The reefs of the BVI hold hundreds of species and every dive is a different census. At the Indians, clouds of grunts and goatfish move as one through the arch. At Painted Walls, fairy basslets hover upside-down against the ceiling of a swim-through, pink and purple against the dark. At Blonde Rock and Alice in Wonderland, the bigger fish patrol — tarpon, horse-eye jacks, the occasional cubera snapper with a jaw like an old lawyer’s.

“The more you chase, the more they retreat.”

A reef is a city, and every citizen is dressed for a different occasion. Queen angelfish wear electric blue and yellow. Parrotfish grind coral in their beaks and sleep in mucus cocoons. Sergeant majors guard eggs laid on bare rock, chasing off anything the size of a car. Schoolmasters hang in the current as if they had all agreed to it beforehand. Armando photographed all of them, because in forty years you do not skip anyone.

The lesson Armando gave his dive students about photographing fish was about stillness. The more you chase, the more they retreat. The more you settle and breathe slowly, the more the reef forgets you are there, and the closer the small lives come. A juvenile drumfish that flicks its long white banner like a dare. A trumpetfish hanging vertical against a sea whip, pretending to be part of the plant. A flamingo tongue snail drawing its patterns across a purple fan.