CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Albert developed an obsession with the plate. What was once a vehicle escaping his darkness grew to be much more. He now subscribed to Mitchell’s belief of far greater potential and wanted to uncover its’ truths. Mitch was right; standing on the plate for ninety-nine minutes to see the world again was meaningless. There had to be more and Albert decided there was something he wanted from it too.
After Mitchell’s visit he ‘clicked’ his way to the local library. There he found Ms Albright behind her desk diligently running a library few would appreciate. While technology afforded ease of research, Albert preferred more time-honoured methods. The shelves interred volumes of knowledge for anyone bothering to look. He felt more at home in the quiet surrounds of the library than the solidarity of his home on an ironically less personable laptop.
“Hello Albert,” Lucinda Albright greeted him joyfully. Inevitability, a lady bestowed the moniker Lucinda Albright would find her vocation a librarian. That was true, but as the name implied she had a cheerful disposition and thoroughly loved her work. Lucinda made certain the domain she managed was an archetypal refuge for her customers.
“What can we do for you today?”
Albert used the library for everyday tasks. Paying bills, reading the news, but today came for another purpose. He asked Lucinda for help finding some information on the history of their local community. The benefit of a council facility was it held many treasures otherwise hard to find and prioritised supporting community needs. The history of the suburb was sure to be found hidden somewhere among the archives.
“I’m after some historical details about the area. More particularity the stages of its development.”
“Anything in particular Albert?” Lucinda asked.
“Yes, actually there is. I am hoping to learn more about the telephone cables around the suburbs. When they were laid exactly. Not sure if there will be anything about that, but it would be helpful to find out.”
“That’s a tricky one Albert, what are you up to?” she asked quizzically. He returned only a smile. Lucinda asked him to take a seat and give her a few minutes. Albert sat quietly listening to the sound of silence echo the building. A library was supposed to be silent, but this one was spooky. No rustling of pages or suppressed coughing. The place was empty. Not a soul in the building save Albert and Lucinda. It would mean her undivided attention and he wouldn’t have to troll through the volumes of books himself. Albert doubted any had been converted to his special ‘speaking books’ anyway and thought what a lonely existence the devoted librarian must have with the number of visitors dwindling each week. That was a shame really, a library could be a fascinating place. Lucinda returned from the office and invited Albert to join her in a more secluded corner of the library.
“Come with me Albert, I think I’ve have found what you need,” she offered while confidently taking his left arm in her hand.
In a quiet corner of the municipal library stood a lone Microfiche machine now made a relic of technology. Microfiche is a card made of transparent film used to store printed information in miniaturized form. To read a card, the user places it under the lens of a reading machine magnifying it greatly. The small size of the film enables easy and efficient storage, allowing libraries, museums and businesses to increase their resource collection without need of additional storage space.
The old library refused to dispose of the once revolutionary machine, and under safe keeping within the office, held a plethora of journals, magazines, and newspapers shrunk for prosperity. Lucinda carried a neat wooden box labelled The Vanguard 1950 – 1970 containing hundreds of tiny beige envelopes. The Vanguard was the community newspaper servicing many suburbs in the area. Having started life after World War Two in the garage of a local businessman, it grew to become the pre-eminent authority of local news in the area. Inside the envelopes were tiny copies of every Vanguard edition going to press over a twenty-year period. Lucinda explained the Microfiche process to Albert who recalled the Navy using the device for record storage.
“If what you are looking for isn’t in here, then we are never going to find it,” she said to Albert who now sat next to her.
Like most outer city developments in Sydney during the post war era, the suburb started as grazing land owned by wealthy pastoralists. With a growing population in need of affordable housing, the landowners quickly realised they could make greater fortunes selling land blocks to the state government. During a period of rapid growth in the 1950’s, the suburb transformed from a collection of market gardens to subdivided quarter acre plots. Sealed roads and sewerage enticed even greater masses. But in the 1960’s things exploded. Transport networks, sporting facilities, parklands and shopping districts opened up freely. And of course the telephone network grew. Old copper wires once slung long distances between aging telegraph poles found their way into an underground maze of concrete wormholes where they lay to this day. The telephone network was completed in 1962.
Lucinda flipped through the neat array of envelopes finding one labelled index and slipped it into the archaic looking machine. While Albert couldn’t see, the thousand tiny words etched into the plastic were displayed on a liquid display monitor.
“Sorry Albert, what exactly are you looking for? Telephone lines was it?” she asked for the second time.
“Yes Lucinda. I’m interested when the lines were first laid in the area and when the whole development was finished,” Albert explained in a little more detail.
The librarian scrolled down the alphabetised index stopping at ‘T’. There were hundreds of entries containing relevant journal pages and where they could be found among the thousand more held within the tiny card.
“Albert, there are two entries. Telephone Lines Rolled Out, and Rouge Worker Found in Manhole. Would they be a suitable start you think?”
Albert’s ears pricked and he asked if she could find the first entry. The card had a suffix number of 1959-24 indicating the article would be found in the twenty-fourth edition of the newspaper printed in 1959. Lucinda carefully removed the index slide and replaced it in the wooden box. She then flicked through the tabs marked 1959. The Vanguard at the time was a fortnightly publication and she found twenty-two, twenty-three, and then the one she needed.
“Found it Albert! Let me load it into the projector,” she said excitingly. Lucinda’s curiosity grew the longer she spent looking. Sure enough, there in bold type on the front page was the banner headline TELEPHONE LINES ROLLED OUT. Lucinda read the article to Albert who listened intently. He was only after one piece of information, a date. While the story was padded with typical journalistic flare, the key points reported the network of subterranean copper wires had commenced being laid with an expected completion date within eighteen months.
“What’s the date of the paper Lucinda?” Albert asked sharply. She scrolled the cursor upward declaring Thursday, 17th December 1959.
Albert did the math. Adding five hundred and forty days, the cables would’ve been operational by June 1961 at the earliest. He was pleased with his theory and even more appreciative of the librarian’s assistance. Albert thanked Lucinda for her help, assuring her he’d found what he needed. The old Microfiche machine was shut down, not knowing when it would again be required, and Albert ‘clicked’ his way from the library and headed home to call Mitchell.
≈
Always a man of his word, Mitch returned from the restaurant to take Peanut on her promised walk. Just lacing his shoes caused her to bark loudly but during the frenzy his phone rang. It was Albert. He couldn’t ignore the call again and greeted his friend learning he needed to see him urgently.
“Albert, not a problem, but I can’t for a few days. How about Saturday afternoon? Are you around?” he asked as if Albert’s schedule was as busy as his own. “Great, why don’t you come over at our usual hour - I can tell we might be needing a drink.”
Mitch grabbed his trusty walking stick lying dormant in the living room corner and restrained the Nut as they left the house. What was once a daily habit seemed a lifetime ago and both were happy to be following normal routine again. The plate stole too much of Mitchell’s time, and perhaps the restaurant visit would be his last journey? He wasn’t sure. But it was good to be out. Old friends enjoying what they’d spent months perfecting.
Deliberately avoided the plate he choosing a bush track abutting the houses leading to a fire trail used by emergency services. They hadn’t been that way in a long time and the bush offered a pleasant respite from the manmade paths and noisy traffic they’d recently been travelling. Peanut too clearly welcomed the change finding many new scents along the way. She left her mark on each; letting other dogs know she’d been there before them. It was her turf now. She was untethered as always and free to roam as she pleased. And roam she did. Darting in and out of small shrubs, the crunch of dried foliage beneath her paws telling Mitch where she was and everything was fine.
Mitch let her explore and took time to forget the plate and focus on tomorrow’s lunch with Sarah. He’d told her he knew the perfect spot. That was a white lie at the time but having spent only a few minutes in the tranquillity of the suburban bush, decided a picnic in the National Park would be ideal. He was pleased and started making mental notes of what to do and gather for tomorrow.
Not long after he felt a vibration in his pocket immediately followed by the faint sound of an email chime. Probably just the electricity bill reminder. It could wait. But curiously got the better of him and he checked to see what it was. He read one word on the screen almost collapsing to the ground.
In the subject banner were six letters. ISRAEL. It could only be from Juliana!
There were no other words. No greeting. Just a jpeg attachment. In his excitement Mitch fumbled to press the download icon and impatiently waited the five seconds it took to process. Finally, the blurred pixels grouped to become an image.
The Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. The iconic stone wall, a venue of pilgrimage and prayer for Jewish people since the 16th century.
And there was Juliana. Right in front of it looking lovely as ever. She was beautiful. But it was neither the towering stonework nor her perfect smile drawing his attention. It was the mulberry scarf draped over her head, falling loosely around her shoulders. Juliana was wearing the scarf Mitchell gave the restaurant waiter days ago, no years ago. She’d obviously received the gift and taken it travelling as Mitch implied in the card. He was ecstatic seeing it on her and knew he’d changed the past. And quite clearly the future.
He stared at the image for an eternity, a tear forming in the corner of his eye, thankful Peanut occupied herself somewhere amongst the new smells of the bush. But looking at it wouldn’t bring Juliana back. Mitch saved the image and closed the email it came with. When he did, his eye drew to the inbox of received emails. There were at least a dozen from Juliana waiting to be opened. All marked in bold type signifying they hadn’t been read.
What the fuck!
Mitch dropped to a nearby boulder quelling his shaking legs. He couldn’t believe the list and scrolled to the top opening them chronologically. None had messages but each held a picture attachment with a location typed in uppercase letters within the subject box.
The first email contained a photograph of Juliana on the shores of Phra Nang Beach on the island of Krabi in Thailand. The mulberry scarf wrapped around her waist, sarong like, revealing her bronzed legs before disappearing into the crystal-clear waters. From the date it was sent, it would have been one of the first countries she visited.
In the next, cherry blossom trees and their colourful bloom didn’t highlight the ancient grey watchtowers and crenels of the Great Wall of China. Rather, it was the purple hue of the scarf tied around Juliana’s neck bringing the picture to life. In Machu Picchu the scarf was the only colour set before a background of deep green rainforest and blue cloudless skies.
It looked blustery on Lake Michigan with the Chicago skyline standing tall in the background. Again, the mulberry scarf took pride of place around Juliana’s neck, keeping her warm and allowing a smile Mitchell remembered and loved.
In Egypt, the elegance of the Sphinx paled insignificant to Juliana adorning the scarf as a headdress keeping the sand from her hair. Tied in a bun and showing her gorgeous face tourists would have found difficult to ignore. And in London, the scarf was wrapped around her wrist forming part of an evening dress for a night out in Shaftsbury Avenue.
There were photos from France and Italy among others, but Mitchell’s favourite was in the middle of Red Square, Moscow. In every photo, all seventeen of them, Juliana wore the scarf in a different fashion, and each time looking exquisite. She made it look exquisite and was beautiful in every shot. The colour hadn’t faded as the sales assistant promised, and it shimmered a distinct shade in every photo dependant on conditions. The scarf never looked the same and Juliana appeared born to wear the striking piece of silk.
The mulberry scarf had travelled the world with Juliana, and each time she wore it, she let Mitchell know. She carried a part of him wherever she went.
Was she thinking of him when she wore it?