Treasure hunting

I’m not walking in any direction. I came here to get lost. Northern Israel beaches are almost deserted this time of year, and the weather is still hot even in November. Sand and rocky coast, an endless sea spreads before me and disappears past the mountains north, all the way to Lebanon.

I came here because I didn’t know where else to go.

He ended things so abruptly last month. I’m completely lost. I left my apartment as is and took the first train north. I found a small furnished apartment and hunkered down. I cried for three days. Hunger is what drove me to leave the house more than anything else. I wandered to the gas station and bought a snickers bar, a loaf of bread, and some peanut butter. I walked in a daze home, and that’s when I saw something glittering at the end of the street. It drew me out of my stupor. The sea.

~~~

I go to the beach every day. My favorite thing to do is beachcomb. I find it meditative. I sit on the beach, bask in the sun, and read books. But mostly I walk the beach aimlessly, staring at the waterline. I call everything I find my “treasures.” Smooth rocks, pieces of china, and beachglass of all colors that have been lovingly softened by the swirling sea. Pink shells and marbles occasionally appear, but besides that nothing special.

Something sparkling in the bubbling surf ahead brings me back from my thoughts. “What is that?”

It’s small, glimmering, and slowly being lured out to sea; each small wave draws it closer and closer to the vast abyss where it will be lost forever. I run to catch it but the last wave beats me to it and slurps it up with reptilian ferocity.

I run knee-deep to the water and fish my hand around, hoping I can grasp whatever it is before it meets the belly of the sea from which it won’t return.

“Yes! Got it” I gloat, before I’m nearly knocked over by a particularly aggressive wave. This sea of mine has a personality, I swear. I smile to myself. Actually, the sea has been my only friend for what feels like forever, though it has really only been a few weeks.

I sit down on the sand and examine my treasure. It’s a ring. A magnificent ring. Shiny, classic. It looks old but glimmers from the sun and seawater. A ring. Whose?

I look around, and that’s when I see other gleaming things in the surf. All along the waterline are small, shiny items.

“What the f-“ I say, pushing myself off the sand and hurrying to investigate.

A pin, another ring, a necklace with a fine gem pendant. No one else is on the beach, so I cautiously examine each accessory and collect them.

I need to get home. But I’m excited by the mysterious discovery.

Each day on my beachcombing walks I find more and more valuables. I decide I need to figure out who is leaving them. It’s too strange, and I wonder if someone is watching me.  What if they’re cursed? What if an angry husband is throwing away all of his wife’s beloved possessions? I wrack my brain for every scenario as to why someone would be getting rid of these beautiful treasures. But the real question is who?

I decide to stake out the beach. Given my schedule is empty most days, why not sleep under the stars, listen to the waves, and wake up to the kiss of the sun’s rays?

I bring a big sheet and a blanket to the beach and settle in. I fall asleep to the whispering of the waves and the sweet smell of salt.

I wake abruptly at dawn. The sun is still stirring, light stroking the horizon but not yet crossing over. A voice sings quietly. It's coming from a small figure, and I’m surprised to see it’s an old woman. She walks slowly, the tide lapping at her feet.

“Good morning!” I shout louder than intended.

She stops and I imagine in the dim light that she looks surprised. She slowly shifts her stride towards my blanket.

“I didn’t see you there in the dark,” she says.

The sun is rising higher and higher, and I glance at the sea. Behind the woman, I see small objects glimmering at the water’s edge.

“I’m Hannah…good morning.” I greet her again.

“Vivi,” she says. “Enjoying the sunrise?”

I nod and she continues, “I’m born and raised here. 84 years walking this beach, mornings and evenings. Isn’t this time of day gorgeous?”

My curiosity peaks and I decide to cut to the chase. “Have you been the one leaving all the stuff?”

“Ah, my treasure,” she says. “For the person who’s searching for it. Either the sea will swallow it and it will turn up again in many years, or some lucky beach-comber will find it. I’ve accumulated so many things over these years. And I’m old enough…I can’t stand to look at all it all. All the things I’ll leave behind when I go. I prefer the idea of all my jewelry and dishes floating out to sea, turning in the waves, and being refined over eternity. Smoothing and sinking until one day they miraculously get spit ashore by a particularly rough winter storm for someone to find” She laughs. “Treasure.”

I’m instantly fascinated by this woman. “She doesn’t give a shit,” I think to myself. “I love her.”

That’s where our friendship started. We meet at dawn every morning for our walks. We go slowly, placing her things in the surf to disappear forever or for some lucky soul to find. We don’t really care about that. It’s not about the stuff...it’s more about the sea. It makes us both feel at peace; cleansed by the salt and wind. We both find it cathartic to stare at its vastness. The way it swallows everything into its depths, and maybe, maybe if you’re lucky, you get something more from it. That’s why I became fascinated with beachcombing in the first place.

Vivi has no family, and I’m in the north by myself. I cherish her advice and find her short but sturdy stature comforting as she holds my arm on particularly rocky stretches of beach. That and her sun-leathered skin and smiling eyes. I feel comfortable talking to her, and she listens with wisdom only a woman who has seen many things can have. I’ve found a friend.

The days go quickly, and then months, and Vivi tells me of her many adventures and life lessons. She tells me I will love again, as she did many times in her life.

She enjoys recalling the history of the town; the way it was once a deserted beach village. Now it’s growing so fast, she says, “I just can’t keep up with it. I miss the quiet times.”

Her family was one of the first in this area; they've been here for generations. They saw paradise where others saw wasteland.

She tells me of the places she wished she’d visited. I tell her I want to go to Brazil.

I tell her, "I want to get out of here. I want to see other natural wonders…something more than the sea. The Amazon rainforest. I just need to save up some money."

She tells me that’s one of her dreams too.

"But, I’m not sure I’ll get to see that one,” she says. “This sea is my home; and at my age, I don’t want to leave it.”

~~~

Vivi didn’t come today. She didn’t come yesterday either.

A few days pass and I begin to worry. I go to her home, a large private villa along the northernmost stretch of beach. It’s dark; no one is home.

I continue the dawn beach walks because they soothe me. I miss Vivi. Word gets around in town that she’s passed. I’m heartbroken, but grateful our paths crossed for a short while. Grateful we shared something so beautifully human.

A few days later I find it. Something sparkling at the water’s edge. An old glass bottle, corked tightly. There’s something folded inside.

I gently pull the cork out and fish out the papers.  A check--a check and a note. I slowly unfold and my eyes widen as I process what's written. A check for fifty thousand dollars.

I nearly choke.

Tears blur my eyes and I read the note:

‘There are many treasures out there. Go find them for us.”

-Vivi

I leave for Brazil tomorrow.