Finding The Way

Eddie Taylor had never had to pee so bad in his life. Well that’s not entirely true; once he’d actually pulled over on the side of the Cross Island Parkway driving from Westchester County to Long Island, cars narrowly missing him at seventy miles an hour as he scrambled up the embankment and as far into the foliage as he could. To say it had been a close call would be an understatement. The relief had been palpable.

And now as he drove teeth clenchingly slow along route 3 in the suburbs of coastal Maine, squirming in desperation with no gas stations in sight, he mentally kicked himself for not pulling over back when he’d been the only car on the road and there’d been nothing but trees for miles.

A sign that read “Belfast, 2 miles” appeared, and he asked his phone to direct him to the nearest public restroom.

The next five minutes were mentally and physically excruciating. Eddie had been in his twenties on the Cross Island Parkway. At fifty-two his bladder wasn’t nearly as willing to cooperate.

He pulled into an open parking spot miraculously situated directly in front of the small public restroom building, and all but leapt from his car and sprinted into it.

When he emerged, Eddie noticed what he hadn’t just a few minutes ago; he was parked in what appeared to be a perfect little coastal New England town. Eddie thought it was charming.

He turned to go to his car, when he noticed the green facade of the bookshop on the opposite side of the street. The name was in thin, wooden letters painted gold:

The Old Codger: Used Books

His eyes lit up and he crossed the street. If Eddie had a weakness, it was books. He pushed against the old wooden door and wasn’t a bit surprised at the soft jangle of a bell from above. It was not a big place. Shelves on either side were absolutely stuffed with books. He felt consumed as he entered, but not in a claustrophobic way. More like being embraced by knowledge. It was soothing, calming.

“Good afternoon,” a voice called from the end of the aisle. Eddie looked up and noticed the small wooden desk for the first time. A large and very outdated computer monitor covered a great deal of its surface, and it was from behind the monitor that Eddie saw an elderly, bespectacled face peering out.

“Just let me know if you need anything,” he said pleasantly, and then disappeared back behind the monitor.

“Thank you,” Eddie said, and returned to his perusal, noticing a shelf with a paper tag that read “Miscellany. Make an offer.”

The shelf contained various books and other items; an old glass inkwell, a wooden fountain pen, what looked like a tortoise shell comb but could’ve been plastic, and a sealed grey cardboard tube with ‘Edison’ stamped in faded red ink.

He moved an ancient ‘Readers Digest Condensed,’ and revealed a small, black leather bound book about the size of a deck of cards but twice as thick. He picked it up and his finger lightly traced its cover. Eddie turned the small book and saw that its binding was bisected lengthwise with thick twine loops that presumably held all the pages in place. The binding cover had probably come loose and fallen off years ago. He opened it. The pages inside were yellowed and blank, and as he flipped through them he noticed that they were uncut. He looked for any kind of publishing mark but didn’t see one; just a basic journal he guessed. He placed it back on the shelf.

“I love your shop,” he said to the man, who reappeared from behind the monitor.

“Oh, thank you,” he said. “Looking for anything in particular?”

“Just browsing. I’m on my way to Orono and stopped to stretch my legs for a bit. I’ve never been to Belfast, it’s beautiful!”

The man beamed.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s come a long way in the last forty years.”

He spoke proudly, but Eddie could see a sadness in his eyes.

“So you’ve been here a long time then?”

“All my life,” he said. “I’ve had the shop for about twenty years. Before that I was a college professor and this was a second hand store. My name’s Henry, by the way.” He reached out his hand and Eddie stepped closer to shake it.”

“Eddie Taylor. Nice to meet you,” he said. “So how’s business?”

Henry chuckled.

“I should’ve kept it a second hand store,” he said. “For a few years I did fine. Good enough to cover expenses and put some money away. But nobody reads anymore. Have you noticed that? It’s sad. And for me, unsustainable.” He caught himself. “Sorry, I don’t get a lot of customers.”

Eddie grinned.

“No problem,” he said. “I’m sort of in a similar situation.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Henry said.

“It’s all right,” he said. “That’s why I’m here; I’ve got an opportunity to manage a warehouse in Orono. I got laid off in Chicopee, Massachusetts eight months ago and this is the first job offer I’ve had.”

“Oh my goodness,” Henry said. “You must be running on fumes.” Eddie nodded.

“Yeah, things have been pretty tight. Hopefully this job will work out. It’s a lot less pay, but at least it’ll be a regular income. I just thought that by this time in my life I’d have figured out a way to do something I genuinely enjoyed.” He gazed around the shop. “Honestly, a business like this in a picturesque town sounds like heaven to me. I’m a little jealous, frankly.”

“Well you’re right, it was a nice dream,” Henry said. “But unfortunately the times just don’t support it anymore. To be honest, I’m probably going to have to sell the business soon, and at a loss. Breaks my heart but what can you do?” Eddie felt bad. He saw himself in Henry, and could imagine how he must be feeling, this late in life and on the verge of losing a dream.

“I’m so sorry, Henry,” he said. “I wish I could help, I really do.” Henry nodded.

On impulse, Eddie quickly walked back to the shelf labeled “Miscellany. Make an offer.” and grabbed the small black journal. He placed it on Henry’s desk.

“Would ten dollars be okay?” Henry looked at the book, then up at Eddie.

“I couldn’t take ten dollars for that, it’s been here since I bought the place. Left over from the second hand store. It’s yours…from one dreamer to another.”

Eddie took out his wallet, fished out a ten, and laid it on the counter.

“Well then here’s ten dollars for the conversation.”

Henry smiled, and didn’t argue.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Eddie. Good luck in Orono.”

“Thanks. Good luck to you too,” he said, and the two shook hands again.

Eddie left the store, the soft jangle of the bell bidding him goodbye.

“No, wait…please. I’m really sorry, I’m new to the area and this morning my alarm didn’t wake me up! I can be there in ten minutes!”

The woman on the other end of the line was succinct.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor. I’m just telling you what they said. Have a nice day,” she said, and hung up.

Eddie couldn’t believe it. He’d slept through his alarm. Literally slept through it. And now he didn’t have a job. Or a home. Or money.

His ears were ringing.

He picked up the small, black journal and started aimlessly flipping through its pages.

A flash of color caught his eye.

He turned back a page, and saw that it had bent just enough so that the fold bowed out a little; the interior face of the pages had something on them. A few minutes of careful inspection showed that almost all the pages had some kind of coloring. He looked at the woven thread on the binding, and had an idea.

Taking one end of the thread, he started to pull. It slipped dryly out from between the pages, making a soft raspy sound as it did. Before long Eddie had pulled the entire length of twine out.

He carefully began unfolding the yellowed bundle of folded paper when he suddenly realized something:

It wasn’t a bunch of folded pages.

It was one page folded many times.

Within minutes he was looking at a very large, and very old picture spread out on his motel bed.

It was a map.

A map that had been cleverly hidden for who knows how long.

Why would someone go to such trouble to hide a map?

Eddie felt his stomach tighten.

Four hours later Eddie was pacing the length of a McDonald’s parking lot. He’d had to vacate the Motel 6 about an hour after making his discovery.

Before leaving, though, he’d taken a bunch of pictures and texted them to an antique map specialist he’d found online. Eddie had been embarrassed to ask, but he was very curious to know if there were any valuables that could be associated with it. Treasure is what he’d really wanted to say, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. His phone rang.

“Hello?” he said.

“Yes, Mr. Taylor, this is Tim Crandall of the Geographica Antiqua dealership.”

“Yes, hello! Thank you for getting back to me so quickly!”

“No problem at all. We’ve enjoyed looking at your piece this afternoon. I think you’ll be pleased with what I have to say.”

Eddie’s throat dried up instantly.

“R-really?” he stammered.

“Oh yes,” said the dealer. “I’m happy to say that you’ve discovered a very rare manuscript. As far as I know it’s the only one of its kind.”

“You’re kidding me!” said Eddie.

“Of course we’d love to see it in person to be absolutely certain, but from what we can tell it appears to be a map created by the German cartographer Martin Waldseemüller, probably somewhere between 1505 and 1510. And it looks to be one of the first representations of Southeast Asia. Waldseemüller created the first map of the world in 1507, so if your map is earlier than that it means you have the first ever map of that region of the world! Like I said, extremely rare!”

“So what about…what I was talking about before?” Eddie said. “ Like, could the map lead to something of value?”

“You mean is it a treasure map?” the dealer asked bluntly. Eddie’s jaw clenched. It sounded like such a childish idea.

“Well, yeah…I guess so,” he said.

“No, Mr. Taylor. It isn’t a treasure map. I’ve been doing this a long time and I’m sorry to say that treasure maps only exist in books.”

The hope-fueled adrenaline instantly drained from him, and Eddie suddenly felt more foolish than he ever had in his life.

“Well thank you for your help, Mr. Crandall,” he said hollowly. “I’m sure a museum or something would appreciate the map. Maybe you can let me know where I should send it or what I—”

“Mr. Taylor?” he interrupted. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t mean to indicate that the map wasn’t monetarily valuable. I mean, historically speaking it’s priceless, but as far as financially—” Eddie interrupted back.

“What are you thinking then…a few hundred dollars? A thousand?”

There was a pause. Then the dealer cleared his throat and said:

“Mr. Taylor, the map I mentioned before, the first map of the world that Waldseemüller created? It’s called the Universalis Cosmographia. In 2003 the United States Library of Congress purchased it for ten million dollars.”

Two weeks later Eddie Taylor walked into The Old Codger: Used Books. The soft jangle of the bell stirred Henry, who peered out from behind his monitor. He smiled when he realized who had just come in.

“Hey! Eddie, right? How’s the new job?”

Eddie grinned.