A CRY FROM THE DEEP

by Unknown

“Salud,” said the Cubans, clinking their glasses with the ones that were near.

  “Cheers!” cried the others.

  Though their exuberance was infectious, Catherine wondered how they’d fare as a team underwater. For now, they sized one another up as they bantered about previous dives and equipment glitches.

  They were interrupted when Hennesey tapped his beer glass several times with a salt shaker. “Listen up.” Once everyone had stopped talking, he said, “I had hoped we could leave in the morning but the part that was supposed to come today didn’t, so that means you’ll have the day off.”

  “Anything serious?” asked Daniel.

  “Nothing major,” said Jerry. “The plumbing’s jammed. I suggested we could go over the side, but then I remembered we had a lady on board.” He looked at Catherine.

  “Two ladies,” corrected Joy.

  “I beg your pardon,” said Jerry to Joy, bowing in her direction.

  Hennesey swigged some beer, then said, “Just remember, you may have the day off, but take the time to review your equipment. I don’t want to waste any time once we’re ready to go.”

  “What if you can’t find this ship?” asked Patrick.

  Hennesey pounded the table with his fist. “We’ll find ‘er all right. But if the gods aren’t with us, we’ll head to the Laurentic wreck site at Lough Swilly. It’s only eighty miles from here.” Jerry said, “It’d be nice to come up with a few bars of that American gold that’s still missing.”

  Hennesey nodded. “There’s silver, too. We can scrape the bottom, and raise it from the seabed.”

  Daniel’s forehead creased as he said, “You know that’d disturb the life down there. You’d have to check with the authorities on that one.”

  Hennesey barked to the others, “This bastard will be breathing down all our necks. He wants me to check the laws, when every pirate around here has already raped the site. The government is probably in on the haul.” He then said to Daniel, “All I have to say is good luck to you if you think anyone cares. Meanwhile, any gold worth getting is being taken out from under you while you’re busy crossing your t’s and dotting your i’s”

  Catherine had to admit that Hennesey was right. The wreck of the Laurentic had already been ravaged by thousands with impunity. While the environmental scarring and breaking the law troubled her, that wasn’t her only worry. The depth of the dive at the Laurentic site was at least 40 meters, 10 meters past her comfort level. She quieted her nerves by telling herself not to jump ahead. They’d only change dive sites if they came up empty on the first one. And by that time, she could be finished with her allotted time in Ireland and on her way home.

  The rest of the evening was a blur. The place was noisy, making conversation difficult. Patrick kept asking Daniel about his work, and with the conversation centered at the other end of the table, it was hard for Catherine to get involved. And to add to the commotion, five musicians arrived and proceeded to play on their respective fiddles, banjo and guitar. They sang and played popular Irish tunes, as well as the town’s favorite, The Boys of Killybegs. She found herself stamping her feet and clapping her hands along with the rest of the mob.

  After the musicians ended their round with the Irish national anthem sung in Gaelic, they all left in a group. As it was late, no one lingered and Catherine went back to her room.

  Before going to bed, she submerged her underwater camera case in a bathtub full of water to test for any leakage, and then set it to dry on a towel in front of the window, overlooking the lights in the town.

  She wondered if Daniel was still awake, and whether he was thinking about her as she was about him. When he had first given her a hug at the table, he’d said, ‘I was looking forward to...’ but then was interrupted. What was he looking forward to? Working on the project? Coming to Ireland? Or was he going to tell her he’d been looking forward to seeing her again? She hoped the latter.

  TWENTY

  With a day off, Catherine set out for Galway. But first, she stopped by the Golden Eye to stow her gear and to ensure everything else was in good order for the following day.

  As she was leaving the boat, Hennesey said, “What’s so special about Galway? It’s a hell of a drive.”

  “It’s got an interesting history. I don’t want to miss the opportunity.” She wasn’t about to tell Hennesey she was on the hunt for a ghost.

  Hennesey was right. It was a good three hours south on twisting roads, but with Irish music on the radio and views of emerald green countryside dotted with sheep, the time went by quickly.

  When she got to the seaport of Galway, she went straight to Quay Street, a pedestrian only road full of buskers, pubs, and quaint shops vying for the tourist dollar. The one she was looking for stood out like a beacon at sea. It was painted red with mustard yellow frames around the window and door. Above the entrance, there was a black sign with gold lettering, Thomas Dillon, est. 1750, Claddagh Gold and to the right of the door, another sign indicating a museum inside. She was heartened by the fact the shop contained some history to browse. If there was anyone who knew anything about her ring, it had to be these merchants.

  A bell tinkled when she opened the door. A bespectacled bald man in a crew-necked wool sweater straightened up from behind the counter. “Good morning. Can I help you?”

  “I hope so.” She put her bag down on the counter and took off her ring. Handing it to him, she said, “I’m wondering if you can tell me anything about this wedding band.”

  He held it between his thumb and index finger. “This is an old one, alright.” He peered at the inside rim. “It’s very worn.” He took the ring to a small table at the back where he sat down on a stool to examine it with his eye loupe. He made some adjustments on his magnifier, and then wrote something down on a notepad beside the instrument.

  When he returned, he rotated the ring with his fingers. “The hallmark’s faint, but I did make it out. It is one of ours.”

  Her pulse quickened. “What can you tell me about it?”

  “It has all three stamped on it: T.D. Hibernia, the gold content number and the date letter.”

  Catherine could barely contain her excitement as the appraiser opened a book of codes. He ran his finger down one column, cross-referencing the dates listed with the symbols he’d written on the pad. “Your ring’s date letter establishes it as being from the year 1858.” He handed her the eye loupe with the ring. “Would you like to have a look?”

  Through the magnifier, Catherine made out a seated woman in profile—the figure of Hibernia—and a U in old English script. “This is fantastic. Do you have any idea how I can obtain the identity of the person who bought it?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said the jeweler, shaking his head. “That one year, there would’ve been quite a few who had purchased a band like that.”

  At least, she now knew the date. 1858. Intrigued, she lingered in the store’s museum, browsing its artifacts—among them, the history of the Claddagh ring.

  Over time, the origin of the Celtic band had developed mythical qualities. Apparently, Margaret Joyce, a daughter from one of the Claddagh families—a tight-knit community of fisher-folk outside Galway city walls—had married a wealthy Spaniard. She’d inherited a fortune when he died, and spent the rest of her life doing good works. According to folklore, as a reward for her charity, an eagle had dropped a gold ring into her lap. The ring’s motif of the two hands holding a heart bearing a crown turned out to be a visual representation of the community’s belief: Let Love and Friendship reign. Who could quarrel with that? No wonder the design had endured. Though interesting, she wasn’t any closer to solving the mystery of her ghosts, or whose ring she was wearing.

  ~~~

  Still full from her Irish breakfast, she decided to skip lunch. Besides, her time in Galway was short and she had one more appointment to keep. She unzippered the side pocket of her handbag, and found the note she’d written the night before. On it was the address of a psychic she’d found o
n the internet.

  Magdalena de Paoli was younger than Catherine expected. A girlish woman of about thirty with streaked blond hair, she plopped down on an overstuffed chair across from Catherine and arranged her rainbow flounced skirt around her knees. Her dark eyes were warm, and her voice gravelly. “At any time, you can stop the reading. The fact you’ve come to see me tells me you’re open to the process. As I mentioned on the phone, I’m a channel for the spirit world. If anyone is trying to get through to you, I can help you make the connection.”

  “I’ve had some strange –.”

  “Please,” said Magdalena, interrupting. “Don’t tell me anything. All I ask you to do is pray for what you need from this reading as prayers are always answered.” Her voice was calm and comforting. She re-arranged her long blue scarf around her neck, and kept her eyes focused on Catherine. “My readings are about healing. Are you comfortable?”

  “Yes.” Catherine sunk deeper into the plump upholstered chair.

  “You can take off your shoes if you like.”

  Catherine slipped off her sandals and crossed her feet.

  “Ah,” said Magdalena, “when you walked through the door, I sensed something. Something that tells me you’re attached to the past. To another lifetime, but it is also in this lifetime.”

  Skeptical, Catherine blinked. She studied the psychic’s face. Was this a standard answer or did the medium sense the unknown?

  “I see you are thinking about this. Shall I go on?”

  Catherine nodded.

  “We will let the spirits do their work.” Magdalena held her hands in her lap and her head moved slightly from side to side, like a blade of grass in a gentle wind. She closed her eyes.

  Catherine glanced around the room, half expecting someone to jump out from behind the medium’s drapes.

  “You need to relax. You have to want them to come.”

  Catherine’s tried to ease the tension in her neck muscles by making small circles with her head.

  Magdalena appeared to be going into a trance. Her breathing was heavy. “I want you to think about what brought you here.”

  The ring. The nightmares. Martin and his dog on the road.

  “There is someone calling from far away.” Magdalena paused. “Someone reaching for you, wanting you to grab on…” Her voice went up a few notches. “There’s water, lots of it.” Her eyelids fluttered. “Does any of this mean anything to you?”

  This psychic was either good, or this was some kind of trickery. “Maybe.”

  “There is someone who wants you to know you’ve been here before. This is not your first time. You are here to find something, or...” Magdalena hesitated. “No, not something, someone who was lost to you.” Magdalena then went quiet. Catherine wasn’t sure if the medium was still working or if she’d nodded off. It might only have been a few moments but it seemed like minutes had passed before she said, “Is there anything you want to ask me?”

  “This ring.” Catherine twisted it off her finger and handed it to Magdalena.

  The psychic examined it, peering around its inner rim. She closed her fist around it and shut her eyes again. “This ring came into your life for a reason. Don’t fight what it is trying to tell you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Magdalena put her hand up, indicating Catherine shouldn’t say anything more. “Someone you loved was taken from you prematurely either by death—it’s not clear here. Something unexpected. Maybe a plague. An unnatural death. Maybe some kind of accident. You weren’t able to finish what you started. But life has a way of working things out if you believe.”

  Catherine’s eyes widened. “Believe?”

  Magdalena rested her elbows on the chair’s arms and put her hands on either side of her forehead. “This one you lost, you’ve met also in this lifetime.”

  Catherine’s head was starting to pound as she realized seeing Magdalena had been a huge mistake. What the psychic was saying sounded way too weird. “Is it okay if I ask another question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you talking about reincarnation?”

  “Some may call it that. For me, it’s a continuation of life. What we start in one life, we may finish in another.”

  They sat for a few moments in silence. Catherine wondered what she was supposed to do with this information. “These spirits you called up. Are they connected to the ring?”

  “It’s what you believe that’s important.”

  Mystified, Catherine said, “Can you tell if the spirits are young or old, men or women?”

  “Sometimes.” Magdalena’s eyes were gentle. She closed her eyes for a few moments, then opened them. “The spirits are saying you already know the answer to this.”

  ~~~

  Catherine’s mind swirled as she drove back to Killybegs. “Someone you love was taken from you.” “You weren’t able to finish what you started.” “Life has a way of working things out if you believe.” Disturbed by what the psychic had said, she almost missed a turn. When she veered to get on the right road, a truck came whizzing by, nearly hitting her. Shaking, she had to park by the side of the road until she settled her nerves.

  How did Magdalena know about the water? She seemed so sure the ring was trying to tell her something. But what? The ring’s motto was Let Love and Friendship Reign. She had no problems with friends. As for love, well, she’d tried it once, and it hadn’t worked. Besides, there were tons of people wandering the earth looking for Mr. Right and they weren’t being haunted by spirits.

  Magdalena had also mentioned a previous lifetime. She’d said that whomever Catherine may have loved then was in her life right now. Was it Richard? Or could it be Daniel? But for all she knew, it could be any one of the other men in her life. Frank? No, he had a lovely wife. Jerry, or Mark or the divers she’d met? Or even Hennesey? Now, that would be a laugh.

  Back on the road, as the miles whipped by, she began to think she was putting too much stock in what the psychic had to say. She had never been a flighty person. She’d always been level headed. Now that she’d taken on this assignment, she couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not by some dreams and visions that probably had more to do with her fear of the sea than some paranormal bullshit.

  She was driving a stretch of road with no traffic. With one hand on the wheel, she held up the other with the ring on it. Admiring it, she said, “The next thing, you know, I’ll be talking to you. Bedlam, here I come.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Hennesey manoeuvred the Golden Eye out of Donegal Bay. Standing on the starboard side, Catherine gazed at the seagulls swarming over the marina. Many of the locals were still in bed but the sea was already throbbing with dozens of fishing boats out for the early catch. With the harbor humming with fishermen chasing their own dreams, it was the ideal time for Hennesey to slip away from the dock without attracting too much attention. They passed brightly painted vessels of every kind, including small half-deckers and large trawlers. Amongst them, a weathered grey rowboat wobbled in the wake of a motorboat leaving its berth.

  “Love this time of the morning,” Daniel said, as he came up beside her.

  Turning to him, she smiled. “A little chilly, but nice.” Daniel was wearing one of those grey wool fishermen’s sweaters that enhanced his rugged looks. Together, they stared at the town growing smaller as they drove out to sea.

  “You have to admire Hennesey,” said Daniel, glancing back at the wheelhouse. “He has his radio off. Any hint he’s after a wreck loaded with treasure could alert other salvagers. I’m sure there are plenty in these parts.”

  “I don’t know about that, but there’s more than a half-dozen diving clubs just over there alone.” She pointed to St. John’s Point, a little south of Killybegs.

  His eyes crinkled. “Nothing gets by you, does it?”

  She laughed. “I read it in a tourist pamphlet. Great diving here because the water’s warmed by the Gulf Stream.” She crooked her head. “What am I telling you for? Y
ou know this stuff.”

  Resting his arms on the gunwale, he said, “Even with his stealth, it’s near impossible to keep secrets.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “By applying for a license to survey the area, he’s let the cat out of the bag. Someone who knows could compromise his situation.”

  “They could, if he did apply.”

  “With his share of wrangling in the courts, he’d be stupid not to.”

  “Right.” She said, looking over her shoulder. This wasn’t the time to entertain eavesdroppers.

  “It’s okay. No one’s picking up what we’re saying. Want a coffee? I have to get one to wake up.”

  “No thanks. I drank a gallon at the B & B.”

  After Daniel left, she looked back at the fishing village. Killybegs must’ve been tiny when the remains of the Spanish fleet showed up at its port in 1588. Three ships had made it as far as the bay; the most famous was the Girona, whose treasures were now on display in a museum in Belfast. The men who’d come ashore and stayed were referred to as the Black Irish. It was easy to understand the attraction between the two groups. Both the Irish and the Spaniards had fire in their blood and passion in their music.

  They passed a sprinkling of homes along the shore, the development fading as they motored past inlets and bluffs towards the north. The haze that had hovered over the sea had vanished, unveiling a golden sunrise. As Catherine took in the view, she couldn’t help but think back on the Irish folk tales she’d read as a child and the ones she’d read to Alex. Ireland’s rolling terrain was a perfect backdrop for a fanciful world populated with leprechauns, fairies, and other whimsical creatures.

  She took a few photos and then looked at the helm, where she could see Hennesey through his wheelhouse window. While she questioned his methods, she had a high regard for his skills. He’d been salvaging for decades and was now regarded as one of the world’s best treasure hunters. In a matter of days, she’d discover if he had changed his ways. When he’d started in the business, he’d lived the life of a pirate, taking what was there without any conscience. But now, with environmentalists, government agents, and marine archaeologists breathing down his neck, he had to be more careful, more respectful. Still, once a thief, always a thief.