Translucent

Chapter 6: The Journal

Dust puffed from the book cover as I blew it. The book sat on my desk, waiting for me to explore it. I used a small cloth to wipe it slowly. The thing might have been in the window seat compartment for decades, so clearly it was fragile. I turned to the cover, again, to analyse the wonderful golden carving.

C. T. Haywood.

My curiosity soared so without further ado, I opened  the book carefully. The first few pages had faded firm set of text and the ink had smudged, making some writings illegible. My hands felt the tattered material beneath my skin as I stroked the dusty surface of the pages.

That was when something thin fell off of them.

I bent down to pick it up, revealing it to be thin piece of paper with a more delicate texture as though it fell into the water and recovered. A single reckless movement could tear the paper apart and the century-old mystery could dissolve forever within my hands, but with the help of two pinsets lodged in my fingers, the paper unfolded into a letter-like document. Before I could even scan through the text, a small square fabric slipped from the bifold. A cloth was tucked neatly inside the letter and much to my horror was scattered rustic-color spots.

I shoved the cloth away quickly and focused on discovering the writing on the letter, yet I found nothing as it was completely indecipherable. The book, the letter, and the blood-smeared cloth had to be related somehow.

Maybe the letter was a will?

The questions only piled up. My brain scrambled to organise which question mattered first: did the stranger die here? How exactly did he die? How were these objects in my hand connected? And most importantly: Who this C.T. Haywood was–the very mysterious entity longing to be discovered.

I returned to the journal, flipping through the pages from halfway through. Relief swept over me as I detected legible writings out of a few. The sturdy and firm handwriting captivated me.

It was a journal.

Tuesday, February 10, 1913

Looking forward for Uncle James's arrival today. Hopes he'll be bringing more exciting stories and pictures from London. I little expect he would bring me something for my 20th birthday present. Last year he bought me a book on projectile motion method. I have high hopes.

1913. I sat still, shaken, my finger stroking the year it was written in. My hand held a museum piece.  It was surreal how intact the piece still was despite its age. I flipped the other pages and stopped when I came across another set of a readable text.

Thursday, April 3, 1913

Stayed late at Norris'. A new equipment would be coming from Glasgow starting next week. Spent the rest of the night catching up with some lads from the Academy at the pub. Charlie would be leaving to America tomorrow.

Friday, April 4, 1913

Thankfully, today was not so busy at Norris'. Worked on a couple cars today before leaving early to go to the library. Mrs. Dunn, the Academy librarian, informed me about new books about new automotive machinery sent from America. It was worth the hours of reading, except Papa wasn't too happy since I went home late. He could give me a hundred reasons to inherit the estate and I still wouldn't comply. In his eyes, I was still his wee lad.

I shuddered in awe at how these writings transformed into a window allowing me to take an intimate glimpse of someone's life a century ago. Furthermore, I found faded records written stating his studies as an engineer. The proof was strengthened by a brief mention about the University of Cambridge. Some mathematical calculations were scattered at the journal page corners.