of the "traditional'' holiday season. There's nothing I like better than a December walk on the quiet sand at Elbow Beach. That's where I met Nathan.

It was the week before Christmas, late in the afternoon. I was walking along the high water mark, looking down at the sand, noticing what the tide had brought up. I was lost in my attention to the sand at my feet, when I practically bumped into him -- a coloured gentleman, maybe forty-five years old.

I looked up startled, an apology already on my lips.

"No problem,'' he said, flashing a perfect smile of incredibly white teeth.

He had a deep voice, commanding but friendly. "I know how it is! I get pretty absorbed when I'm beach combing too.'' He had a small bag in his hand. "Want to see what I found today?'' Without waiting for my reply he squatted on the sand and tipped out the contents. There were some perfectly round pebbles, a few coins, an interesting small piece of driftwood, a couple of round pieces of black metal, and some other undefinable pieces.

"Quite a collection, you have there,'' I said.

He started to put the stuff back into his bag. "I pick up everything that catches my eye. At the least it cleans up the beach!'' He laughed; a deep, friendly laugh. "By the way, my name is Nathan. Nathan Jones.'' "And I'm John Graves,'' I replied.

We started to walk together. As we walked, he talked. He was Bermudian. His mother had married a Welshman, hence the surname Jones. He lived in Tucker's Town. "I don't look the part of a Tucker's Town resident do I?'' he smiled. I found the question embarrassing, and changed the subject.

"What do you do for a living, Nathan?'' "Well, I do have a business degree from Harvard, but as to what I do, I suppose beach combing mostly.'' He noticed the question in my eyes -- beachcombers and Tucker's Town don't belong together -- and he continued, "You find that strange don't you?'' He paused, took something out of his bag, and hurled it far out to sea. I heard him whisper, "Hope you have a great Christmas, Mary, wherever you are.'' "And what was that all about?'' I asked, intrigued.

"Well, John, if you have the time, I have a story for you.'' We sat down on the sand, and Nathan started his story.

"It all started 26 years ago. I was seventeen then. My father, had died some ten years previously. My mother did her best, but it was tough for a single parent then. Her family had disapproved of her marrying a man from away and never forgave her.

I loved to study but never expected to go beyond high school. When I finished school I worked any job I could find, to help my mother. My free time I spent on the beaches of the South Shore. I'd walk and comb the beaches, much as I was doing today. Always found interesting things, but never anything of much worth.

One day, couple days before Christmas, I was walking here, and noticed an elderly lady rambling along the high water mark ahead of me. She seemed to be looking for something. I soon caught up with her, and greeted her. "Good afternoon. Lost something? Maybe I can help you. I look for stuff on the beach. I'm pretty good at it.'' She had a sad, faraway look in her eyes and looked like she needed cheering up. "Well, thank you young man. But I'm afraid what I lost here nobody can help me find.'' "Try me,'' I ventured.

"What I lost here, I lost thirty years ago, and cannot be replaced. You see, young man, I lost my husband here. But thank you for offering to help. You are very kind.'' She had a soft voice, with much loneliness and sorrow in it. I felt she needed to speak to someone. I found myself saying, "Will you tell me about it ma'am? Oh, by the way my name is Nathan Jones.'' She seemed surprised, but then a shadow of a smile crept onto her elegant features, "Why not? But Nathan, I'm afraid I'll bore you with my sad old lady's tale. Promise to stop me if I do.'' I nodded. And then she told me her story.

Her name was Mary Ravensbery of New York "I had a lot of suitors,'' she smiled, remembering her younger days, "but never wanted to marry. I loved my independence. I could not imagine me tied to one man. Of course, that all changed when I met Bob.

I met him right here, on this beach, during one of my winter escapes to Bermuda He was tall, handsome, just a year older than me. He too was a native New Yorker, an only son of a wealthy banker. At the time he was managing a bank branch in Boston. He was a bachelor, and like me had never considered marriage. We were kindred spirits and become close friends immediately.

For the next two years we saw each other often, but never discussed marriage.

The week before Christmas in 1969, he flew up form Boston. Neither of us had felt like going out that evening and decided to have a light dinner at my apartment. I remember sensing that he had something up his sleeve all through dinner, but he just made small talk.

After dinner as we sat on the couch enjoying an espresso, he pulled me close to him, kissed me, and handed me a little blue velvet box. In it was a ring, a very unusual ring. It was a simple silver band with what looked like Mayan glyphs all around it.

"I thought you'd like this,'' he said. "I found it at a small antique dealer in Boston.'' "Oh Bob it's wonderful. What do these glyphs mean?'' I asked, as I slipped it onto my finger. I was a little large.

His eyes sparkled mischievously. "Well, I was told they say `Will you marry me?'' I was still admiring the ring and his words did not sink in immediately.

"Well, will you?'' he asked again.

Only then did I realise he was proposing, "Of course, I will,'' I said, hugging and kissing him hard.

"O.K. then. Let's go do it!'' He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket.

In it were two airline tickets. We were married the next morning and soon were flying out to Bermuda.

The next few days were the happiest of my life. We stayed at the Hamilton Princes. We spent the days exploring the island leisurely, mainly by horse and carriage. The weather was perfect. It was hard to believe people in New York were all bundled up against the wicked winter while we walked barefoot on the beautiful pink sand of Bermuda's beaches.

Soon it was Christmas Day, and Bob suggested we pack a picnic and come spend the day here, at Elbow Beach. He arranged for the hotel to prepare a hamper.

There were a few people on the beach, mainly in twos or threes, but also larger group -- Canadians who came here for a Christmas swim.

We spread a blanket by a rocky outcrop at the east end of the beach and sat there enjoying the warm winter sun and each other's company. Then Bob decided to go for a swim. I declined -- swimming on Christmas Day didn't seem right! I watched Bob frolicking in the surf like a ten-year old. After a particularly large wave had topped him, I saw him stand up clutching at his chest. Then he collapsed face forward into the churning waves. I thought he was fooling around, but when he did not move I ran screaming to him. He was a big man, and I could not pull him onto the beach. The waves seemed to toy with us, pushing us forward, then dragging us back.

My screaming must have alerted the Canadian Christmas swimmers for three of them came and helped bring Bob back onto dry land. Two of them immediately began CPR. The third went to call an ambulance. I remember riding in the ambulance to the King Edward Memorial Hospital. Later, as I sat in the hospital waiting room a doctor came to see me. He was gentle but bore cruel news. Bob had suffered a massive heart attack. There was nothing they could do.

The next few days were a blur. My brother flew down to help make all the arrangements, and then I was flying back to New York. On the plane I realised that the ring that Bob had given me was gone. It must have slipped off as I struggled with the sea to release Bob from its hold. The loss of that ring, that meant so much to me, especially now that Bob was gone, devastated me.

I now had nothing but memories, to remind me of the happy days of our brief marriage. Since then I have spent Christmas week in Bermuda. On the anniversary of that fateful day I walk the beach in his memory, and cannot help searching the sand for the ring that the sea took from me.'' Nathan paused, looking far out to sea, and continued. "And then the damnedest thing happened. The plastic bag I had been carrying with all the stuff I had picked off the beach that day broke, and all its contents spilled onto the sand. I knelt down to gather them up. That's when I noticed something I hadn't seen before. It was a black, sand-encrusted, metal band.

Despite the erosion I noticed the strange characters on it. Mary was still standing next to me. I stood up and giving her my find, said to her, `By any chance, is this what you've been looking for?' She looked at me, wondering whether I was making fun of her. Then she took my offering. Her eyes widened as she examined it. "This is it! Nathan you found it. How can I ever thank you?'' She put the metal band on her finger and collapsed on the sand sobbing. I stayed with her till she regained her composure.

"Nathan, I must pay you,'' she insisted. `Oh, no Mary. I couldn't take money for that. Just think of it as a Christmas present.'' She turned to me and kissed me softly on the cheek. Her tears were of joy now.

"Thank you again, and I do hope you have a very happy Christmas too, Nathan.'' With that, she walked off. That's the last memory I have of her -- a frail, elegant, elderly lady walking away towards the Elbow Beach hotel, looking at the newfound ring on her left hand.'' "That's quite an incredible story,'' I said.

"Isn't it ever,'' smiled Nathan. "I never saw or heard of her again. Her quest fulfilled, I suppose, she may never have returned to Bermuda.

"Two years later, on the 20th of December, I received a call from a lawyer at one of the prominent local law firms. He advised me that Mary Ravensberg of New York City had recently passed away. In her will she had left me, Nathan Jones, the princely sum of two million dollars! Her message to me was "Just think of it as a Christmas present!'' And that, John, explains my Harvard degree and my Tucker's Town home. But I still beachcomb Elbow Beach the week before Christmas in her memory.'' With that he got up, picked up his bag of treasures, and extended his hand to me. We shook hands. "Have a great Christmas, John,'' he smiled. "Yeah, you too Nathan,'' I said. Then he winked at me, turned around and walked away, occasionally stooping to check on something in the sand that caught his eye.

SHORT STORY COMPETITION CPN