Empty Pages

“This book will help someone when they need it most” said the old man.

It didn’t look like it help anybody when they need it most, thought Maria. It was an old, pocket sized, leather bound notebook with a silk ribbon attached from the spine. The corners looked rounded but comforting and the black leather was soft, although it was scuffed and scratched with a smudge on the front cover.

“May I look inside?” asked Maria, curiously while fiddling with the charms on her bracelet.

“You may” said the old man, gently sliding the notebook across the counter. Maria picked it up and carefully opened the ivory pages, to see the secrets held within.

The first page was blank. Maria turned the page and found the second page was also blank. And the third, fourth and fifth. She flicked the pages with her thumb and then stared blankly at the old man. An empty home, waiting to be filled with new memories.

“Grandpa Frankie, this book is empty,” she said, unimpressed. “Of all the books in your store, you’ve given me the only book which is blank.”

Maria gestured around the dusty old bookshop. “Look. You have books on Italian Art History! Books on the Russian Revolution! Grandpa, you even have a book about this new Live Aid thing everyone’s talking about? All of these amazing books... and your recommendation is a second-hand, empty old notebook?”

The old man smiled and picked up the old notebook. His dark complexion, grizzled accent and wrinkled features gave away his age and his eyes told a thousand war stories.

“I did not say it was my recommendation, child. I said it will help someone when they need it most”.

“But it doesn’t have anything in it. You’re not going to tell me it’s written with invisible ink are you Grandpa?” Maria said rolling her eyes.

“No invisible ink. You always think you have an answer for everything, Maria. Now take the book and go home child. I love you but I have paying customers too, you know”.

* * * * *

A rattle of bullets flew over Francesco’s head. He looked up and saw smoke rising from the belly of a burning tank and he saw a Spitfire chasing a Messerschmidt across the grey sky above him.

As men around him scrambled through the mud, the loud crack of grenades exploding to his left caused him to instinctively recoil backwards into a ditch for cover. The ditch was thick with tarry mud and spent rifle shells emanated the stench of gunpowder. Francesco crawled low on his belly along the ditch, trying desperately to find some cover.

“Take this” said a voice, uncomfortably close to him. Francesco realized he had rolled up against his Platoon Major Giulo, his uniform sodden with rainwater and blood and he was gasping for air.

Major Giulo had led Francesco’s platoon since he joined up in ’39 and they’d spent many a night during this wretched war playing cards and reminiscing about their home. Major Giulo was a veteran from the previous war, the one they called The Great War which ended some twenty years earlier. Everybody in the Platoon knew of Giulo's heroic exploits on the Western Front and they had all figured he was invincible.

“Take this” groaned Major Giulo “and use it when you get home”.

Francesco reached out and took a small, black notebook from the Major’s bloody hand. Francesco flicked through the pages expecting to see a diary or maybe love letters to a sweetheart left behind.

“It’s empty?” said Francesco.

“No,” gasped the Major, his eyes starting to flicker and fade. “On the last page there are some numbers. All I have is in that account. It’s not much, maybe 200 Swiss francs, but I can’t take it with me, you take it. It might help you when you need it most.”

Francesco put the notebook safely inside his tunic and put his arms around his friend to keep him warm. Maybe just to comfort him.

* * * * *

Daniela needed help.

When her mum died 3 years ago, she’d had to move out of the apartment they’d lived in since she was a small child. Her job didn’t pay well and the there was barely enough left at the end of the month to put gas in her banged out jalopy.

It seemed a long time ago since she’d qualified as a nurse and although it had been fun when her friends were calling her Florence Nightingale, the truth was that the night shifts were long, lifting patients was backbreaking and frankly the uniform did little for her self-esteem.

Since the latest Covid-19 outbreak, the hospital had just been mayhem and the emotional strain had almost been too much for her to bare alone. Going home to her tiny box room, kicking off her battered sneakers and then falling into her single bed had now become her unfortunate and predictable daily routine.

The truth was, it wasn’t the work. Daniela loved her patients and loved making a difference to people’s lives. A cancer ward could be a heart-breaking place for families and being able to play her part in their loved ones remission was reward in itself.

Daniela had convinced herself that she got a real sense of satisfaction from her vocation, it was just the rest of her life that made it difficult. Maybe if she could just afford to fix up the jalopy. Or maybe if she could afford to get into one of the apartments on that new development right next to the hospital. Maybe if she could just get a break now and again, she thought to herself.

* * * * *

Giulo had never opened a bank account before. He’d never needed to because he’d never had any money before. In fact, Giulo wasn’t even entirely sure how to open a bank account.

But now it was different. Now he knew he had hit the big time. He was proud he’d served his country in the Infantry in the Great War, and now he’d returned home a hero with his Army Dividend to spend.

Giulo had been considering where the safest place would be to invest his money for some time now. With rumours of a great depression in America and the mess in Europe from the end of the Great War last year, Giulo had decided the best place would be somewhere neutral – a Swiss bank account seemed like a safe bet.

Giulo had filled in the bank teller’s forms and happily passed the bundled notes across for counting. The teller converted the amount into Swiss Francs and discreetly passed him a handwritten piece of paper in detailing the amount.

“200 Swiss Francs??” exclaimed Giulo. “I’m rich” he beamed, and he was right. For a young, decorated soldier in 1921, he was indeed rich, this nest egg should see him long into the future.

After depositing his savings, Giulo went and sat on the far side of the banking hall. The teller had told him it was important he remembered his account number in order to withdraw his money.

Giulo had bought himself a brand new notebook. It was a beautiful, jet black, pocket sized, Italian-leather bound notebook with a shining blue silken ribbon attached from the spine. He opened the book on the back page and made a note of the numbers for his new account.

The rest of the pages remained pristinely untouched. He placed his new notebook back into his breast pocket and patted it gently with satisfaction. Giulo felt confident that one day, all those pristine pages would be filled with details and dreams from his new life. Once he'd left the Army, his nest egg would be waiting for him.

So long as there’s never another wretched war like that last one.

* * * * *

Daniela walked in her front door, kicked off her sneakers and flopped into her armchair. She looked at the clock hanging on her kitchen wall. 8am, and another nightshift just finished.

She idly surfed on her iPhone for a bit and then toyed with the idea of getting some sleep, but then she noticed the picture of her mum stuck on the fridge next to the clock.

Her memory started to sink back to 3 years ago, when her mother finally succumbed to the tumor. There was nothing that could be done at that stage. Daniela wished she could love her back to life again now, her mum always seemed to have an answer to everything.

She kept a small box of memories of her mum in the wardrobe, which she hadn’t been able to bring herself to look at since the funeral. She reached up to the top shelf, moved her scarf out the way and lifted it down to take a peek again.

She opened the lid and fondly examined the various trinkets she’d forgotten were there. There were a few birthday cards and a charm bracelet her mum gave her as a child. There were also some polaroid photographs of her mum, taken long before Daniela was even born. She flipped over one of her mother as a child and saw somebody had made a note of her mother’s name and when it was taken on the back, ‘Maria - 1986’.

At the bottom of the box there was a notebook. It looked like a very old notebook. It was bound in leather with a single strand of tattered silk attached as a bookmark.

The worn leather was faded and very scuffed and scratched and there was a black smudge on the cover. Daniela picked it up and decided it felt like it had been loved. She opened the notebook and flicked through the pages although curiously, they appeared to be blank.

She wondered how old this book was and where it had come from. Why had her mother left her a book with nothing in it?

The silk bookmark strand had become frayed with time. Daniela gently pulled what was left of the strand which was tucked into the last page.

The notebook fell open at the page, and Daniela noticed she had been mistaken. There was writing. Not much, just a series of numbers, hand-written in faded blue ink. ‘201-59-19-97 200 Swiss Francs’

It looked like a phone number maybe. Or perhaps a serial number? No, thought Daniela, that my friend is definitely a bank account number!

Daniela looked again at the cover of the book. How old was it really? Was it really her mother’s notebook? Maybe it belonged to her mother’s mother? Or father? Or Grandfather? Or Great Grandfather? Or Great, Great, – ok stop, she thought.

Wherever it came from, she thought, 200 swiss francs might be worth a fair bit more now!

This was a mystery that was definitely worth looking into. Daniela put her old sneakers back on and grabbed her coat.

She definitely wouldn’t be going to sleep this morning.