Celeterra

Chapter 1

Eugene, the one-eyed dog, barked disapprovingly at the sound of the doorbell. Vance looked at his watch - it was three o’clock at night. Lying on his bed, he had been reading a rather poor catalog dealing with rococo antiques. He turned off the light. It was full moon and his bedroom was now shrouded in a whitish gleam, still bright enough to see by. He got up, walked into the study, and soundlessly opened the second floor window. He bent forward and looked down.

Three men and a woman stood on the lawn and looked at the entrance of his house, without speaking but in obvious anticipation. They were young, in their late twenties. The men looked like clones of one another. They were all short and skinny, with swarthy complexions and black, combed-back hair. Schmierig, Vance thought, using one of his grandmother’s German expressions. The girl was the tallest of the four. She was a pretty brunette, her hair in a short bop. She was dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans, her hands stuck in the back pockets.

Vance cleared his throat. Can I help you?

In unison, they turned their heads up towards him. The man on the left answered. He was dressed in a white shirt and business trousers and had a pair of sunglasses stuck into his hair. His voice was flat and soft, with a heavy accent. Are you Mr. Vance?

That’s what it says on the mailbox.

We would like to talk to you.

At three o’clock at night? You’ve got to be kidding. Go home and come back tomorrow.

The young man's voice had something definite. We’re here on an urgent mission. Just open the door, it will not take long. You can be back in your bed in ten minutes.

Vance looked down at them in disbelief. The three men stared back expressionlessly. The girl scanned their faces, a nervous smile on her lips. Vance could have turned away there and then. It would have saved him a lot of trouble. They wouldn’t break into the house, not with Eugene the dog downstairs. However, Vance’s curiosity and recklessness won. He shrugged. OK, I’m coming down.

He closed the window and pulled a bathrobe over his pajamas. He put the gun from the Japanese bedside table into his pocket. Downstairs, Eugene sat in the dark hallway and yawned. Vance patted the dog’s big head in passing. He opened the door and the four visitors crowded in.

The man that had answered him had put down his sunglasses so that they covered his eyes. Vance didn’t turn on any lights and they stood in the semi-darkness. He waited. The four visitors looked down at the dog. Eugene offered an impressive sight, with his black pelt, broad chest, and massive head. The girl stooped down and stroked the dog. He looked up at her, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

What’s his name?

Eugene.

She looked up at Vance, meanwhile fondling the animal’s fur. What happened to his eye?

One of Eugene’s eyes was missing. The hole had been stitched shut. A tiny, yet continuous trail of watery liquid ran from it. It made the dog look lugubrious and menacing. Vance chuckled. One night, while I was out with a lady friend, a burglar broke into the house. I guess he had picked up a rumor that antiques are stored on the premises. He had a knife. He and Eugene got into an argument.

Oh dear! Poor dog! She scratched Eugene behind the ear. He seemed to like it.

Sunglasses looked at Vance. He lost ‘is eye? Terrible. What happened to the burglar? Was ‘e caught?

Vance smiled. Eugene lost his eye and had to have 14 stitches. I had a hard time finding a vet that late at night. The dog doesn’t notice that his eye is missing, he still has one left and his senses of smell and hearing compensate. The burglar, however… Eugene got him in the Kennedys. One hundred stitches I‘ve heard. His girlfriend left him, just before his case came to court.

Cautiously, the girl withdrew her hand and stood up again. It could have been a change in the moonlight, but her face seemed to be a bit paler.

Kennedys? What’s that?

Sunglasses answered her question. His cojones. His meat and two veg. The dog bit off ‘is genitals.

All four visitors stared down at the dog. Sunglasses stood his ground, but the other three moved back slightly. Eugene was not impressed. He looked up at the girl, hoping for more of her attention. Vance looked at the girl too. That’s right; his eier. Anyway - you seem to know who I am. What are your names and why are you here?

Sunglasses answered. I’m Enrique. She’s my sister Martha. These are my cousins, José and Paolo.

So… what do you want? Why are you here? Or is this just a lopsided family outing?

Enrique got a piece of paper out of his breast pocket. Mr. Vance, I am very sorry that we have to disturb you this late at night, but I assure you that this is a very important matter. He sounded as serious and convincing as the town clerk. He tilted the paper to catch the light and looked at the text intently. Did you buy a small, circular table from a Mrs. Chamid yesterday? About 25 inches high, with three small drawers? An antique, late eighteenth century?

Could well be. Why? Are you thinking about acquiring such an item?

Oh no, for ‘eaven’s sake. Apparently, you paid 20k for it, quite an impressive sum. No, we are not in the antiques business, and we do not want to buy.

Vance thought that over. There was no particular reason to deny that he had the table. On top of that, it was in his storage, and his storage was locked. And he had a gun in his pocket. Actually, it is worth much more than that, if you want to know the truth. I’m an antique dealer and consequently I try to buy antiques cheap and sell them expensively. The difference between the buying and selling price ensures my survival in this business.

Enrique folded the piece of paper and stuck it into his pocket. His eyes scanned the furniture in the hallway. Even a layman could guess that the mirror and the chair hadn’t come cheap. I see what you mean. Anyway, we do not want to buy the table. We merely want to look at it, inspect it… to make sure of a certain fact.

At three in the morning? Couldn’t that fact-finding have waited until tomorrow?

I apologize. It may seem absurd to you, but for us it is of the utmost importance. Please, let us not waste too much of each other’s time. Let us have a look at the table. In fact, I can make you an offer.

He got a wallet from his pocket and took out some money. We will pay you 250 now. If the table is indeed the table that we are looking for, you get 250 more. Is that a deal?

Vance looked down at Enrique’s hand and at the money that it contained. He didn’t care too much about the value it represented - but why was this object so exciting – especially if Enrique didn’t want to buy or possess it? Vance’s curiosity took the overhand again.

Vance recalled how the table had come in his possession. He had bought it the day before. Yes, to be exact, just 15 hours ago. It had been in Mrs. Chamid’s possession for the last 25 years, all the while standing next to her bed. She had obviously been fully unaware of its true value. Mrs. Chamid had invited Vance to her apartment to do an assessment of a stamp collection, which had belonged to her late husband. The stamps had been of little value, which she had refused to believe. She had also refused to believe that the table was worth the 20000 he had paid her. After their transaction, Vance had shown the table to a few people that he knew. All of them were antique dealers and they all had their establishments in the same street as Vance. Had one of them, or perhaps Mrs. Chamid herself, spread the word that the table was now in Vance’s possession? And had that rumor brought these four night hounds to his doorstep?

Fascinating! Deeply interesting! Vance had already decided that he wanted to know more. Kicking this foursome out of his house wouldn’t help him achieving that. He looked at their faces again. They looked ashen in the moonlight, almost ghoulish. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Follow me.

They passed through the kitchen and he unlocked the back door. He pushed back the heavy latches. Enrique whistled softly. Impressive.

I don’t want Eugene to lose his other eye… or another burglar to lose his eier.

The girl laughed. Vance looked at her. She seemed to be genuinely amused. He was beginning to like her.

They entered the garden. It was a beautiful night. A few clouds had moved in, their edges made out of frosty ice. A bat flittered by, twitchily hunting for insects. The whirr of its wings was the only sound that disturbed the nocturnal silence.

The four men and the woman followed a path of white pebbles. It meandered beneath the trees. They crossed over a little bridge that spanned the koi pond. The big fish came up as they walked by, disturbing the surface of the black water. Martha looked down over the edge of the bridge.

Look at those fish! They are beautiful! And they are so big!

One of the men, José, grunted disapprovingly. He and his companion Paolo didn’t seem to speak a lot. They didn’t make a very cheerful impression either.

They arrived at the storage building. Vance typed in the combination and held his index finger on the scanner. A motor started humming and the door rolled open. Enrique looked at the security system.

What happens if somebody would force you to do that? At gunpoint?

I would use my middle finger on the scanner and the door would still open, but an alarm at the police station would go off simultaneously. They would be here within minutes.

Is that so?

No, it isn’t. Sorry chum, for not disclosing to you the ins and outs of my security system. Let me assure you that it suffices. Better than using keys - they tend to get lost.

Vance switched on the light. The clicking and the humming of the fluorescent tubes rudely disturbed the quiet, and the sudden brightness of the light blinded their eyes. The storage room, about sixty feet wide and thirty feet deep, was mainly filled with antiques; small cabinets, armoires, dining tables, desks and sidechairs, paintings and mirrors. Transportation crates were stacked against the walls.

Mrs. Chamid’s mahogany rococo table stood at the very front, just as Vance had left it the day before. Enrique had described it quite accurately. The table was perfectly symmetrical and stood on three cabriole legs. It had a round top, with three triangular drawers positioned below it, like equally sized portions of a pie. It was obviously French in design, less heavy than the German pieces of that period. Vance had concluded that it was late eighteenth century, since baroque-like carving was still in evidence, but not as dominant. Most striking was the fancy decoration of the tabletop, consisting of intricate, floral parquetry, clearly the result of expert and high dedication artisanship. Wood and ivory had been combined to create small flowers, flowing out from the center. Again, Vance admired the table’s stunning design. The past centuries had left the piece unscathed. No flaw could be seen in the wood, no scratch in the ivory. Only a blatant layman, or Mrs. Chamid, could have been ignorant of its obvious value. He concluded again that it was worth every penny that he had paid for it.

Paolo stepped forward and touched the table’s surface. Vance raised his hand. Careful. It is worth a lot of money.

Enrique stood behind Vance and put his hand on his shoulder. Bear with us. We won’t damage it. Besides that, I am insured.

He wasn’t joking. In fact, as Vance looked at his face, he realized that Enrique was probably one of the least humorous persons that he had ever met. Enrique’s countenance seemed to be unable to transmit any emotion. The sunglasses that covered his eyes didn’t help either.

Again, Enrique got the sheet out of his breast pocket, and gave it to José. Vance couldn't read any of the text, but a photo seemed to be taped to it - from a catalog? Here are the instructions.

José scanned the paper. His hands trembled with excitement. He studied the text and handed the sheet back to Enrique. José stepped up to the table. Slowly, he opened all three drawers. They were empty.

Vance had already noticed that the day before. In fact, Mrs. Chamid had removed all her personal belongings from the drawers, just before Vance had carried the table from her apartment. José closed the drawers again. Flexing his hands, he looked at the table. Suddenly, he picked it up and turned it upside down. He held the table high up in the air by two of its legs, his hands positioned close to the table’s surface. Then, unexpectedly, he opened his fists. The table started to fall down to the ground. Vance cursed and moved forward, but Enrique pulled him back.

Just before the table hit the ground, José clenched his fists again and caught it, his hands closing on the very end of the two legs.

José turned the table over and put it down again. It stood firmly on its three legs. They all stared at it. An audible sigh of relieve could be heard – it came from Martha. Vance glanced at her worried face, and very briefly, she frowned back at him. Enrique raised his hand. Stop!

He stepped forward and inspected the table from all sides. Nothing seemed to have changed. Vance wondered what was going on. Enrique removed his sunglasses. He handed them over to Paolo, who put them in his breast pocket. Enrique’s eyes, surprisingly blue in his severe face, contained a feverish gleam of anticipation. Slowly he put his hand on the grip of one of the drawers. He pulled it open. They all bent forward and looked at the interior.

It was empty. Vance looked at the four faces. Obviously, his visitors had expected that an object should now have been visible in the drawer - magically materialized through José’s manhandling of the table. The three men looked at each other. The girl folded her arms across her chest, and bit her lip. Enrique opened the second drawer.

It was empty too. He shook his head in frustration. Sweat started to appear on his brow. Madre mia. What do you make of that? Can you believe it? Holy Mary of Mount Carmel.

José was softly praying in Spanish. He rocked forward and backward slowly, his hands folded on his chest, eyes closed. Dios te salve, Maria. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo. Bendita tú ere entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre: Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios…

Paolo simply looked on, his face empty and pale. Abruptly, Enrique bent forward and pulled open the third and final drawer. His movement was so brusque that the drawer almost fell out of the table and onto the floor. They all stared at its contents.

It must have been some trick, some hidden mechanism that the original designer had built in. Vance had occasionally come across such pieces of furniture, desks and cabinets with secret compartments. They always had a fascinating effect on the buyers, usually resulting in a profit increase or quicker closure of the transaction. This one was very cleverly made. Vance had never seen or heard about this type of mechanism. There must have been a secret compartment above the drawer, integrated in the tabletop itself. It was probably held shut by a rotatable piece of wood or metal that could only be released by a particular handling of the table. Not just turning it upside down, or shaking it. Most likely two of the legs had to be pulled apart slightly to activate a hidden and highly precise spring mechanism.

In any case, through José’s activity, a lock had been released and a package had dropped into the drawer. Vance looked at it. It was about an inch thick, six inches long, and four inches wide. Vance spontaneously speculated that it was a small book. However, he couldn't be sure of that, as the object was wrapped in old, yellowed newspaper. An abundance of string kept the parcel together, making it look like a partially unpacked Marcel Duchamp’s readymade.

As Vance bent towards the drawer, he could see a fragment of an English headline, printed on the newspaper. It contained the word Weimar. The Weimar Republic sprang into his mind, a German political era of the early twentieth century. Did the newspaper and the package date back to the 1920s? Had this parcel since then been dormant inside of the table? Enrique quickly took the package from the drawer. Without studying it further, he handed it to Paolo. Paolo took it with both his hands, stepped back, and held it close to his chest.

Enrique turned to Vance. Well, that’s that. The package belongs to an organization that we represent. I will now pay you your money and then we will leave.

Vance stared at Enrique in disbelief. Wait a minute. I bought that table - with its contents. You can’t simply walk out of here, taking the parcel with you. That book belongs to me.

Book? What book?

Quite obviously, the book in the package. The package that Paolo is holding. If you don’t know what’s in the package, why should I believe that you, or your organization, are the owners?

Enrique smiled. Book or not, Mr. Vance, let us not have a prolonged and futile discussion. You bought the table. You didn’t know the package existed. ‘ere is your money. You get it in addition to the money that you will make with the table. Let me assure you, the package does not have any financial value - and even if it should have, I am certain my peers will gladly pay you for it, later. None of us will be any wiser, if we stay ‘ere talking all night. You wanted to go back to bed, remember?

I’m not even sure that this is legal. You will need to tell me what this is about. What is in the package and why is it so precious?

Let me assure you, the package and this transaction are completely legal – and the parcel has no value, Mr. Vance. Not monetary. It only has value to us.

With that, Enrique turned away and started walking down the path. Vance followed him and put his hand on Enrique’s shoulder. From behind, José pulled Vance’s arm away. Vance turned around and almost swung out at him. Enrique stopped and turned back. His voice was soft and icy. Don’t do that, Mr. Vance. Don’t do that.

The two men stared at each other. Vance contemplated pulling out his gun to force the quartet to hand back the package. He wasn’t sure whether they were carrying weapons. He couldn't imagine that they had come unarmed - not in the middle of the night, not to take a parcel away from a stranger.

He looked down at Eugene and back at Enrique again. Enrique had followed his glance at the dog and the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. Unexpectedly, the girl spoke. She moved forward and stood next to Vance. Enrique. That’s not what we are here for.

Her tenor voice sounded pragmatic. It took some of the tension out of the situation, and the men’s postures seemed to relax a little. Enrique looked at her for a few seconds. Surprisingly, his face softened. You’re right, sis. It is the excitement of the epiphany. We should understand Mr. Vance’s situation too. What do you suggest?

Martha glanced at Vance. Why don’t you three leave and deliver the package. I will stay with Mr. Vance and explain what this is all about.

Enrique looked at her. Do you think that is a good idea?

Mr. Vance has a right to know. The table is his. We do not have a choice. It is the proper thing to do.

Enrique didn’t hesitate any longer. He turned towards Vance. If that is OK with you, we will do as Martha suggests. She can explain some of the details to you. It is no big deal really. Important to us… but, alas, irrelevant for most other people. No reason to quarrel.

He almost seemed to be saddened by his statements. OK for you, Mr. Vance?

Hmm… At least I will know how to find you – through your sister. I guess that’s OK.

Fine. Then we will leave. Goodnight. José, Paolo, come along, we have a delivery to make. We still have a long night in front of us.

Enrique took Martha aside and looked at his watch. They exchanged a few words. Glancing at Vance, he counted out some money and passed it on to her. Enrique shook Vance’s hand. The three men turned around and marched across the bridge, through the kitchen and out of the front door. Vance could hear it close with a bang. A car started up and left the street.

Silence followed.

Martha and Vance glanced at each other. She seemed to be slightly embarrassed, worried even.

Vance smiled at her. Don’t worry, I won’t eat you. Help me close the annex, will you?

He moved the rococo table deeper into the building, away from the door. They went outside and he pushed a button on the control panel. The engine purred and slowly the door closed behind them. The lights went out and suddenly the two of them stood in complete darkness.

Vance waited until his eyes had grown accustomed to the absence of the light. He looked up at the sky. The moon had reappeared, a giant silvery disc. He imagined that he could see individual mountains, valleys and rivers on its surface.

The three of them walked back to the house. Martha sat down at the kitchen table, the dog at her feet. Vance walked through the rooms, closing a few doors and turning on lights. Finally, he went into the kitchen too, and sat down opposite of her. It was as if they had entered a different world, bright and optimistic, as if a night that had lasted too long had suddenly, magically, turned into day.

Chapter 2

The girl looked around the kitchen. Nice place you’ve got.

Vance grunted. Do you want a coffee?

She yawned. Coffee would be perfect.

Vance put the kettle on the stove. Eugene yawned too. Martha folded her arms across her chest and looked down at the animal. Is that story true… how he lost his eye?

"Alas, yes. The burglar actually tried to sue me, for assault. The judges just laughed at him. He didn’t realize that he was simply a petty little criminal, an insignificant installment in a long chain of daily court cases. With the exception that he had just lost his whirlygigs – which caused some hilarity. A depressing character, stupid and vile. I looked into his face and I could almost see his date and cause of death printed on his forehead, imminent, cruel and pointless. In the end, I actually felt only pity for him. He was surprised when I handed him an envelope with some compensation in it, after the trial.

Vance noticed how Martha shivered. Are you cold?

Yes, I am. It must be fatigue, it’s too late for me.

Vance went upstairs to fetch a bathrobe. As he returned, she was standing at the kitchen door, looking out into the night. He put the robe over her shoulders. Gratefully, she slipped into it and stroked its cotton sleeves. You like Japanese stuff, don’t you?

Vance looked down at his own bathrobe and at hers. Both were made out of the same white cotton, with small upward red strokes weaved into it. They had been a gift from a Japanese woman that he had dated many years ago. At that time, Vance hadn’t fully realized the exquisite beauty of the two bathrobes - and the liaison. Japanese design is about harmony and permanence. Japanese designers are able to find the perfect balance between material, motif, and color.

Eugene sighed disdainfully and spread his body out on the floor. Vance poured Martha a cup of coffee and himself a Noilly Prat. They sat down again. So… what is this all about?

She looked him in the face. Hers was pretty, a strong bone structure with a nice, tanned complexion. She had a slightly boyish face, the kind of face that Vance liked in women. Her eyes could flare up quickly and she laughed often. Her face would still be youthful, even if she wouldn’t be young anymore. It wasn’t hard to imagine her, wrinkly and old – but still good-looking. No doubt, Vance considered, for a tall woman she was quite attractive. She scanned his face too, holding the coffee cup with both of her hands. Is there a Mrs. Vance?

Not counting my mother, who died a while ago: no, there isn’t.

Why not?

I haven’t found the right woman yet. I am one of those old-fashioned guys that believe in true love and all that crap. I’d rather stay single than move on with a woman that doesn’t make the sparks jump.

She nodded, understandingly. Same with me. Too many divorces in my family and amongst my friends. Too many unhappy marriages.

It isn’t just that, although that is part of it. I believe that if a man and woman truly fall in love, it is as if two souls are united. United again, after they have been separated for a million years. As if these two souls were created jointly, but were separated at the beginning of time.

Why had he said that? Was he getting esoteric due to the late hour? Or had Martha somehow inspired this rather quixotic statement? However, Martha didn’t laugh, smirk, or shake her head. I know that story. It is from Greek mythology. At the beginning of time, men and women didn’t exist. Humans were creatures that combined both sexes in one entity. The gods punished these hybrid creatures for a terrible deed that they had done. The punishment was simple yet cruel: each creature was split into two separate beings: a man and a woman. These were dispersed over the surface of the Earth. Now all men and women have to roam the planet to find their counterpart again; the alternative is to stay lonely forever…

She fell silent and stared at the surface of the table. She seemed to be thinking about something, an ex-boyfriend perhaps, her parents, other couples…

Vance looked at her, appreciatively. Next to her beauty, she seemed to be intelligent and well educated too. He got up for a refill and offered her some Noilly Prat as well. She took a small glass. So, again, what is this all about?

She smiled. We haven’t introduced ourselves, did we? Not formally, anyway.

You are Martha. I am Vance.

Mr. Vance?

It is both my surname and my nickname. You can call me Vance.

How economical. What is your first name?

Vance started to get impatient. I won’t tell you. Now, stop changing the topic. What is this all about?

She shrugged and got up from her seat. She looked around the kitchen. Vance had already noticed that her eyes had been wandering about. Obviously she was looking for something. Vance didn’t know what it was and he had decided that he wasn’t going to help her find it.

She walked around slowly. Was she looking for a weapon perhaps? Something that she could use to hit him over the head?

As she passed behind him, Vance turned around. Looking for something?

No. No, no. But she seemed to have found it. Vance could see it in her face as she sat down again.

Vance inspected her appearance. Underneath the bathrobe, she was dressed for summer, a t-shirt, tight jeans. Her wrists were bare, she wore no jewelry. And she didn’t carry a concealed weapon, no pistol or knife, he was sure of it.

Vance considered what she could have seen from behind his back. Suddenly it dawned on him. She didn’t have a watch and the only clock in the kitchen was behind her, straight in front of him, the small clock in the stove. She had gotten up to find out how late it was. Why didn’t you ask me for the time?

She blushed, but didn’t answer. Ten to four. I guess you’re waiting until it’s four, right?

Perhaps I am.

Then we will wait. He leaned back and stared at her. After a while she suppressed a yawn, and then she looked at her hands, folded on the tabletop.

I’m sorry. I think this is all very childish. Just before he left, my brother asked me to make sure that he had some extra time, time to deliver the package to… a certain party. He asked me to stall you a little.

Not bad, asking your sister to stay at the house of a complete stranger, in the middle of the night. And with a vicious dog too.

Her temper flared up. I can defend myself, don’t you worry.

I’m sure you can.

So… do you have a sister?

Vance smiled. Twenty. All sweet girls. But, to be honest, I prefer not to discuss my sisters - if that is OK with you.

She sighed and threw her hands up into the air in resignation. Okay, I will tell you the whole sordid story. Those few minutes won’t tip the balance.

Vance didn’t move, but Eugene sat up and looked at Martha’s face with his intact eye. Spit drooled from the corner of his mouth and onto floor. She looked down at the animal. Go ahead, you can pat him. He won’t bite.

She looked at Vance, and then at the dog, and patted him softly on the head. Vance took a sip from his glass.

So… what’s in the package? It’s an old book, correct?

Yes. How did you guess?

From its shape. The package wasn’t too heavy either, the way it was handled. If it is a book, it must be an old book - the newspaper was yellow with age and showed a text that could have originated from before the Second World War. The German Weimar republic…

You are right… it is a book. And it is old too. You never guess who wrote it, though.

The German Weimar republic, the 1920s… perhaps a German author? Kafka or Hesse? Bertolt Brecht, perhaps? Although… the headline was in English… Agatha Christie? Evelyn Waugh? F. Scott Fitzgerald?

She shook her head. It isn’t a novel.

Hmm. Hitler wrote Mein Kampf in those days. A book by Woodrow Wilson perhaps? Stalin?

No, it isn’t political either.

No politician or dictator? Perhaps a philosopher? A scientist?

She nodded enthusiastically. You’re very good at this!

Einstein? A book about the theory of relativity?

Wow! Amazing. But it isn’t Einstein. Another scientist.

Vance leaned back. He raked his memory for names of scientists of the early twentieth century and put forward a few names: Bohr, Oppenheim, and Lorenz. With each name, Martha shook her head.

Let me help you out. I will tell you who wrote the book. It is a book about evolution, an edition of The Origin of Species. The author is Charles Darwin.

Vance looked at her thoughtfully. But Charles Darwin died in the late nineteenth century. Is this book a reprint, produced in the 1920s?

"No, the book is old, really old. It is one of the first editions actually, dating back to around 1860. Most likely, the book was wrapped in that newspaper in the 1920s, and then somebody hid it in