The Fish Killers

By Robert Strasser

This is the emotion packed adventure of two friends, Armand Bruning and Gunther Waller, who, determined to leave the ashes of World War II behind, set out to seek their fortunes.
Their successes are marred by the mysterious disappearance of mutual friends and their sailing yacht in the treacherous waters of the Sea of Cortez.
After embarking on a dangerous and tedious search, they uncover the deadly truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 9, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469749884

Robert Strasser

Born in Mulhouse, France, with Dutch and Austrian parents, Robert Strasser immigrated to the USA after completing his education in Europe. After a successful stint as a business owner, retired at 48 and took up writing. He and his wife live California.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

With a quiet rush of water, the yacht slid past the breakwater and headed into the bay. Only the soft clatter of its diesel engine disturbed the night stillness. Behind them the city loomed high, its lights dulled by the haze of a thin night fog. It was four in the morning on a new day in early October. On the outgoing tide, the Fair Lady glided majestically under the famed bridge, its span outlined by a milky string of pearls.

Edward Winters glanced at his wife, Jennifer, bundled up against the chill, her eyes bright with excitement.

Though this trip represented the culmination of a life long dream for both of them, Edward questioned its timing. He had strong doubts that six months together in the narrow confines of a sail boat could put their marriage back on track.

Abruptly the yacht plunged into thick fog. Edward activated the radar, set the autopilot and unfurled the main sail to steady the vessel against the north-westerly swell. After a critical look at the billowing sail, he plopped down on the cockpit bench, leaned back and tried to relax.

After several minutes Jennifer’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Edward…,Edward. Hallo, wake up, it’s me. She waved a hand in front of his face. Don’t you think you should check the radar once in a while. It’s still dark and this fog is giving me the creeps. I can’t see a thing.

Yeah, sure. You’re right, he mumbled as he went below.

Everything’s hunkydory, nobody in sight for twenty six miles, he reported coming back up. Giving her an assuring smile, he settled back into his corner and checked his watch. Daylight could not be far off.

Half an hour later, pale fingers of light pushed to penetrate the dark as the rising sun announced itself and lifted slowly out of the obscured horizon. Soon the fog burned off and the wind freshened. Edward went on deck, hoisted the remaining sails and cut the engine.

From below, Jennifer observed her husband going about the business of handling the boat with strong, sure hands. At 38 he’d retained his slender, six-foot physique. His chop of blond hair was still as unruly as ever. But it struck her how he’d changed. No longer did his deep blue eyes possess that intense sparkle that had once swept her off her feet. She searched his features for signs of that exuberant, enterprising young man she’d fallen in love with. Instead, she saw the tired face of a man obsessed with his work, bent under the weight of his responsibilities.

In her heart, she knew the decision to take this trip had been right. She remembered the wonderful togetherness they once enjoyed. The memory made her heart beat faster. She resolved to do everything in her power to try to rekindle the passion they once shared. She fervently hoped that it was still glowing deep somewhere beneath the thick layer of cold ashes that months of loneliness had produced.

Carrying two steaming cups of coffee, she emerged on deck.

How about something to cut the chill?

Edward turned to her. Just what the doctor ordered, thanks.

She sat down next to him. Now that I’ve got you all to myself, I’ve worked out a battle plan.

Oh? What’s that all about? He seemed surprised.

I’ve decided to spoil you. She held up her hands and shrugged. I know, you don’t deserve it but, what the hell, you know me, I’ll try anything at least once.

He looked at her as if to decipher her words and then, slowly, his face relaxed into a wide smile. One tiny step at the time, Jenny thought to herself.

They had passed Pillar Point when Edward made a course correction, setting the new heading south south-east toward Monterey Bay. Five hours later, as the sun completed its arc, daylight faded into dusk and flickering stars appeared above, they entered the bay.

Edward switched on the yacht’s running lights and gazed into the radar screen to pick up the Monterey buoy to help guide him to the harbor entrance.

Before setting out the next morning for Port San Luis, Edward called his partner, Gunther Waller, at the clinic in San Francisco to inform him of their progress. At six that afternoon they arrived in San Luis Bay. Since the harbor did not offer docking facilities, they anchored out using the dinghy to go ashore. They made their phone call, Jennifer bought a couple of magazines and Edward a fishing lure, which—according to the man behind the counter—was guaranteed to put fish on the table. They ate at the Captain’s Table and returned to the Fair Lady planning to get an early start.

They were five miles offshore when daylight broke. Not a whisper of wind. The promise of a beautiful day was in the air. Seas were calm and glassy ocean swells lifted the yacht with a gentle motion.

Jennifer went below. Soon, she emerged clad in shorts and a sleeveless top toting an orange, vinyl-cushioned pad.

"I’m going to stretch out in the bow, start on my sun tan.

Call me, if you need me." She blew him a kiss and made her way forward.

Engrossed in one of his yachting magazines, Edward’s concentration was broken when a sudden chill made him shiver. He raised up. They were engulfed by dense fog. Quickly, he pulled back the throttle and switched on the radar.

What happened to that beautiful sunshine? Jennifer grimaced as she stepped into the cockpit and went below to fetch a jacket. Just a fog bank. We’ll be out of it soon, Edward assured her. We’re approaching Point Conception. I was told, the weather around those parts can be very unpredictable. We better get some sail up and stay prepared. See, the wind’s picking up. The fog’ll soon blow off. Edward raised the jib. A few minutes later, the fog had dissipated and a blustery wind slapped the sails.

Oh, I forget my pad, Jennifer said. I’d better get it before it blows overboard. She jumped up and hurried forward.

Now swirling from several directions, the wind intensified, whipping the sails, making them crack like gun shots.

Edward disengaged the auto pilot and pointed the yacht into the wind. A sudden heavy gust made the vessel heel sharply to starboard causing the main sail boom to veer across the deck.

Out of the corner of his eye, Edward caught a flash of orange and, above the howl of the wind, thought he heard a muffled scream.

Alarmed, he jumped to his feet. His eyes searched the deck.

Jennifer!.. Jennifer! Are you ok? he shouted.

There was no answer.

His eyes scanned the deck.

She was gone.

Rising panic paralyzed him as he stood clutching the wheel. His mind reeled, momentarily incapable of rational thought.

After what seemed like an eternity, he heard his own voice calling to him from within, Stop the boat. Throw out the marker buoy.

Like a robot responding to electronic commands, he obeyed. He started the engine, threw the propeller in reverse. Then, with trembling hands, unfastened the marker and tossed it over the stern where it quickly righted itself; a small red flag whipping furiously on top of a slender pole.

Turn around and retrace your path, his voice urged.

Edward secured the wheel, hooked himself to a life line and clambered on deck. Grasping the railing with both hands, he scurried to the bow and, as quickly as he could manage, brought down the tangled jib. He furled the main to half and then scrambled back.

Anxiously scanning the angry seas, he turned the wheel to point the bow into the growing waves. Driven by wind into a solid overcast, billowing clouds obscured the sun.

Raw terror gripped Edward’s heart. He raised his eyes and screamed at the top of his lungs, Jennifer…, Jennifer. When there was no answer he dejectedly sank onto the bench. He knew, she could not hear him. On the verge of being overcome by a feeling of numbing helplessness, he heard his voice again, Calm down, you know what to do, remember the drill.

With effort, he straightened himself. He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. Bracing himself against the waves’ vicious assault, he managed to maneuver the yacht in ever larger circles around the bobbing red flag.

He felt his heart pound wildly, as his eyes, frantically, scanned the churning waters for a human form. He knew the sea was merciless. It did not tolerate mistakes. Insidious, treacherous and unforgiving it seldom surrendered what it had claimed as its own. With the back of his hand, he wiped the salt spray from his stinging eyes.

No Jennifer.

He reached for his binoculars. Maybe the currents had pulled her farther away. He lifted the glass, searched. But to no avail. He realized, a person floating nearly submerged, would be impossible to spot from any distance, especially, in six-foot waves.

Again, helplessness threatened to deflate him. He had to fight to regain his resolve telling himself, I will not give up. I can’t give up. I have to keep searching as long as I can draw a breath. He raised his face to the heavens and prayed, God, let me find her. Please, don’t let her die.

But only the wind responded with an eerie, screeching contralto played on the boat’s rigging. Menacing. Threatening.

Then another terrifying thought struck him. How long would Jennifer be able to fight off hypothermia? Like a narcotizing pall, as effective as that produced by an alcoholic binge, it would dull and, ultimately, extinguish her instincts to survive.

How long had he been searching? He didn’t recall. With painful, watery eyes he studied his watch, tried to force his tormented mind to remember.

With mounting urgency, he increased the boat’s speed. His reddened eyes scanned the waves. He pressed them shut to expel the salt. When he opened them again, he bolted.

There., a spot of orange in the distance. Was it true, or had his tur-moiled mind played a cruel trick? He raised the binoculars. Crestfallen, he lowered them, tears streaming from his face. It must be my imagination, he lamented. He shook his head to clear his mind, tried to regain his composure. He raised his raw, stinging eyes again to scan the water.

Stop he heard himself shout. Stop the boat. He pulled back the throttle. There it was again. Yes. He was sure now. A bright, singular spot of orange bobbing in a boiling, foaming sea.

As fast as his aching hands allowed, he turned the wheel. For a breath-stopping moment, the orange spot disappeared into the waves but soon reappeared on the next swell.

He could see it plainly now. It was Jennifer’s pad. She could not be far. But, was she still alive?

Approach into the wind, he heard his voice command. Don’t get too close

Then he saw an arm, a hand clutching the pad.

He felt his energy build. Jennifer. Jennifer. Hold on, I’m coming

There was no response. She did not move.

His eyes fixed on the orange pad, he maneuvered the boat closer and closer, desperately trying to control his trembling hands. He reached behind and readied the life line. Grasping the ring firmly, he cast it. The line fouled, the ring fell short. He had been too hasty. Quickly, he retrieved it and threw it again. This time, with all the force he could muster. The ring flew high and the line fed out freely. But it landed too far, beyond her.

As fast as he was able to move, he secured the line to a stanchion, reached for the helm and, carefully, moved the boat around, dragging the ring closer to the floating pad.

Jennifer, grab the ring. Jennifer.

Then the boat sank into a trough. When the next swell lifted her again, he gasped with joy when he saw Jennifer’s arm looped through the ring. He took up the slack and, with both hands, began to pull.

Slow and careful, his voice cautioned.

He swallowed hard, inhaled deeply and concentrated like he had never concentrated in his entire life.

Suddenly, the yacht pitched violently from side to side when the wind turned her abeam of the waves.

To keep from falling overboard, Edward threw himself flat on the deck and reached below the railing. He knew, the hull could crush her. Hand over hand, he inched her closer. Hold on, Jennifer. Hold on.

She did not respond.

She was close now. He could see her face.

He tried to time the boat’s violent sway. When his voice commanded, Now he reached out. But, his cold, wet fingers slipped from her arm.

Steady. Try again.

This time, when the boat heeled toward her, he forced himself to wait an agonizing second and then reached out, stretching as far as his arms would allow.

Spray obscuring his vision, he felt one hand grasp the life ring, the other the soaked cloth of her jacket. Mustering all his remaining strength, he pulled her up to him, stopping a perilous moment to catch his breath and, then, lifted her onto the deck where he collapsed next to her.

His chest heaving, he wrapped his arms around her. He saw her hand still clutching the orange pad. Thank you, God. Thank you.

He touched her face, examining it anxiously. Her eyes were closed, her slightly parted lips a grayish blue. She was unconscious, in shock and her breath came short and shallow.

He struggled to his knees. Recalling in his mind the steps for CPR, he, gently, laid her on the bench, took a deep breath, pressed his lips to hers and blew. Except for a short convulsive heave, she did not respond. He turned her head to the side and tried again pushing down hard on her chest after he withdrew his mouth from hers.

Raked by convulsive coughs, she expelled a stream of salt water. Edward took her head between his hands and held it until her coughing subsided and her chest lifted with the first full intake of air. His head dropped with relief and he began massaging her legs and arms.

Finally, her eyelids fluttered and her eyes opened. Recognizing him, she managed a faint smile.

It’s over. Everything is OK, he assured her. Do you hear me?

Yes, she whispered in a hoarse voice as tears began to flow from her eyes.

Let’s get you into some dry clothes. Can you move?

I’ll try, she whispered as she slipped back into semi-consciousness.

Bracing himself, he slipped his arms under her and carried her down into the cabin where he laid her on the cushioned settee, changed her clothes and covered her with a heavy blanket.

Then he remembered they had been drifting for a long time. He jumped up, bolted up the companionway ladder. He saw the rocky shore was dangerously close. There was not a moment to spare. He started the engine and maneuvered the yacht into deeper water. Checking his position, he dialed in a new course and set the auto-pilot.

Finally, having caught his breath, Edward gazed up into the skies. The wind, that had been so ferocious only an hour ago, had calmed and slackened to a steady breeze.

With joy and pride, and a touch of victorious defiance at having defeated the demons of the deep, he felt re-energized. He raised the main sail and returned below to tend to Jennifer.

Her body had regained some warmth. Though her lips were still pale blue, her face showed some color. With relief, he observed her steady breathing and climbed back up. Feeling tired and exhilerated at the same time, he sank down on the cockpit bench stretching his aching limbs.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes. He thought back trying to figure out when things between him and Jenny had started going awry. He found himself unable to pinpoint an exact time. He hadn’t even been aware something was amiss. It had happened so gradually.

He, clearly, remembered the stress associated with the opening of the clinic. The long hours dealing with contractors and interviewing potential employees. Staying overnight on the couch in the office rather than going home. And then, when making the clinic a success had become an obsession, it had diminished in importance everyone and everything else in his life.

Amazing, how clearly he saw everything now. How could he have let this happen?

With chagrin Edward recalled that during all this Jenny hadn’t said much, hadn’t complained. Instead she’d quietly withdrawn, confining herself to her home. And, in doing so, had distanced herself from anything having to do with the clinic and him.

Edward didn’t fool himself. He knew, his week long absences from their bedroom had contributed heavily to the apathy which, like a lead blanket, had gradually suffocated their feelings for each other to the point where neither of them had been able to bring up the will nor the energy to try to escape this inevitable slide into certain disaster: The end of their marriage.

His mind recalled clearly that afternoon when his friend and partner, Gunther Waller, had stalked into his office, told the secretary to hold all

his calls, shut the door firmly and ordered him in no uncertain terms, Sit down, I want to talk to you.

With a look of surprise on his face, Edward had asked, About what?

About you and Jenny. I’m worried as hell about the way you two seem set on destroying your marriage. The last time you came over for dinner, you two acted like virtual strangers. Gunther had pointed to the sofa. And spending your nights here, is the surest way I know of to end up in divorce court.

Edward’s mouth had fallen open. He’d sat staring at his friend for a long time. Then, after a prolonged sigh, he’d muttered, You’re absolutely right, but what can I do? The clinic..

Forget the clinic, Gunther had interrupted, his voice rising in anger. Maybe you haven’t realized it yet, but we’re long out of the incubation period. Things are running smoothly. We’re making money. But I don’t have to tell you that. You know it. But that’s not why I’m here. I just can’t stand by any longer watching you two ruin your lives.

When Edward had opened his mouth for another objection, Gunther had resolutely raised his hands. Edward, I don’t want to hear it. What I want is for you two to consider taking some time off together. Say six months. Go on that sailing trip to Baja you’ve been fantasizing about.

It hadn’t taken much convincing for Jenny to agree. But Edward, stubbornly claiming his indispensability, had taken more than a week, before, grudgingly, giving his approval.

Slowly shaking his head in bafflement over his own revelations Edward climbed to his feet and went below to check on Jennifer.

Once they had rounded Point Conception, the weather cleared. The sun was bright, the sky a deep blue purple and a gentle breeze drove the yacht through the now much calmer waters.

Three hours later Jennifer awoke. Staring at the ceiling, she lay still as the memory of the harrowing experience came rushing back. With a grimace, she raised herself. Massaging her numb limbs, she carefully climbed to her feet. Gingerly, she made her way topside.

That was close, she whispered, lowering herself on the bench across from him.

Yes. Too close. He looked at her, seeing her, as if, for the first time. Her usually shoulder length brown hair was cut short. Soft curls framed an expressive face with full, sensuous lips dominated by two large, inquisitive brown eyes. With a slight visceral tremor, he observed her curvaceous figure and shapely legs, recalling how that combination had already upset his and his male classmates equilibrium when still in high school. It occurred to him, in two weeks she would be thirty-four.

Thank God for that orange pad. It saved your life. I would’ve never been able to find you without it.

She looked at him. Relief had washed the tension from his face and his eyes shone with a glow that warmed her heart. I should’ve known better, stumbling around deck without a lifeline. I’ll never do that again.

I hope, that’s a promise.

She nodded, unable to keep from smiling. Yes. It is.

They made Santa Barbara by nightfall and tied up in the marina. With not a physical trace of her ordeal, Jennifer had recovered remarkably. I think, we could use a drink, she announced, leading the way into the cabin. She reached for the Vodka and Vermouth and retrieved the necessary ice from the freezer compartment. With practiced hands, she mixed a shaker of Martinis, his favorite cocktail.

Jennifer, I want to tell you something, Edward said, after they had touched glasses and taken a sip.

What is it? She met his gaze.

I admit, I had my doubts that this trip could restore what we once had. But, after coming so close to losing you, I see everything very clear. I had convinced myself, the clinic and my work were the most important things in my life. And, in doing so, I ignored my feelings for you, buried them deep where they couldn’t interfere. I was an idiot. He reached for her hands. I love you, Jennifer. I hope you can forgive me.

Tears of joy sprang to her eyes as she pulled him close. I forgive you.

For a long time, they held each other savoring their newfound togetherness.

It was Edward who broke the silence. How can I be so selfish.

What do you mean?

I have a question for you but I want you to be very sure before you answer.

Okay. Jennifer wondered what this was about.

Considering what you went through this morning, my question is very important, and I wouldn’t blame you if your answer is no. My question is: Do you feel up to continuing this trip? He held up a hand to make sure she took ample time before answering. Like I said, I’ll understand if you want to turn around and go home. We can always plan another trip. Say, to Europe.

Jennifer set her glass on the table and raised her eyes to his. I want to continue. I’m sure. It was stupid of me not to use a lifeline. Don’t worry. I’m fine. It’ll never happen again. Besides, the glow in her dark brown eyes intensified, there’s too much riding on this trip. Don’t you agree? Her eyes held his.

He nodded. I agree.

That evening in bed, for the first time in months, he approached her. She willingly accepted.

The trip to San Diego past uneventful. The weather was perfect and the Fair Lady performed at her best. Jennifer had acquired the tan she wanted. Her indomitable spirit rebounded, fading away the memories of her ordeal.

The next day, they crossed into Mexican waters and approached the port city of Ensenada where they took on fuel and provisions.

It was mid-afternoon when they returned aboard having decided to make the short run west to the Islas de Todos Santos where they would spend the night at anchor.

Every passing day brought new, exciting experiences. The placid sea around them teemed with life. They spotted gray whales migrating south to bear their calves in the shallow lagoons near Guerrero Negro. Dolphins rushed to the yacht to play in its foamy wake and, at anchor, sea lions exhibited their playful antics, curiously examining the intruders with soulful eyes.

Farther south, out of Magdalena Bay, they spotted a sail fish slicing through the mirrored waters in pursuit of prey its sail-like fin extended above the water’s surface in a rainbow of colors.

After a three-day non-stop run, they rounded the Cape and dropped anchor in the sheltered harbor of Cabo San Lucas where they planned to spend a week to relax, refuel and re-provision. Jennifer sent post cards to friends and relatives and they made their call to Gunther Waller in San Francisco.

A fresh southerly breeze filled the sails when Edward nosed the bow of the Fair Lady into a north-northwesterly direction, heading into the Sea of Cortez. Their next port of call, the old pirate city of La Paz.

They arrived on the fourth day with overnight stops at Punta Colorado, Bahia de Palmas and Bahia de la Ventana.

It was Christmas time. The city, with its Old Mexico charm, was decorated with thousands of lights and brilliant colors. Edward and Jennifer decided to stay a few days. They rented a room at the Los Arcos Hotel overlooking the bay, and Edward used the opportunity to have some maintenance done on the boat’s diesel engine.

Back aboard, while fastening the dinghy, Edward spotted two men in a weathered panga. He’d seen them before, remembering their shabby clothes and derelict craft. As they had done before, they kept their distance, examining the Fair Lady with, what seemed to him, more than just a casual interest.

Edward had a fleeting sense of foreboding. Why were these men so interested in their boat? There were at least a hundred other yachts of similar size in the anchorage. Unable to come up with a plausible explanation, he rationalized it had to be just a coincidence, surely nothing to worry about. Still, he studied the men, trying to imprint their faces on his memory.

Without warning the fringes of his world turned red. Blood red. And an image, first vague, then intensely clear appeared before his mind’s eye, an image so terrifying, he clasped his hands to his face in horror trying to blot it out. He stumbled, clutched the rail to keep from falling. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the image faded away. His heart still pounding wildly, he opened his eyes.

The two men and their boat had vanished.

He was torn out of his thoughts when Jennifer came on deck. Everything secured below, she announced. I’ll. She paused. Ed, you OK?

Uh…, I’m fine.

You sure, you’re okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

Must be the heat, he mumbled.

She gave him a concerned look. I’ll go and remove the sail covers.

They were ready to weigh anchor. It was nine o’clock in the morning, Monday, January 4.1979 when they passed through the buoyed channel into the Bay of La Paz.

CHAPTER ONE

The calendar showed the year 1942.

Employing an innovative concept called Der Blitzkrieg, Hitler’s military machine had overrun nearly all of Europe and most of France. The world was at war, millions suffered, because of the malevolent ambitions of a few.

In Strasbourg, a young boy, Armand Werner Bruning, celebrated his fourth birthday. His mother, Yvonne Beauchamps, a French citizen and his father, Werner Bruning, a German national, had met before the war. After a spirited, eight month courtship by correspondence and telephone, on their second encounter, they had declared their love, had married and, upon her urging, had settled in her home town where Bruning was employed as plant manager with a firm producing various kinds of yarn.

The noon whistle broke Bruning’s deep concentration. He laid down the papers he’d been studying, pinched the bridge of his nose, and, out of force of habit, glanced at his watch. Exactly twelve o’clock. He leaned back exhaling slowly and pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk from which he extracted a brown paper bag. Today, his son’s birthday, he’d brought a sandwich foregoing his usual lunch at the corner Bistro in order to make it home in time to give his boy his present.

As he ate, his eyes wandered back to the reports he’d laid aside. On the second page a row of figures caught his attention. He set down the sandwich and, after cleaning his hands with his handkerchief, quickly ran a few numbers on his calculator. Gazing at the read-out, he shook his head in frustration and muttered, Those imbeciles. They can’t even add without making mistakes.

He depressed a button on his speaker phone.

His secretary answered. Yes, monsieur Bruning?

Janette, please call Paul Monsard in production, tell him I want to see him immediately.

A minute later Bruning’s phone buzzed. He lifted the receiver. It was Janette. Sorry, monsieur Bruning, Paul Monsard is out for lunch. He won’t be back until one o’clock. I left word.

Bruning was about to replace the receiver when he heard Janette say, I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch, but there’s a German official here to see you. Shall I send him in?

Before Bruning could answer, his office door swung open and in strode a stocky built man dressed in a black suit, a Swastika pin prominently displayed on his left lapel.

Bruning stiffened when he saw the man. He knew him well. His name was Egon Leitner, an official with the Wirtschaftsverwaltung, who relished making his life miserable with periodic, unannounced inspections.

Bruning quickly gathered his lunch and deposited it back in the bottom drawer. He slowly rose to his feet.

A condescending smile on his face, Leitner approached Bruning’s desk where he clicked his heels and raised his chubby hand in salute. Heil Hitler.

Bruning answered the greeting with extreme reluctance.

"Herr Bruning, so nice to see you. I hope I did not interrupt your lunch. I appreciate a man who eats at his desk rather than wastes valuable working time lounging in one of those Bistros." He spoke the word as if reacting to an unsavory taste.

You hypocrite, Brüning thought to himself, remembering the many times he’d spotted Leitner himself in one of the Bistros situated in the vicinity of the factory. Always sitting in the back sipping brandy, his face conspicuously hidden behind a newspaper, no doubt spying on the conversations drifting around him.

We try to do our best, Bruning answered, unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

Our Führer expects no less, Leitner remarked, selected a chair and sat down. As he deposited his hat on the edge of Bruning’s desk his face tightened.

Bruning took a steadying breath and slowly