Salvatore's Secret

“The book, the book, the book! That’s all you think about! Who cares anymore? Except you! Why? After all these years, please tell me why!”

Jonah looked at his sister, and registered the exasperation on her face. He knew he was being stubborn. Ridiculous, even. And he didn’t know what to say to her.

“I can’t explain it, Sal. I don’t even know how to begin to explain. Just let me look. I won’t bother you about it anymore. And I’ll try to help you more--I know how much you have done and keep doing. It’s my weird obsession, not yours. I promise not to let it spill over into my time with mom, since that’s the only real break that you ever get. Okay? Please? Can that be okay?”

Sal sighed. “Let’s give it a try. AGAIN.” She said that last word with resigned, slightly bitter, emphasis. Jonah knew that Sal wasn’t convinced by his words, because she had heard them all before, and Jonah had broken that same promise to her more than once, and wandered off again and again into his weird world of obsession with “The Book.”

“The Book” was something of a family legend in the house when Sal and Jonah had been growing up. Their maternal grandfather, Salvatore Witten (Sal was named in his honor), had been the originator of the “The Book,” and, although the children had never met him, they had heard their mother tell stories of her father and “The Book,” and his near-constant scribblings within it during her own childhood. “What did he write about?” the children would ask their mother. “All sorts of little things, I suppose,” she would reply. “All I remember is how small and fine his writing was, with numbers and little drawings--maps, maybe--of streets and shop locations and places he had been to.....,” and she would drift off into happy memories of her childhood. “How big was it?” they asked each time. “Oh,” she said, grabbing her favorite old book from the shelf, “almost this big.” “What color was it?,” they chimed in unison. “Oh, it was black, soft leather, worn from the years, but well-bound...solid,” she responded each time. “Someday,” she told them, “all of its magic and mysteries will be yours!” Her eyes would sparkle with mischief, but she never told them a single detail more.

But mother wasn’t mother anymore, not really. After their father had died in an accident, their mother had suffered a stroke, and now she sat, mostly silently, rocking in her recliner, looking out the open windows, listening to the birds sing, and the traffic pass, and the noises of the neighborhood. She would smile, try to gesture at things that pleased her, and mumble sounds that she wanted to be real words, but weren’t. Sal was her hero now. Sal took care of her, fed her, talked to her about all manner of things to keep her mind active. She always had a smile for Sal.

Mom always had a smile for Jonah, too, at least whenever he was around. Jonah was all over the place--work, travel, social life, sports, and, of course, sleuthing for “The Book.” “The Book” was actually Jonah’s excuse for not being around a lot--he went to meet people who knew mom or her parents, and asked them if they knew anything about “The Book.” He travelled to their grandfather’s hometown in the “Old Country” (Germany), trying to find people who might have known Grandfather Witten, looking for the places that Grandfather Witten had lived, looking for other relatives who could shed some light on this mysterious book that would help Jonah find it. From these travels and inquiries, Jonah now had a network of friends scattered around Europe, who wrote or visited, sent copies of old photos, and generally made Sal feel even lonelier than she actually was, staying home with mother each day. But Jonah would always come back, whether for an hour, a day, or a week, and tell mom the most animated stories of his adventures and travels, with intricate descriptions of the people, and the food, and the places that he had seen! And how mom’s face would light up! Whether it was the stories he told, or the enthusiasm with which he told them, Sal could see how much mom enjoyed Jonah’s triumphant returns, even if his travels never really brought him any closer to actually finding The Book.

The days went on after Sal and Jonah’s latest argument over The Book, and Jonah was, for the most part, true to his word. He came over more, let Sal get out more, and helped Sal pay the bills. But, when Jonah was alone with mom, he still tried to talk to her about The Book, but she didn’t smile now. She became agitated, her eyes got darker, her face contorted. Jonah was afraid to tell Sal why mom was so upset every time she returned. So, he started to fall into the old pattern again, coming less frequently, skipping scheduled visits, leaving town for work. Thus, it was a surprise when she heard him screech up in front of the house one morning at 7am, slam the car door, and come running through the back door into the kitchen.

“Sal! Sally! Salvation Isabelle Witten Bradley! SAL!!!! Where are you? SAL! SAL! SAAAAAAAALLLLL! He was wild-eyed and flushed, but smiling, and completely out of breath.

“Geez, Jonah! Calm down a bit! You’re gonna wake all of the neighbors! And scare mom! What’s going on?” Sal had been up most of the night trying to get some work done, and pay the bills, and she was in no mood for Jonah’s wild hollering.

“Sal! Sally! Salvation! SAL!!!! SALLY! SAL!” Jonah was still jubilantly screaming. “Look! Looky-looky-look!” He shoved an open envelope and a letter at Sal. She stared at him. “WELL LOOK AT IT,” he boomed!

The letter was from a bank in Germany. It was the trustee of a trust set up by their grandfather, Salvatore Witten nearly 70 years earlier. The bank indicated that the trust had been informed (by one of Jonah’s European acquaintances) of their mother’s residence in the United States, and that the trust was due to begin making distributions to the beneficiaries. It asked that, if the recipient could assist to identify the offspring of Magda Witten, the bank would contact them directly.

Sal and Jonah spent half of the day figuring out what time it was in Germany, and then waiting until the bank was open in order to call. They had no idea what to expect, but Sal had to admit, it was a little exciting.

When they finally got through, the manager told them the terms of the trust (using Sal’s high school German and the manager’s somewhat more fluent English). Any living offspring of Magda Witten (their mother, and Salvatore’s only child) on the first day of the year were entitled to receive a distribution from the trust. If Magda was still living, then she, too, would receive a distribution. But there was a catch. The beneficiaries had to produce The Book and to follow the instructions written at the end in order to collect.

“See! I knew it was important! You should have let me keep looking!” Jonah blurted when they hung up the phone.

“Me? When could I ever stop you? Maybe for a week or two here or there! Don’t make this my fault!” Sal knew she had always downplayed search for The Book, but she was stung by Jonah’s accusations.

There was a sudden crash from the living room. The both yelled, “Mom?” and ran to find mom on the floor, half of the bookshelf’s contents scattered around her, with her arms outstretched, her mouth open, but no words. “Mom!”, Sal ran over to see if mom was okay. “Should I call an ambulance?” Jonah said softly. “Not yet,” Sal whispered, and she gently helped mom sit up. “Catch your breath mom. It’s all okay. I’m sorry you heard us arguing,” Sal said. “Would you like me to help you back into your chair?”

But mom shook her head and began scrabbling at the floor. “What? Are you looking for something? Is there something I can get you?” Sal was patient and had had years of practice trying to understand her mother’s motions and gestures. They had their own way of communicating that Jonah never quite grasped. “Water? No.” “Something from the bookcase? Yes?” Your glasses? No.” “The TV remote? Should I turn on the TV? ....No.” Something from the next shelf? Yes?” One of the books? Yes!” “Here, I’ll hold them up for you. Take it easy! We are working as fast as we can to help!” Sal tried her best, but she was worried at how worked up her mother was, and with each book she held up, her mother seemed more frantic, more angry, more desperate. The eleventh book she held up was mom’s old battered favorite book. “How about this one? Yes? Yes!! Okay here it is. Do you want me to read it to you? Yes? No? I don’t understand.” Mom kept gesturing, swinging her arm back and forth between Sal and Jonah.

“Here, let me try,” said Jonah, and he grabbed the book. He undid the clasp that held it shut and opened it. “Oh my god,” he stammered. “It’s not a book at all.” He held out mom’s book to show Sal, and there, inside of it, were only pages hollowed out in the middle, and nestled in the space there, was what could only be “The Book.”

“Mom, you had it all this time!” Mom smiled at Jonah. Then at Sal. Jonah took out The Book, felt its soft cover, and smelled the leather. He could feel his grandfather’s presence.

“What does it say?” asked Sal?

“It’s just numbers and addresses and sketches. I don’t understand. Here, you look.” Jonah looked beaten. Confused. What was this?

Sal flipped to the back of the book. She took some time, as the writing was all in her grandfather’s fine printing, in German. Then she read aloud to mom and Jonah. “This book belongs to Salvatore Witten and his beloved daughter. It is a record of every walk that I took with her, and every place where we found a coin or bill or money or other thing of value on the ground. We spent many happy days together. I have put all these coins and bills and items into an account--there were more than I ever guessed--for her children to remember us. They must go to each of these places, and retrace our steps, and feel the joy of each of those little treasures. They must place one coin at each of these places, so that someone else can find it, and once they finish, the rest of the treasure will be theirs. It is my hope that the real treasure will be in the time they spend together.”

Mom just smiled. She had known all along. Sal and Jonah called the bank manager to say that they had The Book. He sounded amused, and they asked how much money there was to be placed at all of the sites. “A total of about twenty-thousand U.S. dollars,” he replied. “How much?” Sal stammered. The rest of the trust, grown from that initial deposit, was considerably larger. Mr. Witten was apparently a good investor, too.

So that summer, Sal, Jonah, and mom (in a wheelchair, but a lovely one) went to Germany. They went to many of the places described in The Book, and discovered the joy of leaving coins at each place. Grandfather Witten had been right--their journey inspired them to find joy in simple things, see the world through another’s eyes, and cherish their time together.