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The Little Black Book

Stories Both Lost and Found

By Mary Jo HanlyPublished 3 years ago 7 min read
20
Hidden Treasures

The street was busy for a Tuesday. It wasn't the regular atmosphere of the neighbourhood at this time of year and the date only served to punctuate her mood.

Arianne typically took pride in her ability to hold her head high under most circumstances while paying particular attention to her breath. Deep inhalations. In, out and all the while focussing on maintaining optimally healthy posture while she walked. She had barely shut the front gate and already knew that resurrecting herself from such a sullen mood was all but useless on this day.

Cyclists, screeching tyres, a child crying in their pram while their mother walked at a pace that suggested being late for an appointment and the ambulance. Left, right, people crossed the road and the ambulance. All this activity choked by the narrowness of the street, the cars parked into the deep cobblestone gutters of the otherwise ageing bitumen and the ambulance was right next door.

She barely knew the man. He had only moved in the week before but he seemed nice. Getting friendly with the neighbours required care in her built up town. People need their privacy you know. Her exchanges were limited to the politeness of garden talk and the exchange of names. Joe was his name. An elderly gentleman that walked carefully, slowly, cradling the presumed pains that come with his age and his small black notebook. His eyes were magnificent and the type that intrigued you to learn the secrets he stashed behind them. The kind that gave you a cheeky sparkle, ignited by the grin of stories lived well. They carried a certain kind of knowing, an inner knowing that spoke of it without words. She felt warm as she smiled at the thought.

Joe was being shuffled into the back of the ambulance unconscious on the stretcher. She wasn't sure if he was alive, his skin so pale and his body lifeless. She felt numb.

"Do you live here?.... Excuse me Ma'am. Do you live here?" the paramedic enquired.

"Ah yes.... Yes, I do."

"Do you know this man?"

"Ah yes, ah well no, no not really. His name is Joe. He just moved in last week. We haven't spoken much."

"Do you know if he has any family?"

"No. No I don't."

"Could you please call this number if something comes up or anyone comes by to visit?"

"Yes. Yes, of course."

She stared blankly and timelessly into space.

It occurred to her that she had never noticed any furniture being moved in or anyone come to help him with the move. It didn't really occur to her at the time but now that the man had been swept away to hospital, she began to consider the details more carefully.

This time of year was never good for clarity of thought. Arianne just felt dysfunctional physically, mentally and emotionally. It always came with a certain cellular anticipation of a now distant memory.

Joe was always alone when she saw him. Her recollections few. His emphasis was on the garden, always on the garden. Interrupting her regular morning stroll, she walked inside the gate of his home. How uncomfortable it made her feel. Arianne never liked poking her nose into other peoples business but now, it was as if by invitation as there was something important to learn. She peered in through the window while sheltering her eyes from the peripheral light. The house was empty. Not a thread in it. Of course she was only peering through the lounge which also gave a glimpse of the kitchen but there was nothing to be seen. She reviewed her thoughts to rest on the reality that he had only been there a week and of course he probably hadn't yet officiated the final move. He was always clean and neatly dressed so this shouldn't appear so unusual. She abandoned the idea to look into the other rooms of the house but was disappointed at the thought that she knew nothing of the man. How selfish of her.

Before leaving, she stopped to smell his prize rose. It was the flower Joe always spoke about proclaiming it kept hidden treasures that only the curious mind could reveal. It's aroma was sweet, rich, pungent and carried itself to the sensory organs like no other flower had ever done for her before. She coupled it with the focus of the breath, held it and closed her eyes as she inhaled its sweet, juicy perfume deeply and reverently.

While she commenced her deep, slow exhalation and started to open her eyes, there it was at the base of the bush; The little black book. She swept the soil away from its beautifully bound soft leather cover that clung to its embossed patterns, despite its worn black sheen. She went back to smelling the rose while looking around to see if anyone was watching her. Quickly she shoved the book into her loose cotton bag and smelt the rose once again before taking off on her morning walk.

She felt like a thief and questions whirled around her head while she walked. What was it about little black books that came with such a stigma? It was just a book after all. Yet there was always the implication that they held something sinister within. Secrets, stories otherwise untold, private contacts, details made for detective stories. There was a notable difference in the way Arianne moved that was even remarkable to her as she nestled into the grass at the base of her favourite fig tree. Surely at least three hundred years old, the tree presented a nook within one of its majestic roots that felt sculpted to cradle her head and have her feel nurtured.

Tuesday March the 2nd 1971 marked his birthday and laying down at the base of the tree while gazing through its giant octopus arms to the sky, she contemplated how he would look aged fifty. Such a long time ago but the only love she'd ever known taken from her without warning. That was a theft far greater than the sense of thievery she felt on this day some thirty years later. More relaxed now, she pulled out the book from her bag that took precedence over the other she had taken to read under her tree.

She wondered whether she should even open it or just wait for a relative to visit the house and give it to them to read. What if it wasn't Joe's at all and belonged to the previous owner. She opened it and quickly slammed it shut.

"Attention!" was written in big red letters on its thick ivory page. Oh dear. Oh well. It was in her hands now. She opened it again.

"Attention! If you have come to find this book and open the cover then it is for me to bequeath this small fortune to you. I am a humble man of humble means and have no family to speak of."

She stopped and contemplated the potential for there being greater spiritual forces at work here. Significant dates, times, aromas, behaviours in specific timing, phrases uttered that would be otherwise unknown if not for the possibility of these forces being real, intervening, guiding, orchestrating co-incidences as if to communicate from intangible places.

"Inside this book I have a few short poems and with them some detail of my bank account. There will be few financials to resolve but sufficient funds available to ensure no ongoing concerns. I estimate there will be approximately $20 000 after all matters are attended to and if my dreams are as lucid as the reality of you reading thus far, then it will be you Arianne that has found this treasure we have spoken of in my rose garden. I wish you well and that you again find the love that you lost so long ago."

She slammed the book shut and fumbled inside her bag for the card the paramedic had given her. It had the name of the hospital on it. She sprang up from the tree, ran to the nearest tram and scuttled to the emergency department of the hospital.

She happened to have a recent bill with her name on it and navigated the contents of her bag for it as proof of her current address. She made enquiries about the man that lived on her street, who has no family and could she know of his condition as he lived next door to her. The nurse finally surrendered the information that she sought. Joe had been admitted that morning but unfortunately pronounced dead on arrival. It struck her like a thunderbolt. She reached for a chair to sit herself down. Arianne stunned, in shock and disbelief, felt the numbness now all consuming. Her life had again been altered irrevocably.

By M J Hanly © February 7 2021

fact or fiction
20

About the Creator

Mary Jo Hanly

Mary-Jo Hanly is a budding philanthropist and as such is working on all her skills to manifest this into her reality. A unique creative that has a breadth and depth of life experience unlike any other history has known. Be a part of this.

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