Buried Treasure

Reggie Somerville was somewhat of an oddity. He had always been an eccentric, but the current world he was occupying made his existence an antiquation. He had settled into island living almost twenty years before, when he and his wife, Moira had retired. (This was at a time when retirement was still possible.) It was everything they planned until it wasn’t. Moira had gone too soon, and Reggie was lost. He had tried the usual things to reacquaint himself with the society in which he now found himself. He frequented coffee shops, soon learning that sitting with a coffee and looking out at the world was a thing of the past. Now people nursed strange concoctions known as pour overs, and allowed the world to pass them by behind the glow of a screen. The island he had known was swarming with hipster aliens and he didn’t enjoy their company one bit. Instead he sought solitude outside, losing himself on hikes or kayaking expeditions. His sons had told him he was too old to be gallivanting off without letting one of them know, but what else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t stay at home, sitting across from Moira’s empty chair all day. When Reggie had fallen on one of his favourite trails, realizing all too late that he had left his phone on the nightstand he thought that perhaps his sons were right. After thirty-two hours on the side of a mountain waiting for the next hiker to pass him by it was a foregone conclusion.

“Here you go Dad!” Daniel said, placing a tea beside him and perching awkwardly on his mothers chair. “How’s the ankle?”

“Fine!” Reggie didn’t need sympathy, he needed an activity.

The mug Daniel had placed beside him was not his. He longed to have the place to himself again. His sons had never really visited the island house, except for Christmas holidays. They were both too busy. Moira had said they should be pleased the boys found themselves working such prestigious jobs, that it was due to their successes as parents.

“Got you something” Daniel said, pulling a box out from the interior room.

The package was long and weighty, Reggie prayed it wasn’t golf clubs.

“It was Stan’s idea,” Daniel continued thrusting it into his father’s lap. He stared for a few moment before pulling at the sellotape. Much to Reggie’s relief he did not find golf clubs, but instead a metal detector.

“It’s to keep you off the mountain trail!” Daniel joked.

“What do I do with it?” Reggie asked, slightly confused.

“I don’t know… find some buried treasure…”

Daniel’s voice trailed off. Reggie had lost interest in what he was saying. The extravagant gift in his lap was not what he had wanted, but then again he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Daniel was right, it would give him something to do, but a few beer caps and a washed up loonie or two was hardly going to pique his interest. Buried treasure was something for fantasy novels, not a retired civil servant from British Columbia.

“Thank you Dan!” he said, appeasing his still nattering son as best he could.

Daniel took the detector off his father’s lap.

“Almost forgot, there’s this too. To log your findings!” Daniel handed over a small black notebook. Reggie nodded his thanks and placed it beside his tea.

Daniel’s phone vibrated from somewhere on his person and he ducked inside the house to take the call. Buried treasure, what a ridiculous idea Reggie thought looking back out across the beach below him.

Buried treasure however, was exactly what Reggie Somerville found that damp August afternoon, on a beach not fifteen minutes from his house.

It was starting to drizzle when Reggie stopped for lunch. He pulled out the black notebook from his backpack, along with a peanut butter sandwich and an apple. At the back of the leather book was a built-in envelope which contained his map of the island. For the past few weeks he had gone beach to beach, combing every inch for what exactly, he wasn’t sure. He shaded in the section he had just covered, then slipped the map back. Taking a bite of his apple, Reggie turned to the front of the book. So far he had filled about ten pages. Ten pages of finely lined Italian paper, vandalized with scribbled notes detailing every worthless and uninteresting piece of metal he had discovered thus far. Today was no different. He wrote the words quickly as the pages started to wilt in the damp weather. Content he had covered every discovery to date he tossed his apple core, and returned the notebook to his backpack. The detector whizzed as he started it back up before the dull beeping began once again as it settled itself on the ground. He had only taken a few steps when a lightening strike lit up the mountains across from him. The rumble of thunder that followed shook the rocks with its resonance. Up ahead he spied a small clearing in the rocks. A second strike caught the trees just below the peak sending up sparks. Reggie picked up his pace reaching the cave just as another rumble echoed around him.

Reggie listened to the sudden rain hitting the water outside resigning himself to the cave for the foreseeable. He decided to use his detector on the packed sand at the back of the cave, more out of whimsy than actual curiosity. When the dull buzzing turned to a frantic beeping Reggie was taken by surprise. As the storm moved away he began to dig, pulling at the sand until his nails grazed against pebble and finally something more, something solid. He pulled it out. A rusted metal box locked with a padlock. Treasure. Switching the flashlight of his cellphone on he turned the box over in his hands. It was old, that much was clear from the box and lock themselves. It was heavy too. Anything more he would have to learn once the box was open. Interest piqued, he decided to brave the rain, placing the box alongside his trusty notebook in the safety of his backpack. He hobbled back across the beach.

Once Reggie had changed out of his soaked clothes, and poured a warm cup of coffee he took out his toolbox. It didn’t take much for the lock to yield. Reggie’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes momentarily filled. He rubbed frantically to clear the water and see again. The box was filled with gold coins. He lifted one up to his kitchen light. It was highly decorative. A central floral motif on one side, surrounded by some kind of Asian calligraphy. On the other, a wreath of leaves, and again calligraphy down the centre. Below the coins were some bills. A Japanese figurehead on one side and a landscape on the other. Reggie kept digging. In the middle of the stack of bills he found something small and hard. Pulling it out he discovered a black leather notebook not so dissimilar to his own. The inside was filled with pencilled calligraphy until the centrefold where he found what he was looking for, a note.

“They are coming for us,” he read. “I have hidden what I can here in this box. If you have found it I have not returned. My name was Atsushi Kitagaki.” Reggie closed the book, collapsing back into his kitchen chair. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined himself swept up in a narrative such as this. Who was coming for this man? Why did he think he would not survive?

“Hello Stan? It’s Dad,” Reggie said, the line slightly echoey.

“Hi Dad! Sorry you’re on speaker. I’m driving.”

“Right. I’ll be quick. If I were to go about finding someone, and all I had was a name, could I?”

There was a pause filled only with the sound of background traffic.

“Sounds ominous,” Stan said.

“I’ve found something on the beach and want to try and return it to its rightful owners.”

“Finally found some treasure!”

“You could say that?”

“Perhaps one of those weird ancestors websites. Mom was always banging on about them, remember?”

Reggie thought back. He vaguely remembered Moira saying something,

“Thanks. I’ll take a look!” Reggie concluded.

“Was it anything good? What you found?”

“Not really.”

Six websites later and he was onto something. A man named Atsushi Kitagaki had lived on the island just before the outbreak of World War 2. Like all Japanese Canadians he had been transported to Hastings Park in Vancouver after Pearl Harbour. That must have been what the letter was alluding to. As Reggie fell deeper down the rabbit hole of Canadian history, he discovered Kitagaki’s name on a list of inmates at the Tashme camp in Hope. Then he was gone. Nothing more to find. Kitagaki disappeared. Had he died? The more Reggie read about the harsh conditions found at British Columbia’s worst internment camp the more he considered it a possibility. His eyes were drying out. Removing his reading glasses he rubbed at his corneas aggressively. He was tired, but doubted he could sleep. Thousands of dollars sat on his kitchen table. He could easily take them to the bank and claim them as his own, finders keepers; but then there was this voice. A nagging voice coming from deep within him. He knew it so well. It was Moira. She was telling him what he already knew to be the right thing. He had to find Kitagaki’s family.

Reggie arched his back, feeling his old muscles creak protestingly. Readjusting his glasses on his nose he returned to scrolling the ancestry site. He had overlooked another branch to the Kitagaki family tree. A sister, who had married a Canadian and taken the name Rydell. Click, after click, after click, and then miraculously she was there. A pretty young girl, Kitagaki’s great-great Niece, and an email address.

***

Reggie didn’t know what to expect. He fidgeted nervously with his tie. The tie was too much. Looking around at the location she had chosen he was sure of that. The box sat on the table before him. The tiny black notebook perched on top. The bell above the coffee shop door jingled.

“Reggie?” she asked approaching his table.

“Yes! Oh it’s so nice to meet you!” he replied, jumping up and shaking her hand ferociously.

“Is this it?” she indicated to the box. “What’s inside?”

Reggie watched her trace the box’s outline.

“I’m sorry,” she said, seeming to catch herself. “This box has become a legend in our family. We all knew about it, or at least we thought we did. But apparently my great Uncle failed to tell anyone what was inside or where he had hidden it. Therefore, it became less fact and more legend!” she laughed.

Reggie urged her on with a nod, and finally shaking off her nervous anticipation the young girl lifted the lid. Her breath caught, much as it had done for Reggie and she slammed the lid down looking around her to see if anyone had noticed what was going on.

“But… that’s…” she stammered.

“About $20,000 Canadian, I took it for an estimation.” He slid across the bank receipt the clerk had given him the week before.

“I can’t take this!”

“Why ever not! It’s yours,” Reggie smiled.

“You could have just taken it. No one would have known,” she whispered.

“I would have known,” he paused before lifting his jacket off the back of his chair, his job done.

“Wait!” She stopped him, leaping to her feet. “Please. Let me at least take you to lunch.”

Reggie looked at the young girl, her hand still pressed against the closed lid.

“That would be lovely,” he said.

A smile broke across her face, and tucking the box safely under her arm they left the coffee shop together.