The Find

“I suppose he thought it would be amusing to depart from Gravesend” puffed the professor, as he pushed past the double doors leading to the stairwell.

Our footsteps reverberated as I followed the Professor down several flights of stairs to the basement. Natural light gave way to fluorescent, and the memory of the past summer months I had spent in the northern hemisphere evaporated as the familiar cold and concrete walls received me now. Even my tan seemed to yield its healthy hue. I yearned to escape again.

A resident radio operator on Île Amsterdam had recently stumbled across a somewhat perplexing find whilst on their evening seal-watching ritual. Pushing its way up from sandy depths, a sealed jar of amber glass had emerged from among the volcanic rock and puddles, left by the receding tide.

The wide-mouthed jar, encrusted with barnacles, now sat in the research laboratory on the fourth floor, with all the other jars. The Professor had arranged for carbon dating, fingerprint analysis and photographs of the find and although my leave had not yet ended, he was brimming with excitement to discuss the latest discovery.

The jar had been watertight for a century, although the seal was now broken and the little black book within removed. “Did she touch it much,” I asked, knowing the response.

“Well, she touched the jar, obviously, and the book, but aside from this, the evidence is remarkably well-preserved. As usual, the author instructed the finder to contact us for their reward.”

“And what could the University afford this time?” I wondered, aloud, thinking of the scrimping and saving I once had to manage when overseeing the department. I was glad to leave that particular responsibility to the Professor now.

“We offered her ten thousand for the book, and ten thousand to bring it to us in person. She happily obliged and is now safely ensconced back on the island. But I believe the whole experience awakened the historian in her,” his eyes flashed as he spoke. “She’d already begun researching the matter – I had to get her to sign a confidentiality agreement!”

The Professor enthusiastically laid out, one by one, enlarged black and white photographs of each page within the book. The book was like all the others. Small, cream-coloured pages, with blue lines almost completely faded, encased in a black, oiled, cardboard cover.

The handwriting within was the same - awkwardly disguised. Perhaps written with their less-preferred hand. If found, please return this book to the University of Adelaide. Of course, there was no University at the time the jar had been sealed, so it was fortunate that it had been found… when it had been found. The author did not seem to care too much whether every book would one day be found. Perhaps he intended to find them himself.

The Professor held up the first photograph, his dry fingers rough against the glossy photographic paper. “It appears he left Gravesend on a ship called the Medeira, bound for Australia. But strong winds and waves pushed the ship on to the rocks of the island one night. The mast apparently broke and fell to form a bridge to the rocks, and almost all the passengers and crew managed to escape the wreck, through the waves,” he recounted. “It sounds like many were injured in the process. There were several babies on board, but these miraculously survived." He stopped to catch his breath. "Our man was there and escaped too. But it seems he doubted a rescue, and he somewhat hastily recorded the events, and buried the jar.”

“Do you think he made it? Here?” I asked, squinting at a small drawing into the corner of one page… “What’s this?”.

“The librarian found the story of the shipwreck for me and has said that the survivors were rescued by a whaling ship a few days later, after they had been living on rations washed ashore from the ship, and wild birds suffocated by the smoke of grass fires they lit,” the Professor finished, whilst he rummaged in his drawer for a magnifying glass, before joining me in my study of a particular marking.

“He made it to Australia, but we haven’t found any books here later than this… you know, I'm not sure what this doodle is. What do you think?” he asked, curiously.

“It looks like a small alphanumeric code, but I can’t make it out save for the two Z’s at the end. Perhaps another set of photographs may reveal more detail.” I suggested.

“I’ll get them on to it at once.” The Professor jumped up and bundled the prints together. He was more Professor than I was, with his disheveled hair and mismatched socks. “I won't keep you any longer. Take these with you, and you can muse over them between now and when you’re due to start back.”

Start back. I gulped, as the remnants of my time away threatened to flee me. I found myself quickly accepting the prints - the walls loomed intimidatingly, willing me to sit down. To resume.

Farewelling the Professor, I walked slowly to my terrace home, carrying the bags from my trip. I had come straight from the airport, at the Professor's request.

There was a salesman standing by my door peddling some unwelcome product I barely glanced at, and I did my best to shoo him from the entrance as I opened the door. The recent weeks’ mail fell to the floor and among them the loud colours of a magazine caught my eye. Radio Amateur Callback Magazine 1952. Winter edition.

As I flicked through the pages, my eyes searched out the callsign for Île Amsterdam. FB8ZZ.

The sound of a throat clearing caused me to look up and see the salesman still standing at the door. I looked down to see what he was so desperate for me to buy.

I’ll take the lot! I must’ve said it… and paid him… as he left with a smile I was sure he’d carry for the remainder of the day, and home to his family. I had a something of a smile of my own.

Now in possession of a small suitcase of little black books and the latest Radio Amateur Callback Magazine 1952, the years of research and hunting down of this time-travelling fellow, who left black books in his wake, began to fall in to place. I didn’t know what or how it would happen.

So I sat down on my lime-green armchair and waited.