Mladen Mück is one of Gaspari's tormentors. Now in his 40s, the Bosnian-born architectbegan diving in the river in 1985 and has brought up about a thousand pieces. In his kitchen in Ljubljana, a plastic box contains prehistoric tools. Upstairs, dusty cases hold other rare artifacts, including deer antler axes. Mück says he has no intention of selling what he has found. Like many collectors, he babies his goods and claims they are better off with him than with the authorities.
"More people see these artifacts in my house than if I gave them to a museum," he says with a dismissive wave. "There they would sit in a basement."
Gaspari disagrees. A team at the National Museum of Slovenia is preparing an exhibit of the river's treasures that will tour Europe in 2008, he says. Still, he hopes that someday Mück will hand over his items. "My heart is strong," quips the 33-year-old archaeologist. If Mück is obstinate, "I will outlive him."
As for artifacts still in the Ljubljanica, Gaspari believes they should be left untouched until they can be properly conserved. He searches for new objects only when he believes they are threatened—as is the case on one blistering July afternoon. Struggling into a wet suit on the riverbank, Gaspari gets ready for a dive. Water visibility is unusually good, he says, though you might not think so looking at all the algae and bits of trash.
He and his team have been hired by the town of Vrhnika to search for artifacts that could be lost when a sewage plant is built on the river. The need for a treatment plant is obvious from the stench of sulfur, and worse.
Gaspari doesn't expect to ﬁnd much here, perhaps some medieval potsherds, not rare in an Old World river. But less than an hour after the divers begin their survey, one member of his team, Miran Erič-Pac, surfaces and hands him an ax made from deer antlers more than 5,000 years ago.
"We've never found an artifact so old this far upstream," Gaspari says. "It's probably from a nearby prehistoric settlement."
Then from the murk comes a 16th-century water pitcher painted with an aqua bird and yellow flowers that resembles a thousand replicas in local souvenir shops. Another diver hands him a chunk of stone with a decorative edge—a fragment of an ancient plate. Gaspari strokes its flat side, as familiar with its shape as with his morning coffee cup. "It's early Roman," he says, "around 10 b.c."
Throughout the day, more pieces of Slovenia's early story are found. Like other objects from the riverbed, they hint at a mysterious connection between distant generations and waters they revered. Somewhere, perhaps in the trove of artifacts in private hands—or perhaps in the river's murky depths—is the clue that could unlock the mystery.