The Little Black Notebook

There were three types of scientists in Mollovel. Englesea could tell from the blazer lapels of the men opposite him in the carriage, that he was in the company of not just a tramadyne, but also a paladian.

Englesea knew little of science, and sweat formed above his top lip. He wiped it off as inconspicuously as he could, wishing there were more than just a table between them. The scientist with red lapels turned to face him.

“Of course, even you know that emporimen are the most experimental. They deal with quarks and derangement.”

“He is merely jealous,” quipped the other, blue lapels quivering with excitement, “paladians deal with the most monotonous theorems - gravity and the like. No room for improvement on a downward slope.”

The paladian rolled his eyes and made a big deal out of standing and pulling a hefty briefcase from above their heads. Sofia would have known what to say. Thought Engelsea.

“Tramadynes, of course, deal with far superior notions,” blue lapels continued. “Our marine headquarters are, right now, testing a fast track of what is to come. History on repeat? I think not! We plan to baffle the oceans, trick the planet into believing global warming has already happened and then…”

The suitcase thudded with a clunk on the edge of the table and down onto the seat with a bounce, casting it's papers up into the air. Engelsea was hit by a waft of lavender. Clutching at the papers the paladian scoffed.

“Fat chance of that.”

“Well now…” purple shot up the tramadyne’s face.

The paladian gestured with one hand, folding his papers neatly back into his briefcase with the other. A fire lit in his eyes as he turned to Engelsea.

“Whatever you do: don’t trust an emporiman.”

“On that we can agree.” The tramadyne placed a large hand on the paladian’s shoulder, and they exchanged knowing smiles.

Both turned to face him at once and it made Englesea jump.

The paladian pulled a roll of parchment from his briefcase and smoothed it out flat on the table. After pulling out a ruler and pencil, he drew a diagonal line across the map of the sky. He folded the map in two, then unfurled it from the middle like a bird.

“See how the planets meet? Here and here?” He pointed to two planets on opposite sides of the diagonal, that were now stuck together between his thumb and forefinger.

Englesea nodded.

“An emporiman will try and tell you this is possible.”

Both scientists laughed.

The train was slowing, the familiar screech scratched Englesea’s ears above the laughter. It wasn’t something he enjoyed, sitting in the company of such men and feeling so unsure. He knew not whether what they said was wisdom or folly, such were folk like these.

Englesea picked up his hat and scooped up the raggedy coat by his side. Inside it he carried some papers, a pen and ink, two sets of clean underwear, a moth eaten jumper, his toothbrush and a coin purse.

“Going so soon?” the tramadyne’s blue eyes saucered at him.

“Indeed. Thank you gentlemen,” Englesea tipped his hat as he backed out of the carriage, “it’s been a pleasure.”

He wasn’t sure it had, and chastised himself for blundering. Their chatter resumed almost immediately.

Sighing as he walked down the steps onto the platform, he turned to watch the train depart. Waving goodbye would be enjoyable, he thought.

Looking up, he saw that two bruised fingers clung to the top of a carriage window.

Curious. He said to himself.

The window lowered slowly.

Englesea wasn’t a tall man. Nor did he have a briefcase to stand on. He stretched up onto his tiptoes trying to get a better look. An old man, face full of as many wrinkles as there were in Englesea’s coat, pulled himself up.

Honeysuckle mixed with elderberry floated towards him as the old man rose. He draped his long wiry frame out of the window.

“Won’t the train be leaving soon?” Englesea held up his hands to imply the elderly man should get back inside.

A glint of yellow caught his eye. Yellow lapels. Just my luck.

“Time is tricksie old chap,” said the emporiman, beckoning him with a finger.

The man’s small eyes darted around the platform above a bushy white moustache. Englesea knew not to trust men with moustaches but his feet betrayed him. Once he was perilously close to the train, the man held a little black book out of the window.

“Sofia,” said the emporiman.

Englesea pulled back. His eyes could have fallen out of his face in shock. He looked around the empty platform. What did this man know?

Stepping towards the notebook, Englesea reached up to grab it.

The emporiman held onto it for just a moment.

“Hers is entangled.”

The stationmaster hurried out, blowing a whistle at Englesea and gesticulating wildly for him to move away from the train.

“Entangled?”

The emporiman let go and Englesea stumbled back from the train.

“Sofia!” Said the emporiman, as the train slid from the platform.

“Sofia” whispered Englesea to himself as he turned the notebook over and over in his hands.

One hand went instinctively to his head. If he had had any hair left he’d have tugged at it.

Was Sofia alive?

There was an iron bench on the platform. Englesea staggered over to it. He placed his coat parcel on the bench and strode back and forth in front of it, turning and turning the notebook. The station smelled slightly of urine and stale cigarettes, a few butts and a smattering of pidgeon droppings decorating the floor. He clutched the little black book under his chin as he rooted through his coat for his purse. There were just enough coins in it for the next train to his aunts. Destitute with relatives wasn’t the worst kind of destitute but bad enough.

Looking up and down the platform and once again finding it empty, Englesea backed himself down onto the bench. He stared at the notebook. A silence you could cut a knife through. The ruffle of feathers and a cooing above made him jump.

Taking a deep breath, Englesea pulled aside the elastic and opened the book.

Nothing.

He flicked through, blank, dotted, dotted, blank, blank, blank, blank… "Whaa? "

The back pocket bulged with more money than Englesea had seen in all his years. Possibly ever. He scanned the platform for the thousandth time. He’d heard of $500 bills but had never seen one himself. He leafed through the notes, 38, 39.. 40. He counted again. There were 40, $500 bills. It took him a little longer to work out that he was holding $20,000. He closed the notebook. Englesea’s heart beat fast. What did this have to do with Sofia?

Fear flooded up his legs and his lower back. It tingled along his arms.

What was she mixed up in now? His lover had been mixed up in the opiate trade for longer than he cared to remember. It had eaten away at her, taken parts of her he couldn’t imagine her without. Until he’d looked at her that day, unrecognisable, scraping back her hair into a ragged plait.

The last straw had been the house. She wouldn’t tell him where she’d put the money. Standing in front of the re-claimed house with only what he’d left with that day, he’d had no words left. He’d looked out of a train window that night, forehead against the cool window. Englesea thought of the fog of his breath, how he’d wiped it away and looked up at the stars. It was as if they were each pieces of his heart that had exploded with such force it was now strewn across the sky.

Now, sitting on the metal bench on the platform, the pain still seared. He pressed his chest as if to keep his heart in.

Breathing out really slowly, he opened the notebook to the first page. A small tear rolled down from the top of the page. He wiped below his eyes but only dryness met his fingers. The mark swept down in a loop then across the page into a familiar scrawl.

Englesea blinked to check he wasn’t imagining it. As if Sofia was writing with water, her hand slid across the page.

They must have found it

Taken it while I slept

I don’t know if I woke to eat

My nose aches

There is nothing

Nothing left

Her scrawl wavered.

If I have lost this money, they will kill me.

What had the emporiman said about the notebook? He had used a strange word. Think Englesea, think.

If there was a way to send her the money, would he? It would probably be too late. Englesea thought about all the things that he could do with that money.

He turned a page in the notebook, the tearstain began again in the top left-hand corner. This time it solidified into blue ink.

I will quit. I will give everything to you.

Let me start again.

Let me see Englesea one last time.

The emporiman said I would.

They don’t get their predictions wrong.

I don’t deserve it.

They should take me.

A tear slid down his cheek and dropped in a splodge on the page. They couldn’t take his Sofia.

A line circled the tear. Then below it; a question. Englesea?

Englesea scrabbled to get his pen and fumbled with the lid of his ink.

I am seeing things, she wrote.

Entangled. That was the word that the emporiman had used.

Entangled, wrote Englesea. Close the notebook, wait a few minutes. Then open it again.

He put down his pen and spilled a little ink on the bench; hands shaking.

Englesea pulled out all the money. He closed the notebook with it’s elastic. Then he opened it. He hesitated, shaking his head at the thought of what he was about to try. Then, cramming all of the money between the middle pages, Englesea closed it and looped the elastic back around. He held the little black notebook. Lifted it to his face and placed it against his lips.

"Sofia," he whispered.

Opening the notebook; there was nothing. The pages were blank - no black ink, no blue ink. No money.