"What an ugly beast!"

Mr. Jeremiah J. Rasten smiled pleasantly as he spoke. He did not as a rule seek to give offense. Not even to shopkeepers and tradesmen. But there was also a trace of smugness in his voice. For the wealthy and socially prominent Mr. Rasten could speak his mind if he chose, without incurring harm. And he had that comfortable feeling, that perfectly natural awareness that he could easily afford anything in the shop that he wanted to buy. Indeed, he could purchase the entire shop if he chose.

The small statuette he was holding was certainly very ugly. He called it a beast, although whatever it depicted resembled no animal he had ever heard of. It even looked almost human, in a twisted, grotesque kind of way. The leering face both fascinated and repulsed him. And those six pieces of what? Not gemstones, cut glass perhaps. Inserted on various parts of the thing's body. Shining palely against the stained and tarnished metal surface.

"Aye, ugly it 'tis," the old woman agreed with a gap toothed grin. "But sometime ugly might be dear, eh."

"I can't imagine what you mean," Mr. Rasten replied as he made a move to return the statuette to its place. But he couldn't put it down. Something about the grotesque thing fascinated him.

"Ah, ye've touched it. 'Tis part of ye now," the old woman chuckled.

"But why?" Mr. Rasten protested. "Whatever would I want with something like this?"

"'Tis said to have mystical powers. From the lost land, from Atlantis 'tis said it came. There be power in the crystals, the six crystals."

"Rubbish!" Mr. Rasten said, and again moved to return the statuette. But at the last moment pulled it back for a closer look.

"A rare bargain it be," the old woman said. "Five thousand."

Mr. Rasten looked at her blankly.

"Five thousand, American dollars," she laughed.

"Five thousand dollars? Outrageous!" And this time Mr. Rasten did return the statuette to its place.

"Now what be five thousand to a gennelmun like ye?" the old woman cackled. "Five thousand for a power to grant yer wishes."

"Wishes?" Mr. Rasten asked uncertainly.

"'Tis said the power of the crystals can grant wishes. To whomever owns the statue."

"Rubbish," Mr. Rasten answered, but not as emphatically as before.

The old woman chuckled. "A gennelmun like ye can buy anything 'e wants. But some things ye can never buy. Now for a wee bit of money ye can have wishes for what money can never buy."

Mr. Rasten once again picked up the statuette. Of course he didn't believe the old woman's nonsense. Not for a moment. But there was something about the statuette that fascinated him.

"To have yer wish ye must be at sea. Not any sea, but the sea as was home to Atlantis."

"The Atlantic Ocean," Mr. Rasten said faintly, as if speaking from a great distance.

"Aye, as 'tis called to this day," the old woman replied.

"Ye must stand in water from the sea. And ye must kiss the six crystals. First the one on the beast's forehead. Then the left breast. The right breast. The belly. The left leg. The right leg. Then ye make yer wish and say it out loud.

"Then ye kiss the crystals agin. And make yer wish, agin. And ye must say yer wish with exactly the same words as before. No more nor less.

"And then ye kiss the crystals agin. And make yer wish agin. Agin and agin, until ye kiss the six crystals six times and make yer wish six times. Then will ye have yer wish.

"But be careful of what ye wish. For the wish once made cannot be recalled. And before ye can make another wish, ye must first stand on dry ground. And then go back to sea to make the wish."

Mr. Rasten stared at the old woman blankly.

"Could you repeat what you just said?" he whispered.

And the old woman's foul breath whistled through the gap in her teeth as she laughed.

***

"What do you think of this dress, my darling? Is it a proper thing for boarding the ship?"

"It's lovely. Exquisitely lovely. But not more so than the beautiful lady who'll be wearing it."

"Oh Jer, you're so wonderful. I never knew I could be so happy."

Mr. Jeremiah J. Rasten was worried. He was slowly being forced to the realization that all was not well. He loved his wife dearly. This fragile child bride who had brought so much joy to his life. And he had assumed that all his friends would share in his joy.

And why would they not. He was Mr. Jeremiah J. Rasten of New York. The great grandson of the founder of one of the first great business fortunes in America. A cousin to members of the British peerage. One of the wealthiest men in the world.

Born into one of the first families of America. Educated at the finest private schools. Owner and director of business enterprises. Advisor to public officialdom. Philanthropist and benefactor. Connoisseur of the arts. Received in the best houses.

He was a man who had never known rejection. A man whose companionship was welcomed, indeed eagerly sought by all. So surely no one would hold his marriage against him.

And yet his invitations had been returned. Nearing the end of their honeymoon in Europe, he and his bride were preparing to return home. Tomorrow night they would travel to Cherbourg and board the most luxurious passenger ship in the world. In another week they would arrive in New York.

But what kind of reception would await them? Mr. Rasten had engaged a special train to take them to Cherbourg. As there were several other Americans of prominent social status, all of them known to him, who were returning to New York on the same ship, Mr. Rasten had graciously invited them to travel with him to Cherbourg. He had mailed out invitations in the proper form. But this time, incredibly, invitations from Mr. Jeremiah J. Rasten had not been answered with grateful acceptance. They had been sent back, unopened. Every one of them. The last one had arrived this morning.

Mr. Rasten didn't understand. Was it really so terrible, so socially unforgivable that he had divorced Athena? Or that he had immediately afterward taken in marriage a girl less than half his age? Younger in fact than his own son. Did they really love Athena so much? Could this really make him an outcast from the world of position and elegance he had always known?

And yet his invitations had all been returned. Every one of them. And if he had no friends and supporters among this small group of Americans abroad, then what would he find upon his return to New York. Mr. Jeremiah J. Rasten was a very worried man.

"How long will it take to cross the ocean?" Mariah asked.

"Just a week, my dear," Mr. Rasten replied, stirring himself from his brooding. "We board ship tomorrow night, and then have one short stop in Ireland. Then it's off to New York. We'll arrive there the following Wednesday morning." Mr. Rasten spoke cheerfully in order to give no hint that he was a worried man.

***

By Sunday afternoon, Mr. Jeremiah J. Rasten knew that it was as bad as he had feared. Worse, even.

The Titanic was everything it was advertised to be. Absolutely magnificent. The largest and most wonderful vessel ever built. The staff were thoroughly efficient, correct and deferentially polite, a testament to the superb standards of British service. But for four days he and Mariah had been ostracized by the other First Class passengers. Even the handful of Europeans aboard had fallen in with the lead of the Americans.

It had begun before they even boarded the ship. At the embarkation station he had of course encountered old acquaintances, once the closest of friends.

"Madeline," Mr. Rasten said cheerfully as their paths converged, "I'd like to introduce you to my wi. . ."

And then he just stood there with a stunned look on his face as Madeline walked past without a glance in his direction, without any acknowledgment of his presence. Mariah put a slight pressure on his arm and they continued onward pretending that nothing untoward had happened.

On the boat trip out to where Titanic was anchored they had been shunned. When they had strolled over to join a small group of passengers in casual conversation, those men and women had fallen silent and as if by one accord, turned their backs and walked away.

The isolation had continued on board ship. Not only did the other passengers avoid any social contact with the Rastens, they even refused to sit at the same table with them in the First Class dining saloon. To avoid embarrassment, Mr. Rasten and Mariah had taken to having their meals at a small table in an out of the way corner of the room. They usually ate in company with Mrs. James J. Brown, the eccentric millionairess from Denver. The earthy and unconceited Mrs. Brown was one of the few First Class passengers willing to socialize with them.

And this morning had come the ultimate indignity. When Mr. and Mrs. Rasten had attended divine services, when they had taken their seats, the other passengers in their immediate vicinity had ostentatiously stood and moved to seats farther away. Apparently the Rastens were not even to be accorded Christian charity.

"Is this the way it will be in New York?" Mr. Rasten asked Mr. Benjamin Guggenheim as they shared a drink in the smoking room. "Is this the way it will be for the rest of our lives?"

Mr. Guggenheim stared at his glass thoughtfully.

"Well, maybe not forever. Not as the younger people come along. But the older ones never forget. Or forgive. At least the women never will. The men might, but not the women. Not for the rest of our lives. I learned that myself."

"Yes, but you never got a divorce. And married someone else."

"That is so," Mr. Guggenhem replied. "Perhaps I can make amends to my wife when I return home.

"But you know how people in society are. Their standards. Their pride. You know we can never buy their love and acceptance. Not with all our money."

"Not with all our money," Mr. Rasten repeated. Something about that statement stirred a memory.

Mariah had retired to the writing room with Mrs. Brown, leaving the two gentlemen to enjoy their drinks. An act of very great kindness and consideration on the part of Mrs. Brown, who was not at all a retiring person. As Mr. Rasten softly opened the door, he realized they were talking about him, and paused to listen.

"I don't mind for myself, but I do worry so about Jer," Mariah was saying. "He's never had to go through something like this. I just hope he doesn't come to hate me for bringing this on him."

"Oh pshaw," Mrs. Brown replied. "That ain't never going to happen. Anyone can tell he's crazy about you.

"And besides, it don't really matter what anyone else thinks about you. You think I ever worried about that? You know you're a lady, so you just go in and be yourself and if anyone doesn't like it, the hell with them."

"Oh Jer!" Mariah exclaimed, as her husband entered.

"You're looking lovely, my dear," Mr. Rasten smiled. "Mrs. Brown."

It hurt. It hurt so very much to hear Mariah's distress. And the words of the old woman returned to him.

Ye can have wishes for what money can never buy."

"What money can never buy." That was what Ben Guggenheim had just said.

"We can never buy their love and acceptance. Not with all our money."

"But I want their love and acceptance," Mr. Rasten thought. "For myself and for Mariah."

The strange statuette was packed away in his baggage. No, it was ridiculous. What was it the old woman said?

"To have yer wish ye must be at sea. Not any sea, but the sea as was home to Atlantis."

"The Atlantic Ocean," Mr. Rasten had replied. And they were now at sea on that very same Atlantic Ocean. No, it was absolutely ridiculous.

"Ye must stand in water from the sea." What nonsense. It was absolutely the most ridiculous thing Mr. Rasten had ever heard.

The First Class stewards, ever attentive and solicitous of their passengers' every whim, were never taken aback. Not by anything. But they might occasionally need a request to be repeated, just to make sure they didn't misunderstand.

"Seawater, sir?" the steward asked Mr. Rasten.

"Yes. Four buckets. No, six buckets." The bathtub was rather large.

"And please don't let Mrs. Rasten know about the water. Bring it tonight, while we're at dinner. You can hide the buckets in the linen bin."

"Yes sir."

"And make yer wish, agin. And ye must say yer wish with exactly the same words as before. No more nor less."

Mr. Rasten decided he had better write down the wish and memorize it. He didn't know if he were allowed to hold a written statement and read it out loud.

***

"Ye kiss the six crystals six times and make yer wish six times."

"I wish no one would reject me because I divorced Athena, but would love Mariah and me, and accept us in society, just as before."

The disagreeable task was done. The seawater had all drained out, and the bathtub rinsed clean. All that remained was to have the six buckets smuggled out of the stateroom in the morning when they went to breakfast.

Mr. Rasten should have been feeling foolish as he prepared for bed, but he didn't. He felt a strange kind of exhilaration. He wished he could go out right now, and seek out the other passengers and revel in the love and acceptance they would surely have for him. And for Mariah. He almost resented the night that stood between him and this pleasure.

Mr. Rasten and Mariah were both awake when they felt the jar.

"What was that?" Mariah asked. "Some mishap in the kitchen, perhaps?"

"I don't know," Mr. Rasten replied. "I suppose I should go out and see."

"The ship has struck some ice, but it doesn't look too serious," he said when he returned.

Mr. Rasten didn't seem at all disturbed and so Mariah didn't worry.

And Mr. Rasten didn't worry, not for quite some time. Not when the steward knocked on the door and informed them that the Captain had requested that the passengers put on their lifebelts and go on deck.

Not while they waited in the gymnasium, just off the Boat Deck. They even spoke with some of the other passengers, just some idle chit chat, but Mr. Rasten was very pleased.

Not when the officer called for the women and children to go into the boats. Mr. Rasten thought it was ridiculous to send people off into the dark, cold night in those damp, little rowboats. Not when they had a large ship, brightly lit and warm and, of course, perfectly safe.

Not even when he helped Mariah into a boat, although he felt a twinge of concern for her and wanted to go along to keep her company. For some reason he really wanted to enter the boat. He asked the officer if he could accompany his wife.

"No sir," the officer replied. "No men are allowed in these boats until the women and children are loaded first."

And Mr. Rasten stepped back without protest.

But later he worried. And then he knew fear, real fear, when all the boats were gone and there still remained hundreds of people on the ship. Amid the noise and confusion, the rising tide of panic, as the ship tilted more and more toward the bow. As footing on the sloping decks became increasingly difficult and multitudes of objects, large and small, broke loose from their fastenings and slid crashing forward. As Mr. Rasten realized that the ship was going to sink.

"It isn't fair," he protested. "I didn't get my wish."

And with those words, understanding suddenly came to Mr. Jeremiah J. Rasten, and he knew.

". . .never forget. Or forgive. . .Not for the rest of our lives."

"Not for the rest of our lives."

". . .the rest of our lives."

". . .of our lives."

Mr. Rasten looked around wildly.

"The statuette." It was in his stateroom. He could still reach it. There would certainly be no problem about standing in the seawater. The decks were awash in it.

But no.

"Before ye can make another wish, ye must first stand on dry ground."

But there was no dry ground to stand on. The angry sea was upon him. The cold, cruel sea, unforgiving and merciless.

***

A boat, manned entirely by volunteers, put out from Halifax, Nova Scotia to retrieve bodies. A few hundred were found. The body of Mr. Jeremiah J. Rasten was identified by the watch in his pocket and was returned to New York for burial.

The funeral was grandly magnificent. It seemed as if every flower in New York was pressed into service for the arrangements. More than 10,000 people attended, overflowing the cathedral and filling the streets for blocks in every direction.

All of New York society was present, and Boston and Philadelphia as well, to pay their last respects to Mr. Jeremiah J. Rasten. And to comfort Mariah.

And all the newspapers reported the funeral, their front pages bordered in black. "The death of Mr. Jeremiah J. Rasten is the greatest single loss ever suffered by New York," one newspaper proclaimed.

Said another, "He was certainly loved. He was loved by society as no other ever was."