-Where are you, James?-
The person on the other end of the line took a long time to reply.
-Sorry? You were saying?-
Horace sighed.
-We agreed we'd meet for lunch, remember? I'd pick you up at the airport? Your flight has landed, so if you could please share your location.-
-Oh, I'm really sorry, I'd forgotten about it. The thing is, I'm still here.-
-What do you mean? You didn't board the plane!? What happened?-
James put down the compact, though heavy, black backpack he was carrying through the pretty cobblestoned side street he had entered upon answering his friend's call, looking for a quiet place to talk. He'd found the area rather empty for that time of the morning. There were no more than a dozen people to be seen between the two rows of picturesque residential buildings, all going and coming in moderate haste. His hometown, he thought, would probably be offering a much more hectic scene at the moment. He wished he was there to be part of it.
-What happened, James!?-
He looked around once more before he decided it was safe to speak.
-You know, the usual otherworldly things.- James said with a forced chuckle - Could you spare a few more minutes? I'd like to start from the beginning.-
When James arrived at his destination the day before, sent there to negotiate the loan of some artifacts from the local museum, it didn't take him long to realize he had made an important mistake.
His flight arrangements had, luckily, been taken care of entirely by someone else, but he had had to give the secretary from the curators' office the information for the hotel reservation. At that time, he had been troubled by a splitting headache and an inexplicable feeling of foreboding. In his distraction, instead of writing the name of the town, he had, for whatever reason, written something else: the word "Lucen."
After having no reply to her calls and messages, since James's phone had once more run out of battery, and then had temporarily been misplaced, the busy girl had eventually sent him a reservation for a hotel near the main museum, in a town called something similar to the name he had provided. James hadn't even read the message asking him to please let her know if there were any changes to be made. He hadn't bothered to check the information until he had gotten to his destination and found out from the friendly and concerned taxi driver that there were no hotels there with the name he mentioned, and that, due to a local yearly event, it would be almost impossible for him to find a place to stay.
He had asked to be dropped off at a caf? near the museum, and had, about an hour later, arrived at the meeting on time, with his carry-on luggage on his shoulder.
Negotiations at the museum had gone as expected and the long awaited loan was agreed upon. James gave the good news to his boss as soon as he was able to. He knew the man awaited with unrest, hoping to finally remove an old torn from his side: only after many negative responses, excuses and delays about the loan over phone calls had the man made up his mind to send James to talk to them in person. James already knew the ancient collections curator and was well liked by the museum director, and, more importantly, he had taken part in the dig as the leading archaeologist. It was true that the other museum had provided the funds for the project, but they had provided a valuable resource as well, the most valuable perhaps, since they wouldn't have been able to recover the submerged artifacts without the help of someone with experience in underwater archaeology. They too deserved some time with the fruit of their efforts, and it was only right that they could share it with their audience. The outcome of the meeting felt like a triumph, even though they had only agreed to lend the artifacts for the shortest time possible.
Now James had to find a place to stay until his flight in the morning. He wasn't worried about it. Somehow he knew it wouldn't be a problem. The mistake he had made about the town's name deeply worried him, on the other hand. Where had that word come from? "Lucen"? If it was now as it had been several other times before, the mistake could involve much more than simple absent-mindedness.
On one of his previous brief visits to the town, he had stayed at a boarding house on the outskirts. It now seemed like a good place to start his search for accommodation. When he arrived at the quaint gable-roofed, three-story wooden building, he was initially told by the young, professional-looking boy who answered the door that there were no rooms available: their main tourist-attracting event was underway: the flower growers competitions, already nearing the finals.
However, as he was leaving, the kind lady owner had gone after him, and told him they had an attic room, not as modern as the other rooms and that could get a bit cold if it rained, but otherwise perfectly fine to spend a night.
He had left his backpack there and hurried back to the museum, and spent the afternoon documenting the valuable collection for the eager crowd at home, and enjoying a guided visit to the exhibition rooms. He had been shown everywhere, except behind a big double door at the end of the main hall, to which he had felt drawn with extreme curiosity, but hadn't dared ask about, out of discretion.
In the evening, he had had a good dinner at a small restaurant near the boarding house. Then he had gone back to his room.
-I could tell you every detail of what happened last night. I don't think I'll ever forget any of it. But it's a long story. The bottomline is? I can't go home. He won't let me.-
At first, James had found the attic room charming. It was an intimate space lined with wooden panels, with a single bed, a small night table, and a chest of drawers placed against the wall opposite the bed. There was a small desk in front of the bed, and an antique wardrobe stood between the desk and the shuttered window. Two chairs had been left at the corners facing the door. On the wooden board floor, a patchwork rug matched the bed cover and the chair cushions.
Lit by the warm glow of a lightbulb on the slanting ceiling, the place emanated a cozy and welcoming atmosphere. And something James noticed only later greatly added to the wondrous character of the room: on almost every wooden object: the skirting boards, the desk plane, the headboard of the bed, even the windowsill, were some engravings of different sizes, depicting fish, seagulls, seaplants, waves and other marine life and features, all seemingly by the same hand, in a very appealing and unique style. They somehow made one think of a child's drawing, but at the same time displayed a masterful finishing that spoke of an accomplished artist.
What struck James most was how some secondary lines were used to give the figures a certain tri-dimensionality, and how each of the carvings, either of living beings or inanimate objects, seemed to exhale some contagious happiness. Fish eyes were not dead, they seemed to look back at the observer cleverly. Their outlines seemed to shine, as if slick with seawater.
He spent a good half hour touring this unusual private gallery and didn't stop until he had found, possibly, the last carving inside the leg of the bed.
But that hadn't been the only surprise the attic room had in store for its visitors. In the side table drawer, he had found a Bible which one of his hunches had led him to browse through. About halfway through the book, at the beginning of a chapter, a wonderful drawing of a pond surrounded by willow trees had made him stop turning the pages, and for a long time he had beheld the astonishing depiction of blue sky, green landscape, and still water, in a style strikingly similar to that of the carvings.
He had put the book back hastily when the phone rang, and had briefly talked with his fianc?e, Claire. And then had lain down to sleep, still captivated by the unexpected discovery, his mind lingering on the details of the carvings and the drawing, still trying to take in all their peculiar beauty.
It had been difficult to push those thoughts aside to say his prayers, and as always when he prayed, conflicting emotions had arisen; a mix of gratitude for his good luck and bitterness for the suffering of others. The fear of not deserving his good fortune and of not being good enough. He had reached for a book, hoping that those accounts from old civilizations would take the place of such thoughts that would otherwise keep him up late at night. After a while at last he felt sleepy, and he closed his eyes.
But then when he opened them, or at least, he initially thought he had, the room had stopped feeling warm and cozy. It now felt freezing and dreadful. It looked worn out, enshrouded in an ominous reddish light. From his spot in the bed, where he lay unable to move, as if his flesh had turned to stone, he searched for the reassuring sight of the carvings, only to see them detach from the surfaces and carousel around him, feeling now much less friendly and comforting. Their eyes stared at him in an anxious and uneasy way.
He sensed something approaching, something to be feared, but he couldn't turn his head. Suddenly, he heard the board floor creak under approaching footsteps, and felt as if the mattress was bending under someone's weight, and then he heard the loud voice of a man say:
-IT'S FINISHED!-
He then found himself amidst a full-blown nightmare. There was a man standing in the middle of a whirlpool of strange sea creatures, his hair a bit long and unkempt, his face stubbed by a five-day beard, and his brown eyes looking at him intently. A rumor of many indeterminate sounds ushered a change of scene. He was now in the open sea; a terrible storm roaring around him. Overhead shone a huge moon. He was trying to stay afloat in freezing, dark water. The waves rose over him like mountains, a current started dragging him down, deeper and deeper, the weird fish from the carvings followed him into a cave under a reef and to its deepest point, where he saw a bright glint of light appear from under the sand.
He had finally woken up, feeling pain in all his body. He was lying on his stomach on the wooden floor, in front of the chest of drawers opposite the bed. He started noticing a sharp headache above the other aches. The same he had been having since they told him he would visit the town.
He sat up with a groan. It was morning, and natural light came through the window he had left unshuttered to see the night sky. The attic room had regained some of the peaceful charm from the day before. The carved figures were back to their initial loveliness.
He started opening the drawers in the chest, which offered a bare wooden interior. Until he got to the lowest one, which wouldn't budge. As an archaeologist, he was not inclined to quit before a non-opening enclosure, so he started looking into why it could be stuck and the way to open it, to the point of separating the piece of furniture from the wall. He was surprised, then, to discover a small round hole on the back of the chest, level with the bottom drawer, and inside it, a small keyhole.
But when he got closer to inspect it, he got distracted. He noticed some faint bruises around his left wrist; some long, slender marks in the shape of thin fingers that had already, unnaturally, started to turn blue, and felt a sudden surge of fear. Strange dreams and apparitions were not new for him, since his "sensitivity" had started manifesting when he was a child, but being touched by a ghost was a far more serious matter.
He had left early for the airport in the neighbouring city. Out in the sun, under a vast blue sky and in the mild spring air, he had felt much better. Claire had called again and he was glad they would meet soon, that evening. Then he had told his team, who were thoroughly and anxiously preparing the presentation for the meeting with the investors on the next day, that he would soon be there to answer all their questions regarding the artifacts loan.
But once inside the airport building, his uneasiness had returned. As he was heading towards his gate, from among the people in the periphery of his view, one figure had started to become more defined. James had kept going, eyes forward, walking as fast as he could. But from the corner of his eye came a frightening sight: a man followed him, one that moved in an irregular way, slipping through people and objects in his way without resistance, determined to keep up with him. When he finally turned to look, he saw the man from his dream.
The man rushed toward him before he could do much more than conceal his surprise. His eyes and skin had that pale, lifeless quality that had often helped James tell the likes of him from people who were alive. The headache had returned, so strong now that it froze him in his place, and a ring in his ears hid all the other sounds around him. With great effort he had managed to head to the exit of the terminal, hiding the dread that had made him want to run. The man followed him, along with a rumor of disconnected utterances:
"finished"
"It's finished"
James kept walking, doing his best not to look at or listen to him. And, above all, to keep distance between them. He needed to do this not only out of fear, it was a matter of survival. After many scary encounters he had come to a disturbing realization about the physical sensations that accompanied scary sightings and sounds: he could feel how people had died. And the closer they got, the more intense the experience became. He felt, and his guesses were frequently right, that if they got too close, he would share their fate as well.
He had been able to get out of the airport and sit on one of the benches, next to a big poster advertising the flower growers competition. As he ate a chocolate bar to help his low blood sugar problems, he felt the symptoms of his encounter disappear. But he was certain that if he entered the building again and tried to board the plane, the man would be there to stop him.
-Are you in a safe place now?- Horace said.
-I'm going back to that room. I need to find out what all this means. Give whoever that man is whatever he wants. Otherwise, if I can't be back by tomorrow, and be in that meeting, I could lose my job.-
-Remember it could all be just a trick from your mind, which doesn't miss any opportunities to protect that "afterlife hypothesis" of yours. Maybe you should start considering switching to a more manageable set of beliefs?-
-Like we could choose what reality is.-
-Well? In the meantime, would it help if I went there? It has helped sometimes, others it has seemed to make things worse, though. Anyway, I could get there by train.-
-You really are a good friend. I don't think you could keep him away. I need to figure things out fast. I need to know what it is that he wants from me.-
-Please don't do anything reckless. At least check with me first.-
-I will.-
-I'll do some research about the place as well. I'll get back to you if I find anything interesting.-
James put away the phone. He had arrived at the boarding house.
At the entrance, the owner greeted him warmly and asked if he had forgotten something. She seemed happy to see him again, but her smile quickly faded when he asked if he could have the attic room for another day. This was their busiest week of the year, and they had already let the room to someone else. She could, however, have helped James find accommodations at a nearby hostel.
James thanked her and declined the offer, then hurried to ask about the engravings, if all of the rooms had them. The woman laughed as if she found the idea amusing. The other rooms were much more modern and commonplace than the attic room, and those carvings had been left behind by one of their most interesting guests: the town's best carpenter, Adrian Lucen. She considered him an eccentric master of his trade. A perfectionist, exceptionally driven and who seemed to live only for his job and his love of nature. He had no fixed address, as he often stayed in the places where he worked or camped around the town. But from time to time, when he wasn't working and the weather was extremely harsh, the attic room was his home. Until he passed away, not long ago. The lady's cheerful expression darkened as she said that it had been an especially hard blow for her, and James nodded, hiding behind a sympathetic smile all the sudden emotions and racing thoughts brought upon him by the sound of that name.
-He was only in his thirties. It was something to the head; one of those? cerebral accidents. I think it was affecting him on his last days. He would spend the whole day in his room, and while it didn't happen here, of course, I mean, his demise, some days before it happened, some guests complained of hearing banging and screeching noises in the middle of the night, coming from the attic room. I was going to ask him about it, but then I didn't. I wonder if things would have been different if he had a check up or something? I can't help thinking I could have done more for him.-
-It is normal to feel that way when things like these happen, but the truth is that, unfortunately, there was probably nothing anyone could do?" said James, launching into a formulaic reassuring speech about unjustified guilt and good intentions, while at the same time his mind processed the newly acquired facts. The connection had finally been made; it was the carpenter all along. From the first foreboding feelings when he had been told about the trip, to the apparition not letting him board his plane home.
-He was rather "particular," in a good way.- carried on the woman, who seemed to have appreciated his words -A kind soul, but it was very difficult to get his attention; he always seemed to be somewhere else. Not that he was rude; he was probably thinking about his work, a single-minded person, as they say. He didn't care much about a chat, oh, and you should have seen how diligent he was and how flawless was everything he made.-
-And, did he always finish what he started?- said James, feeling uneasy at using a spirit's words, as if they could unwantedly summon him.
-Always!- said the woman, -But he didn't like anyone seeing his work before it was finished. There was a time when he was commissioned some work in the hall of a public building and except for the helpers he didn't allow anyone to go through there, so they had to temporarily open a new entrance?-
The lady laughed but soon seemed to grow sad again.
-Quiet as he was, he felt so much as a part of this place; we did talk a few times, and I always enjoyed his company very much.-
-I'm sorry if I brought up a sad topic.- said James, anxious to end the conversation.
-Oh, not at all. I'm always glad to talk about him.- said the lady becoming cheerful again- And I have already been thinking about him these days. The flower festival was something he really enjoyed. I had never seen someone enjoy the simple things so much, like the sunset, or the trees. One day he said he had spent the whole night looking at the stars reflected on the water of the small lagoon in the park.-
-Sounds like a nice, quiet place.- said James then, remembering the picture from the night table drawer- Is it somewhere near here?
-Yes, indeed. It's just half way from downtown, going down our main street, on the right, you can't miss it. It is such a peaceful place. There is a bench in front of the lagoon; that was where he liked to sit.-
He felt suddenly that this last reminiscence of the carpenter had stirred something in the air; a sense of imminent danger, and it was time to leave before something happened. He thanked the lady hurriedly. She apologized again for the room not being available and gave him her card so he could call next time he was going to visit the town and she would make sure to keep the room free for him.
James went out of the building and rested his backpack on the pavement. He looked up at the room's only window. On the card the lady gave him was the picture of a sunflower. A different subject from the room's carvings, but much similarly styled, and for a moment James felt as if the sea animals and plants were calling him from the room's woodwork, for some reason, begging him to stay.
"So you died untimely? Mr Lucen. What is it that you want? And what is it that you finished?" thought James, putting away the card. He needed to know, but wished he didn't get an answer to those questions right away. Not yet, and not there. If he was to communicate with a spirit, he needed a quiet place, with lots of space. The pond in the park seemed a fine location, and, hopefully, it would be as nearly deserted as the streets, thanks to the flower growers' events.
He picked up his bag and started walking down the street. The sun was now high in the blue sky and few cars passed by. The only people he encountered were a group of cheerful hikers going the opposite direction. Everyone seemed nice there, so far. And even Adrian Lucen was said to be so, in spite of his persistent and angry behaviour in his dreams and visions. If he died young, there could have been things he wanted to do and couldn't; his spirit might be restless due to some unfinished business or just because he hadn't fulfilled his life's mission. It was understandable, James thought, and, in fact, he could very much relate.
As he grew up in a family where the calling to follow was so clear and had been embraced with so much zeal for generations, he had been haunted by visions of chaos, and had always feared not fitting in, being somehow different, less worthy, and the one who was more likely to fall short of fulfilling their mission in life: their loyal service to historic memory and its protection from oblivion.
That was one of the fears that were like clouds on a beautiful sunny day. In a wonderful life, full of cherished people and meaningful moments. It had been just a vague, but terrible, premonition, coming up now and then, that one day, one of those sad and fearful ghosts from his visions would get too close, and that would be all it would take.
The phone rang but he ignored it. He knew it was not Claire, to whom he had already spoken to cancel their dinner. And she had, as always, most selflessly, pretended not to be annoyed by another change of plans. It was his team back home. And he had already answered a hundred questions, told them that something important would hold him there a bit longer but that he would soon take the train and join them the following day, in time for the meeting.
At first, the park was just wild grass and a set of paths between groups of trees, separated from the road by a low wooden fence. He stepped over the fence and started walking along one of the paths in the warm air, sometimes finding the cool shadow of the trees. As it had been his hope, he hardly encountered any people. The grove wasn't dense and he could soon see the bulgy crowns of some willows around a pond. He approached the wooden bench facing the water, still feeling nothing, except for some slight chills he had started to experience in spite of the shining sun. He stood still for a moment, looking at the beautiful small pond and the delightful willows. The place had a whimsical air that set it apart from the more commonplace stretches of nature that had brought him there; it was like being in the man's drawing, as James could remember it. The talented carpenter had been able to perfectly capture the atmosphere of the place.
Everything looked so peaceful that he was tempted to doubt himself and disregard all of the morning's strange occurrences to continue his journey, were it not for the certainty that if he headed to the train station, it would all happen again. The place was now completely empty. He left his backpack on the bench and went back to face the water. Whether he liked it or not, the time had come to try to summon the dead.
-Adrian Lucen, I'm here at your pond. Why don't you come now and tell me clearly what you want? I'll listen. Just, please, don't come too close.-
He had said it aloud with little conviction, part of him wishing his words would have no effect at all. He sighed, waiting for something to happen, then went to sit on the bench and rested his eyes with the sight of the still water.
His mind began to wander. Life is so changeable. For so many, it quickly shifts from happiness to despair, and, hopefully, back to happiness. For him, from enjoying the secrets of a quaint little town to not knowing when he would be able to go back home. That made him think of the tide, continuously rising and falling, and of the moon from his dream, huge above the sea and shining in the water.
Then his head was filled with memories of the excavation for the artifacts he had now come to borrow. For a week he had been a guest of the beautiful, sunny coastal region, in charge of supervising the final part of the extraction. He had been to the underwater caves where wonderful fish shimmered in the glints of light through the water, and he had entered that cave with the internal pond, and seen its light, the moon's again, reflected in the still water. The happiness he had felt then was now coming back over him, happiness, because he didn't know a better word to define it, maybe it was something more transcendental.
Suddenly, it seemed to him that he could recognize the same emotion coming from the sight of the attic room's carvings the night before. Just then he started to notice something on the water. A colorful reflection, as if it came from the colors of a rainbow, but there was none in the sky.
The light started to change and everything around him became wondrous. The sky grew bluer, the trees taller, a sensation he hadn't experienced before came over him, or rather a depth of sensations, something similar to sweetness, or bliss, as if his understanding had been expanded, as if he was looking into an infinite ocean, not a pond. A state full of thoughts that went beyond words, he felt calm but ecstatic, till he started feeling he was moving beyond a point of no return. A thought got into his mind, enshrouding all the others. Was this how death felt?
He grew worried. He had sensed someone next to him, the excitement became fear, as when one discovers to have been left stranded, lost in an unknown and dangerous city at night. The man was sitting next to him. His look was grave. His voice didn't have an audible sound but he could understand his words accompanied by the roaring sound of the waves.
-I finished it. Please?-
He had gotten too close. A sharp pain to his head made James bend over. The bright colors had turned into pitch black darkness, and the certainty he was going to die. He searched for the small silver cross he wore under his shirt, trying to remember an appropriate prayer, when he felt the grasp of fingers around his wrists. But their touch was not freezing this time, it felt warm.
The pain subdued, and he saw something grayish fluttering in front of him. It was a newspaper, a woman was fanning it over his face as he lay on his back near his luggage. The sound of the sea faded, and he could hear her voice.
-Are you okay? I say, they should remove that thing before it kills someone.-
-Remove what?- James said, trying to sound as calm as possible. His ears still rang and his head was spinning, but he managed to sit up and start standing. The day remained sunny, with only a gentle breeze.
-Easy! - said the woman, holding him by the arm. She wore a floral dress and at her side was a large basket filled with flower seed packets. -I mean this bench.- she said pointing. -That's where he died. The crazy guy. They found him here, about just here where you are now. I just know he used to sit there and he doesn't seem to like others taking his place. At least, I have myself seen people run away as if they had been spoked. And a few months ago, a tourist almost drowned in the lagoon, and he said? well, not much because he didn't speak the language, but it was "him." I know.-
The woman paused her uninterrupted speech to take a breath. -Well, I don't want to make you more uneasy. And he was a nice person, you know? And we like visitors. But better stay away from his bench. Maybe, if he's still around, he might've gotten a bit territorial about his favourite sitting spot.-
-Thank you so much for your help.- said James smiling warmly at the woman. -You are really kind. And thank you for the information. I will stay away from his bench from now on.-
She smiled back sweetly. James picked up his backpack to leave.
-Have you been to the Spring Flower Festival?- He heard the woman yell, as he was walking towards the path back to the road. -That's a better place to be than here.-
-I still haven't.- said James.
-Well, go sometime! That is something that needs to be seen.-
When James turned to look at the pound one last time before heading for the main gate, she was still standing there, holding her basket of seeds and looking at the water.
He decided he would walk part of the way downtown, and was eating another chocolate bar from the assortment in his backpack, when the phone rang. This time he knew he should answer.
-James? Would it be really so bad if there were only this life?
James sighed.
-Picture this: after a meaningful life, it just ends here. During your time you enjoy what you have, no ghosts, no need for unexplainable accidents orchestrated by your mind to keep beliefs alive, just the world and the people you love. Then one day, it ends. Just nothing, peace and silence. Doesn't it sound bearable to you, even desirable?-
-You're right Horace, you have convinced me. Now, can you make that happen?-
-It is what happens, my friend. Except that some people have awful lives but it doesn't need to be your case.-
-But it's a fact that energies remain; they don't just disappear. How can we know what shape they take? And you are always saying we can't be sure about anything, so, why should we now accept, as a fact, that that is what happens?- said James, getting into that state of excitement that accompanied every conversation about the topic of their long-standing dispute.
-Well, I had to try.- said Horace, his voice calm and dull as usual -Seeing it won't work, I'll try the other way. The name you wrote by mistake belongs to a local craftsman: Adrian Lucen.
-I know!- said James.
-Of course you know. You must have read about him when you were preparing to visit the town, or maybe long ago, and then forgotten. Something you saw or heard after you got there then brought about the hidden memories. Now you think you are seeing him and you won't leave till you have put the facts together, or something. And what you said about the words you heard, something about "finishing something," well, that makes sense too?are you there?-
-Yes, yes, please go on.- said James, who was listening expectantly.
-In an article following the man's death it was mentioned that he had been commissioned a set of display cases by the town's museum, yes, the same museum you're dealing with, so that's how you could have known, and he never finished the job.-
James started feeling that the day had turned colder and darker.
-Now, I don't know what we are going to do with this information. Because if you think you have to help the spirit with his unfinished business, then? well?probably you could try to finish the job, but that would take time.-
James felt a heavy gaze on him and slowly turned to look. The man stood still, about 10 feet from him. There was now even more pleading in his discolored eyes. James set down his backpack.
-Don't come closer.- he whispered, and lowered his eyes, trying to harness the thoughts that ran wild around in his head. A few passerbys glanced at him trying to determine what he was doing, but he didn't notice them. A series of images was rushing through his mind: the lively carvings, the artifacts excavation, the museum, the attic room, the underwater caves: at the bottom of one of them, a glint of light. When he looked back up, the man was gone.
-James!?-
-Maybe it won't take that long; he may have finished it after all. Thank you so much! It is all starting to make sense. I need to go to the museum right now. If I settle this soon enough, I might be able to make it back in time. You're a great friend.- James said, speaking over the confusion of sea sounds and thoughts still stirring in his head, and paying no attention to whether his friend was still talking. -I'll call you back soon. Thanks again.-
He hung up, grabbed his bag quickly, and hailed a cab.
A few minutes later, he was once more walking through the museum door carrying his luggage. He asked to see his fellow curator and was taken to the lounge, where the staff were having their morning break. He was offered some coffee, which he gladly accepted, before rather abruptly cutting to the chase regarding the reason for his visit: he wanted to see the unfinished display case commissioned for the coastal region artifacts. By that point, he didn't care anymore what they would make of such a request.
The curator readily agreed to show him the case, and was thrilled to talk about the topic. He had overseen the works himself. Lucen had been an interesting collaborator; a missed artist, in the curator's view, with great talent for painting and sculpting but whose greatest enjoyment was building with wood. His vision for the project for the display cases had blown the curator's mind. Lucen had shown him a preliminary version that would have turned the exhibition into an unforgettable experience.
-He drew a sketch on the chalkboard and then erased the whole thing; he didn't like his work to be seen before it was finished. I should have taken a picture without him noticing; I've tried to recall the details, but I can only remember the feeling, how it moved me? And it was just a sketch. Imagine if it has been brought to life.-
Only the external part had been completed, but it gave such a strong impression of something incomplete that it felt unsuitable to house the artifacts. The curator offered to show it to James anyway, and led him to the double doors at the end of the hall, which he now unlocked.
Inside the room stood a monumental set of wood and crystal cases arranged in a circular pattern, with elaborately shaped tops that rose and fell, evoking all at once the sea waves, the cliffs, the depths. A big circular flat lamp, probably not working at its full capacity, barely lit the room with a somewhat yellow-tinted light that reminded of moon light. And there, in the wood, not easy to see at first, it would slowly emerge a multitude of sealife, the slick fish with the smiling eyes and his companions, as if they had moved there from the attic room. The ensemble even gave the illusion of the floor sinking in some places, and there were some holes in the floor for some artifacts to be placed. James felt amazed, moved and uneasy at the same time, while a vision of the completed case started to overlap with the half empty room. It was a circular set of smaller cases that reminded of a tide pool, where the starfish seemed to move around the stones. Something in that setting made that limited space seem limitless.
He could hear the curator say that while Lucen was building the outer part, he was also finishing the blueprints for the centerpiece.
-He would show me the blueprints when I returned from a trip abroad. But unfortunately, when I came back, it was only to hear the terrible news. Looks like we'll never see it finished. None of the possible projects to complete it seem satisfying. Perhaps we should have it dismantled but any time anyone has intended to do so, they've been overwhelmed by feelings and the start date is always pushed back until the task is abandoned. He was much appreciated, and he liked to finish what he started.-
-I know.- said James, absentmindedly -Do you think I could? just? look at it for a while?
-Oh, sure, sure? take your time. It might be incomplete but it's still a remarkable piece. Would you look for me when you're done? I'll be around.-
When the curator had left, James put down his bag and let the sensations that drifted around the place take over. He couldn't see the carpenter but he could feel him clearly, along with the cool breeze of the sea and the quietness of the underwater caves. It seemed to be all connected to the sky above the sea, and beyond, as if that room had a special energy that let one see beyond a common exhibition; it displayed the whole universe and the core of life. Again James felt that known fear of going too far into unknown territory, and remembering his dream, the underwater caves, the glint of light, started looking for a way to reach the lowest part of the cases.
There was a square hatch to a tunnel under the floor boards near where the rows of cases started, probably necessary for the operation of some electrical devices to be placed inside the casing. James lifted the hatch, but hesitated before moving on. Suddenly, a sense of danger came over him. Was that a trap? Where was Lucen? Would he be waiting at the deepest part of the tunnel to corner him, and then? .
He shook his head and jumped into the narrow, square corridor. He knew what he had to do, despite fear. He crouched to enter the 3-foot-high passage, determined to reach the lowest point, where he could access the floor-level display cases.
Soon he found himself in darkness. He turned on his phone's flashlight and illuminated the dusty wooden planks and abandoned cobwebs. He kept going forward and downwards, and the wood turned into rock and sand, and the hissing air turned into cold water and the sounds of the sea. It seemed to him he was descending deeper and deeper.
He started to sense a strong presence and the light of his phone went off. "Please don't come close." he thought "I'll help you but stay away!" He kept moving forward, his heart racing, the tunnel seemed too long to be running under the case. He saw light in front of him, beams of light through the water. A fish swam by him with a smiley expression. He must have reached the deepest part of the case. The light had to be coming through the crystal cover on the floor. He bent on his knees and felt the ground, debris and dust, and the pain of sharp things hurting his fingers, but he kept searching, almost unable to think, till he felt a piece of metal.
When the curator came back he was in the company of the director, who was curious to hear what James would have to say about their unfinished display case predicament. When they opened the doors to the dimly lit room, they were surprised to find him standing in the middle of the cases, with sweat on his forehead and dirt on his hands. One of his hands was bloody, and he was trying to clean it with his handkerchief. As soon as he noticed their presence, he looked at them with his habitual calm and kind expression, but seemed unsure of what to say. At last, he held up a key.
The two men looked at each other.
-Gentlemen,- he said, smiling -is either of you closely acquainted with the Sunflower boarding house owner enough to ask her to briefly inconvenience a few of her guests?-
***
At the boarding house, guests didn't need to be inconvenienced because they were all out at the flower grower's competition.
-I assumed the drawer was just stuck; I never noticed the lock.- said the cheerful lady. The other intrigued attendants, the director and curator of the museum, and one of the boarding house staff watched while James opened the lock and drew out a bundle of papers. He handed the papers to the curator without even looking at them. He knew well what they were.
The young man grew white. Then a broad smile appeared on his face.
-My Goodness!-
Unable to speak, he showed the papers to his boss.
-Is that really??- was all the man could say, before breaking into a burst of laughter.
Excitement ran through the attendants and plans were made to complete the display case.
-How can we thank you for this?- the director told James.
-There's no need at all. It was a pleasure.- he said.
Among the committee was the carpenter, now smiling, and not looking frightening at all. As James saw him disappear, he felt he was taking with him some of his fear of not being able to complete his mission. We never know how things are going to work out, he thought, and just to be remembered fondly, or maybe not even that, if one was able to do good while alive and help others experience the uniqueness of life, that would be enough.
Finishing the display case wasn't even necessary. They already remembered him warmly. He had lived according to his nature and created something beautiful for the world. That would have been enough; maybe finishing things was not the point in life, after all. Maybe endings in life were not as determinant as he had thought.
-We are much indebted to you, my friend.- the museum's director said smiling -And as we will need quite some time to finish building the display that will house the coastal artifacts collection, if you agree, said looking at his curator, who nodded decisively, -your museum can keep it for the time you'd initially requested.-
James grinned, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by a confusion of thoughts, just, this time, all positive. His director would be thrilled; now the trip to the town had turned into a total win. For a while, he searched for the right words to express his gratitude.
-Thank you very much.-
He said at last.
The End