mark in the mud. It was even cruder than mine, to be sure, but clearly drawing. However, the proportions were all wrong. It had fused the head and the body into one ball, and there were too many legs. I was just happy it was copying me; I'd heard octopuses were smart, but this was really something. But then, it hit my like a freezing wave: the octopus wasn't copying my drawing, it was drawing itself! The implications for this were huge. If I'd had a video camera then, I would be a famous man today. The only other animal I'm aware of that's capable of the imagination and self-awareness to do something like that is the ape, first cousin to humans. That the ancient octopus, without so much as