by Philip Roy
“I will make you some . . . red bush tea . . . with vanilla, from South Africa.”
She poured water into the kettle, opened the stove and tossed in three pieces of driftwood.
“Have you been to South Africa?” I asked.
She looked up. Her lovely smile was replaced with a sad one.
“Yes. I have been everywhere.”
She scooped flecks of tea into a metal ball, dangling from a chain, and dropped it into a teapot that looked like Aladdin’s lamp. As I watched her hands move I thought of Ziegfried.
“And you? Have you been everywhere in that sea craft of yours?”
“Nope. But I’m planning to go everywhere. I just started.”
She grinned.
“I thought you were a monster. We came down to the rock and saw something under the water. But you didn’t move.”
“I was sleeping.”
She clapped her hands and laughed.
“Sleeping? Down there in the deep cold?”
“It’s not so deep. And not so cold.”
“For a fish.”
“How come you . . . I mean, how did you travel to so many places?”
She sighed.
“My mother was a famous opera singer. We travelled everywhere when I was little.”
“Didn’t you go to school?”
“No. I taught myself mostly. I read a lot. When you travel, you learn, as you will see.”
“Did your father travel with you?”
She turned to the stove and poured water into the teapot.
“I never saw my father a lot. But I loved him very much.”
She sat at the table. Even though she was smiling, tiny tears appeared on the bottoms of her eyes.
“Once, when I was twelve, my father came to see me. We were staying in a villa in the south of France, where my mother was preparing for a new opera season. He took me for rides in his car and told me how much he loved me. Then he gave me the most beautiful necklace.”
Sheba’s eyes welled up with tears. I didn’t know what to do.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“That’s okay.”
“It was the last time I saw him. But I kept that necklace. It was my favourite. It had a silver chain with gold and silver pendants — stars and the sun and moon. Oh, how I loved it.”
“What happened to it?”
“I lost it when I came here.”
“How?”
“A mermaid took it.”
“A mermaid?”
“Yes.”
“You believe in mermaids?”
“Of course.”
“Oh. Why . . . um . . . why do you think a mermaid took it?”
“Mermaids are jealous of beautiful things, especially jewelry. I should have known better. I left my necklace on the rock, where your submarine is, when I took my clothes off to go swimming. When I came out of the water, it was gone. But my clothes were still there.”
“But how do you know it was a mermaid? Did you see it?”
“No, but I had a very strong feeling that a mermaid had just been there. I could smell her.”
“What do mermaids smell like?”
“Like the ocean, and . . . exotic spices.”
“Have you ever seen a mermaid?”
“Not up close, but from a distance. And you often hear them at night.”
“What do they sound like?”
“They have strange singing voices, not like humans at all. It’s a kind of high-pitched wailing. Very mysterious and not really beautiful.”
“Oh.”
I took a drink of tea.
“How is your tea?”
“Delicious. But it tastes like . . . cake.”
Sheba laughed. Her face brightened again and filled the whole kitchen. Her dogs and cats were smiling too. I once read a story about sailors who were turned into animals by a beautiful woman. I scanned my tea for a magic potion. Something about Sheba made me feel anything was possible.
We stayed up most of the night. Over five cups of tea I learned that Sheba believed in pretty much everything. She said she regularly saw ghosts — sailors mostly, and that there was a very good spot on the island for watching the ghost ship of Bonavista Bay, that I would certainly see it if I stayed around long enough. She spoke so convincingly about these things that after a few hours, and some very strange but delicious tea, I didn’t know what to believe anymore. I did want to consider the existence of things not yet seen. Did that include ghosts and mermaids?
Chapter Fourteen
When I returned to the sub, the sky was almost blue. But I wasn’t sleepy. There was something I wanted to do. Sheba said she lost her necklace right off the rock, and I wanted to see if I could find it, mermaid or not.
The sonar revealed a bottom of eighty-five feet, with several deeper pockets, like a huge honeycomb. I couldn’t bring the sub to the bottom but had to hover over each pocket and peer into it from the observation window. My guess was that Sheba’s necklace had fallen off the rock somehow. As Seaweed crowded into the observation window with me I thought of something else.
“Maybe a seagull took it!”
Seaweed squawked at that idea. Maybe a crab crawled onto the rock, picked up the necklace and pulled it over the side. The cove was narrow, sheltered and dark below the surface so I could understand why Sheba thought it was much deeper than it was.
Shutting the hatch, I dove to seventy-five feet and hit the outside lights. There was no point waiting for the sun; it wouldn’t help down there. The lights were bright enough but I couldn’t move them; I had to move the whole sub, which was difficult in such a small cove. All I could really do was spin it around in circles by turning the rudder sharply and pedalling on the bike. Seaweed found my interest in the observation window compelling, and stared down every time I did. Once in a while he pecked at the glass.
It was very tedious. All of the pockets looked the same — sand and a few rocks and clumps of seaweed. Here and there were lines under the sand that could have been anything — a necklace or a piece of rope. But there were too many. In one pocket was a lobster trap, and dangling on one side was something kind of shiny, though it could have been light reflecting off a piece of rope or seaweed or anything. Try as I might, I couldn’t make it out. But Seaweed started to peck at it through the glass. Then it occurred to me: seagulls have excellent vision. He could see whatever it was much better than I could, and he was pecking at it.
The problem was, it was sitting at eighty-five feet, and the water was pretty cold, and once I brought the sub to the surface, the pockets would be in darkness again. Well . . . I did have an underwater flashlight and I did have a wetsuit. But eighty-five feet was ten feet deeper than my maximum diving depth. On the other hand . . . what I wouldn’t give to bring Sheba’s precious necklace back.
We rose to the surface, opened the hatch and Seaweed hopped out. I dug out the wet suit and flashlight. After a few minutes of swimming around the sub, which Seaweed found so intriguing he had to join me, I started preparations for diving. I took long, deep breaths and visualized myself going down with ease and calmly sifting through the sand at the bottom. Then I visualized rising to the surface with the necklace in my hand. All of this was relaxed and comfortable.
Well, that was a nice visualization. The truth was, I couldn’t seem to get warm or comfortable enough. On the first dive it was probably sixty-five feet when I felt anxiety for the pressure and darkness, and eighty-five feet seemed unreachable. Sheba’s stories of mermaids and ghosts kept jumping into my head.
The second dive was better. I think I reached seventy-five feet. The pressure was heavier but I had less anxiety. On the third dive I touched the top of one of the pockets, about eighty feet down — my deepest dive ever. But it wasn’t the one with the lobster trap. On the fourth dive I spotted the trap, touched the top of the pocket and turned around. I was only six feet from the trap, but somehow, swimming into the pocket was like swimming into a cave, and I was spook
ed.
Back on the surface I felt frustrated.
“Just do it! Stop turning around and wasting time!”
On the fifth dive I reached the top of the pocket again, touched the rock and pulled myself down towards the trap. I pointed the flashlight. There it was, covered with sea growth and sand — Sheba’s beloved necklace!
One touch of the chain shook the sand free but the chain was wound around the edge of the trap and I needed more time to free it. My head ached with sharp pain on the way up but cleared at the top. Eighty-five feet was too deep for me, but I wanted that necklace.
On the sixth dive I finally got it. I also picked up a headache that lingered for awhile. But I was happy, especially for Sheba. She was in for a surprise.
Back in the sub I rinsed the necklace in fresh water and picked debris from it. It was tarnished but I knew she could clean and polish it. I felt like rushing right over but decided to sleep first. Seaweed had spotted a flock of seagulls and took off to join them. I watched him rise in wide circles until he was way above, and then I couldn’t tell which one was him. I shut the hatch and went down fifty feet, had a bowl of cereal and an orange before bed. But something was nagging me. I decided to call Ziegfried. So I resurfaced and turned on the short-wave.
“Al! How’s it going, Buddy?”
“Good. Do you believe in mermaids?”
“Mermaids? Good Heavens! Have you seen mermaids?”
“No. But . . . do you believe in them?”
“Well, I can’t say that I do; I’ve never seen one.”
“What about ghosts?”
“Oh yes, I do believe in ghosts.”
“You do?”
“Yup.”
“Oh.”
“Why do you ask, have you seen one?”
“No, but I’ve met somebody who has.”
“Interesting. So, Al. Are you riding your bike a lot these days? I hope so. That’s a great way to get around, eh?”
“Yes. I think so too. I’m planning to ride quite a bit.”
“Very good. And don’t forget to call as soon as you find a phone, okay?”
“Okay. But I haven’t seen too many phones yet.”
Ziegfried laughed.
“No, I don’t imagine.”
After talking with Ziegfried I went back down to fifty feet, turned the lights down and climbed into bed. But it was hard to sleep thinking of Sheba’s necklace and Ziegfried believing in ghosts. That was hard to understand. Back and forth between Sheba and Ziegfried my mind wandered until sleep took hold of it. It was still kind of fuzzy when I woke and rose in the twilight. But there was Sheba, waiting with her animals. I opened the hatch and Seaweed suddenly appeared.
“Alfred! Dear friend!” called Sheba. “Won’t you please come over for tea?”
I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. I gave Seaweed two cookies and hopped onto the rock and tied up. Sheba’s dogs jumped all over me, full of joy. Sheba was wearing a purple dress with beads that clinked together when she moved. She smiled in her wonderful, magical way.
“I have something for you,” I said, and reached into my pocket.
“You have something for me? What could that be?”
“Something I found.”
“Something you found? Where did you find it?”
“In the sea.”
“In the sea . . .”
I pulled the necklace out and handed it to her. She put her hand to her mouth and cried, “Ooooooooh!”
Her eyes filled with tears as she took the necklace from my hand. She stared at it in her own hands and started sobbing. I didn’t know what to do. I guessed she was happy but she was crying so much it was hard to tell. Finally, she looked up, took a deep breath, grabbed my hand and said, “Where did you find it?”
“There.”
I pointed beside the sub.
“But how?”
“I dove for it.”
“With your sea-craft?”
“No, free-dive.”
She looked confused.
“You swam down there?”
I nodded.
“It’s not so far. Well, it was pretty far but I have a lot of practice diving. That was the deepest I ever went. Eighty-five feet.”
“Oh, Alfred. I will be forever grateful to you. I cannot believe I have it back. Do you know what this means to me? This is the most important thing I have.”
“I know. You told me. I’m really happy you have it back.”
She held her heart and took deep breaths.
“Oh. I can’t believe it. I am so happy. Thank you, Alfred. Thank you so much.”
She began to cry again. Then she came over and hugged me.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
After a second night in Sheba’s kitchen I was anxious to return to sea. Her stories of strange places and things only filled me with more desire to explore and I could hardly sit still. One story in particular was luring me out: the Flaming Ghost Ship of Bonavista Bay. In ten years, Sheba had seen the ship dozens of times. She said all we had to do was stay up all night and stare out at sea. The fall was the best time. Well, staying up all night was my regular sailing time. But sitting on a rock, waiting for a ghost ship to appear was not my style; I wanted to get out and search for it, if such a thing did exist. I had my doubts.
But I was about to find out.
Chapter Fifteen
The fog curled thick around us the night we left Sheba’s cove. She came down to the water to see us off with presents: crackers for Seaweed and tea for me. I promised to visit again. As we glided away from the rocks I glanced through the periscope and saw her glowing with light, surrounded by the dark outline of her animals.
The open sea never regained any semblance of calm. On the mainland side of an island it settled down a bit, and we could enjoy sitting in the open portal, the harness snug around my waist. But the open sea always looked like a storm waiting to happen. Of course, beneath the surface, all was calm. But the practical truth of the sub’s capabilities became increasingly clear: if we wanted to poke around islands and coves we could do just fine submerged; if we ever wanted to cross any distance, we had to travel on the surface.
We spun around Sheba’s island and went straight out to sea. I wanted to get back into the lane of traffic where Sheba said she had seen the ghost ship. I kept a close eye on the radar and periscope. It was a quiet night. At one point Seaweed broke the silence with loud squawking on the starboard side. I turned a floodlight towards the water and scanned the waves but saw nothing. Seaweed was a pretty reliable scout though, so there must have been something there; I just couldn’t see it.
After an uneventful night of cruising southward, about five miles from shore, I decided to seek another sheltered cove before the sun came up. It was only after we changed course that we heard a beep on the radar. I definitely heard it, but when I glanced at the panel, there was nothing.
That’s strange, I thought, is there something, or not?
Seaweed twisted his head.
“Maybe I only thought I heard it. Maybe I heard something else.”
Then, there it was again. This time I saw the light blink on the screen. No doubt about it. But it only blinked once.
That was very strange! I needed to see it beep just once more to know if it were coming or going. So I sat and stared at the screen for a long time, but nothing happened.
“Maybe there’s something in the periscope.”
I took a careful 360-degree look.
“Nope. Nothing.”
The radar beeped again. I dashed over but didn’t get there in time to see it.
“Rats!”
Now I didn’t know what to do. Should I go searching for it, or find a cove for the day?
“What should we do, Seaweed?”
Seaweed tapped his beak on the screen.
“Okay. We’ll take one quick look, then head for cover.” We spun around 180 degrees and headed north. I climbed the portal and scanned the horizon
. The fog was clearing and there was a thin dark blue line in the east. Suddenly there was brilliant light, just like the rising sun.
That can’t be the sun, I thought, it’s too early. I stared hard at the flashing light, which, from a distance, did look like flames.
“What is it, Seaweed?”
In the pre-dawn the flaming light on the horizon was beautiful, not spooky at all. Is this what Sheba had seen? Then, the flames were gone. I stared for another twenty minutes, while the blue spread across the sky. The real sun would soon be up.
“Well, Seaweed, we’d better head in.”
I went inside and changed course again. Seaweed stayed up on the portal and watched the sunrise. A few minutes later there was a beep on the radar. It was only five miles away. I raced to the periscope. Nothing. The radar beeped again. The object was now four miles away.
“That’s not possible. Nothing can move that fast, except an airplane, and I don’t hear one.”
The radar beeped again. Three miles and coming directly towards us.
“That’s crazy! There’s nothing there!”
On the next beep the object was only two miles away. I felt a sudden panic. Maybe something was going to collide with us. Should I try to dive? There was hardly time to do anything. I breathed deeply, then rushed up the portal and stared hard in the direction of the beeps. I could see clearly; there was nothing there. I rushed back inside. Could it be coming underwater? I stared at the sonar. Nothing. The radar beeped once more. One mile away! I rushed up the portal again and stared as hard as I could. Nothing. Whatever was coming would be upon us in an instant. I braced myself, half expecting an impact.
But nothing came. Now I was spooked. Were there ghosts around us? It didn’t feel like it. What were ghosts supposed to feel like anyway?
Half an hour later we motored into the bay and found a cove in one of the outer islands. Seaweed stayed up. I wondered if he would sleep on land because he didn’t sleep much at night. He had become nocturnal, like me. Before sleep I caught up in my captain’s log, describing the night as faithfully as possible — for Ziegfried’s Christmas reading. Was it a ghost encounter? I didn’t think so, but I could understand why other people would.
