CHAPTER 7
Josiah always carried around a jacket with him. He seemed to feel a chill in the air when the others did not and wearing it made him feel safe. It was yet another of his peculiarities. He walked around with his hands often in his pockets, wandering through the world, often finding himself staring at the sickening yet comforting bronze wall. It always glared back.
It was soon after the last meeting with the Captain, after retrieving his jacket he had left behind in his secret corner that he found himself fiddling with something in his pocket. He was a boy that thought deeply and wondered as he walked, but it was often the simple things he took for granted. That the object in his pocket was nothing he had put there himself had escaped his notice. But the more he felt it, the stranger it became. He pulled his hand from his pocket. He often would carry around his riddles on paper, but this was entirely different. It was a thick paper that was tarnished tan. As he unfolded it, he saw its rough edges. It was as if it had been torn out of a book but a book that he had never seen. Once unfolded completely, he saw that it was not his own, like he could forget writing such a thing. It was neither his mother’s nor his teacher’s handwriting. It was written with such style, such beauty and intent, but it was not the handwriting that intrigued him the most, nor was it the paper. The content of the paper contained no recognizable words, and yet it was clearly a message, a message of foreign words with hidden meanings.
The first line was short and much different than the other proceeding lines. P:ryx/14. He had never seen anything like it. Incredibly strange. True, it had to be a puzzle, but he had never seen such complexity. He had never had a problem solving anything before, but this, this was different. It wasn’t only the mere writing that was a puzzle, either. Who had given this to him, and not even directly to him? Who had sneaked into his jacket to make sure it made its way into his hands quietly and secretly? Who would take such time and effort into such an elaborate cryptogram? And why? The thought of it being from the Captain was the most logical conclusion, but that conclusion made him want to throw away the paper immediately. Had the Captain really been watching Josiah so closely that he knew when he had left behind his jacket? Did the Captain know where he spent most of his time, where his secret corner was? But no, not the Captain. It was too strange to be from the Captain. It was too creative. Even the handwriting seemed to belong to an honest man. Honest strokes with honest intentions. The writing he had seen of the Captain was harsh and direct, perhaps with a hidden agenda, but not a hidden message to be properly revealed.
Then who? If it wasn’t the Captain, there was someone else watching him. And what could the letter possibly read?
The first line he thought to be a greeting of some sort, like a “to whom it may concern” which headed most letters that he had seen, but he had never seen punctuation or numbers substituting letters. He had no idea how to begin. Instead, he looked further. Except for a small cluster of numbers, the other lines were only made of letters and nothing else, consisting of words and sentences. Though he remained illiterate, he could see that at least.
He reached his room. After making sure of his mother’s absence, he closed his door and took out the piece of aged paper. As he unfolded it once again, he caught its strange scent. It reminded him of someone. It reminded him of his great aunt! Could it have been her! Was it from Aunt Juny! Could she possibly have written this before she died? He caught the scent again. But no, it wasn’t from her. She could not have written so neatly, nor could she have thought so clearly. And someone had been watching and following him. Someone had reached into his jacket pocket and left that paper just recently. It could not have been Aunt Junia. Aunt Junia was dead. After smelling it closely, he dismissed the exciting idea. It smelled of age but not of her age.
He held back a tear and began to fiercely gather his papers, his old projects, his favorite pencils, one for writing letters and one for solving mathematics, and his blank notepad. He scattered them onto his table and began to search the strange puzzle. He dismissed the first line in its difficulty. He had pondered over it too long with nothing to show and no further ideas. After moving onto the main text, he soon found that nothing was comprehensible, nothing able to be gathered from the maze of letters. There was nothing he had ever struggled with before. However, this letter seemed impossible. He scribbled in his notebook, wasting away the pencils without any use. He had never given up on solving a problem, but he had never had a true problem before, so it seemed. No combination he could muster was correct. No letter seemed to represent another. Josiah became aggravated and angry. Hot tears would leak and his mind would strain and become even busier but with even less results. This continued the cycle until he flung the papers off the table and collapsed with his head in his hands. He had never failed to solve a puzzle. Then, when it seemed to be the most important thing to do, when he had something truly worth solving, he simply could not.
He did not know how long he had sulked in his anger, but he realized that he had fallen asleep, and awoke at the sound of his mother’s arrival. He quickly gathered the papers together, hid the mystery, and went to greet her. However, he did have time to glance at one line, and that line he memorized. It was the first line, the most important one: P:ryx/14. Why was it so strange?
They watched their television programs together. Nothing very memorable. Nothing ever was. Even through the introductions, Josiah was inattentive. His mind was focused on the one line. Apparently, it was noticeable.
“Are you alright, Josiah?”
Josiah answered her with words that showed his distant mind. His mother watched the boy’s eyes which were not following the screen but gazed past in deep thought.
“Are you thinking about starting that advanced mathematics? Your teacher told me. Are you nervous about that?”
He shrugged.
“He said you would be able to handle it. He told me you knew about it, that you asked him a while ago if you could take more advanced lessons.”
“Math? Oh, yeah, I do -” His voice faded a bit. He remained silent for a moment. However, his mind was very quickly turned to the current world by one word that he repeated unknowingly in his head. Then suddenly it came. Math! The first line! It’s an equation! He ran off to his room and to his table.
“But the program is still on, Josiah.”
“I have to finish up some school work. Good sleep, mom.”
He closed his door, dismissing his mother, and repeating to himself the first line, the equation. P:ryx/14. It made much more sense then, why the first line was so strange and different, why the main text could never be solved and the letters never equated with others. It was because it was based off of more complex mathematics than a equals b.
With this epiphany in mind, he began diligently working through the equation. It in itself was a puzzle, a sort of mathematical cryptogram which intrigued him even more. He had to solve a cryptogram to solve a cryptogram. He then began to reassess the importance of the message it must contain. With so much effort taken to hide the message, with absolutely no writing that was immediately literate, and with the letter delivered so secretly and strangely, it must be of the utmost importance. So it must be solved as soon as possible. His curiosity would not allow otherwise. He had done so many that he had naturally developed a process and pattern. However, he had never had to isolate such a small line before, and more so, one with various types of characters. When there seems to be no answer, assumptions must be made. Therefore, for Josiah, P:ryx had to be equal to 14. Slowly, he wrestled out his written equation. There was no way to trust it since it was built upon such an assumption, but he had no other choice but to continue to unravel with a potentially flawed equation as his basis. If he was incorrect, it would be a waste of time, but if correct, a revelation.
The lights went out leaving him in the dark without a single word accomplished. Even with the equation, the task still proved difficult. It took days of spare time, much second guessing, two reevaluations of the equa
tion, a return to the original, and countless scribbles and wasted pages. Finally, though, after a desperate act of rotating the letters, a single word appeared. From. He tried not to get too excited. It could be a fluke, a random set of letters that just so happened to form an understandable word. However, the more he rotated the letters, the more he followed a pattern, the more the message unraveled. Two words. Three words. A sentence. A message. A mystery unveiled. When he stepped back and read the message, how strange, he thought. How strange, indeed.
From the door of the main room, going North. Third hall left, last hall right, third door left, through back door, 14525, down to B, through door, second door right, door on left. Knock.
That was it, nothing more than strange directions to a place he could not go from a person he did not know. Yet it greatly intrigued him. For the first time in his life, mystery was unfolding. He had never ventured toward where the directions were leading. He could not. He had not even known that there was a floor beneath his own to go down to until recently. But there was that same number. It was the code that the silent guard used for the elevator. 14525. He never forgot it. So he was being told by encrypted directions to break the laws of the world in order to find something completely unknown to him. But by whom? The question bothered him immensely. It was that question which caused his delay. It was that uncertainty that hindered his action.
A week went by. He continuously fingered the folded letter and took it out of his pockets every chance he could to glance over the directions although he had memorized them long ago. He frequently traveled north of the main room and peered down the third hall with the last hall in sight, but he didn’t go. He was torn by the directions. He had been instilled with a sense of fear of things of this nature for so long that he dared not think about following the letter, but he knew in his gut that he should go no matter the danger.
He reasoned it out. The letter was addressed to no one but was deliberately delivered into his jacket pocket. It was possible that the deliverer put it into his jacket without knowing to whom it belonged, but not very likely. The fact that it was a cryptogram was a sign in itself. Not very many people would be interested enough to take the time or would be intelligent enough to translate one. The evidence grew stronger in view of the cryptogram’s difficulty and complexity. Josiah did not know of a single person who would be capable of translating such a message even if they did take the time to try. It was meant for him. This also meant that whoever delivered the message knew Josiah’s intelligence very well and was also more intelligent than any person Josiah had come across. There were many who knew he had a knack for solving puzzles, the teachers, classmates, his mother, the Captain. It could not have been from any of these. They simply were not capable of producing such a thing. It must have been from a stranger, but a stranger who knew Josiah only too well. The directions were very well and very purposely disguised which meant that the writer did not want anyone else to know, or perhaps he could not afford for anyone else to know, and so made it impossible for anybody to understand it if it happened to fall into unintended hands. It was the secrecy that both prevented him and intrigued him. The more he pondered, the more he felt led to go. There was nothing threatening about the message, only direct. There was nothing false about the message, only dangerous. There was no doubt that it was meant for him, and he was meant to go.
But when?
Josiah always thought best as he walked, and as he walked through his world his question became “now?”. Was there any other more opportune moment? Should he wait and contemplate the danger even more? Should he weigh and balance? No, there was no diminishing his uneasiness about the message and what it implied. He was never encouraged to go against his teachings except by his own gut. His reasoning told him to dismiss, but his gut told him to journey. Which to follow? Which was more reliable? After wandering for what he had supposed to be a long time, he looked up and became aware of his surroundings and was surprised at where he had wandered. He stood at the north door of the main room. So he went against his teachings. “Now.”
He stared down the hall with his feet still planted. It only takes one step, he thought. Just one step. He took it. Steadily and slowly he walked with the directions embedded in his mind. From the door of the main room, going North. He fingered the folded letter in his pocket as he traveled, his excitement beginning to grow. His mind was made. He would follow the message to whatever end it brought him. His heart began to beat faster. Although his nerves were shaking, he forced himself to remain calm, not wanting to draw any attention to a boy headed to a restricted section. Passing by the first hall, he meandered through overlooking adults. He peered at the doors of the hall but kept his eyes in steady motion to appear as a simple wandering child. The crowds lessened as he traveled further away from the main room. With it being the weekend, everyone was usually drawn to the center. Josiah was headed to the fringes. If anyone questioned him or gave him any attention, he could always pretend to be lost. No one did. No one said a word. Third hall left. His pace quickened in the absence of people and out of his growing fear and excitement.
It seemed strange to him though that he felt the need to run toward the source of his fear rather than away from it. It was a different fear, one he wasn’t quite familiar with. He passed room after room, hall after hall, peering down and counting as he went. They were on his right and on his left, a maze worth exploring but not at the time. He had to follow his mysterious message. His heart beat more rapidly as he reached the end. Last hall right. As he turned, he stopped. It was a place he had never been, a place he had never seen, and was never supposed to see. The hall was lined with strange doors and plain walls. Nothing prevented him from going on except the verbal restrictions which had been instilled in him. No guards were present. They apparently had their weekend as well. He stepped out and continued, passing the first door, a dark and motionless room. He passed the second door. Again, no activity. Nervously ceasing his footsteps, he reached for the handle but immediately pulled his hand back. Had he heard something? A foot fall? He glanced to his left then to his right, intently listening. No one. No sound. Third door left.
He quickly stepped into the dimly lit room to escape the eyes of the ghost he had imagined. The walls were plain and empty. The room was barren. His eyes were immediately drawn to the eerie wall opposite of him. The secured door seemed so out of place. Through back door. However, it did have a familiar element to it. Beside the handle was a keypad, one he had been expecting ever since he had translated the number. 14525. The door swung open and revealed something that Josiah had never expected. What he thought would be an elevator was actually a staircase. He took a careful first step down and paused. He was headed down to a place he should not have known existed. Not many people did. Apparently, though, his messenger was one of the special few who held the secret. He stepped down. And down. And down. He reached a door marked A with the same familiar keypad. The door was solid. Solid and mysterious. Maybe one day but not today, he thought.
As fascinating as it was with such hidden potential, it was not a part of his current purpose. Down to B. The door was identical to A. He input the same five digits, and he heard the same click. Through door. His excitement welled up inside, not knowing what to expect. He had never even dreamed of such possibilities before the letter, and at that moment he was venturing into a hidden part of his world. As he pushed the door open, he saw the new world.
His first impression was of disappointment. It all looked the same. The same hall with the same doors and the same plain walls. Fear left him. What was the danger in the familiar? He stepped out into the mundane setting. Second door right. It opened up to a strange room, a room with proof of wear, a room that seemed to be a dead end, except for one thing. Door on left. He stood before it, with only one last instruction to follow. His fear quickly returned and had overcome his excitement. It was the type of fear with which he was familiar. It was telling him to run, to return. No one knew where he was.
No one even knew of the existence of where he was. He was all alone with no one remotely close. What had he been thinking? He knew that if there was danger, there was also no escape. But his gut continued to say one thing. He lifted his hand in a fist. Knock.
No sound returned from the room. He took hold of the door handle but the handle did not budge. It was locked. Josiah stood there questioning the directions that had been given to him. Had he followed them correctly? Was he standing at the right door, or was he lost? How could he have been so sure that they were for him to follow? How stupid was it to come on a whim like he did. Of course, no one would answer the door. There was no one inside, nothing and no one. The place was barren. The new world proved to be an empty and disappointing discovery. He turned his back to the door and took a step to return to his own world where there was activity, where there were no useless, empty rooms or halls to deceive. However, as he took that first step away, being led without thinking, he quickly turned around and knocked again. Before he had even realized what he had done, four sharp knocks from the boy’s small hands landed on the door.
A noise came from within!
Josiah heard movement, a sort of startled shuffle. His heart leapt and paced. A thump was heard as something had apparently fallen to the ground. Someone was in there. Perhaps, and very probably, the person inside was the person who had led him there. But the noise stopped, and once again everything was silent.
The instructions only told him to knock. What else was he to do? Was he to wait? He had already overcome his main fears with sudden impulsive acts of courage. This time, however, he stood there quietly and thought. What was he to do? He was there. He had followed the directions that were meant for him. There was only one thing left for him to do.
“Excuse me -” The words escaped and were caught in his throat. They were barely whispered. “Excuse me,” he tried again more audibly, “my name is Josiah. I think I got a letter from you. I found it in my jacket. I figured out the message. They led me here, to you.” He wondered if his words made it through the door to be heard. There was no response. “Are you there?” He asked with such simplicity and politeness that his fear ceased in hearing his own voice. It was out. His presence was known. A simple, helpless boy stood outside the door of a stranger’s room in a strange place. However, he felt peace in the vulnerability. He heard the same shuffle, only this shuffle was a bit louder and he could hear the quickness and anxiousness in that sound. As it continued, so did the soft thuds. It seemed that with every hurried step, some object fell to the ground.
Josiah stepped back, his eyes fixed on the handle. The shuffling ceased and the room once again fell quiet. A minute passed by, and the boy simply waited, watching the handle for any movement.
Click.
The handle moved. The door cracked. There was a slight hesitation, but it continued to open. Fear immediately swept over Josiah, and he quickly retreated with two steps with an alarming fear of the person living in such a place, so removed from everyone and everything. Who could this possibly be, and what could he possibly want? What a mistake! It could be the last he made, he thought. He was frozen, and the door continued to open. It stopped. The opening was only enough to allow a person to barely slip out. The intentions of secrecy were immediately apparent.
Then it happened. Someone slipped through the opening quickly and with such strange agility. He then shut the door swiftly behind him but with an astonishing silence.
An old man stood before him. The great immediate panic that occurred at his emergence then turned to a strange relief. It was because of the old man’s eyes. They were blue, vivid blue, with a look of peace and wilderness, of sorrow and contentment. The man was thoroughly unkempt. His wild, wiry gray hair was matted and frayed and had the look of being roughly sheared with a dull blade. His tangled, white beard seemed to have decided to grow outward instead of downward as it had reached his mid-chest and had also the look of being repeatedly sheared. He was a disheveled old man, and quite pale. However, his paleness was offset by his filthiness. It was the grime that gave him his color. The tattered brown coat that he wore would most likely fill the room with a stale dust if it had been shaken. Beneath that old coat, he wore what once must have been a handsome white dress shirt but was instead a tanned and frayed remnant. The same applied to the darkened and stained olive slacks he wore. But what a dress. Peculiar yet comforting. Josiah had never seen the likes but just like the handwriting and just like the man’s eyes, his dress just seemed to be honest.
The boy stood speechless, captivated by the strangest man he had ever seen. In fact, due to the television programs, Josiah had never truly met a stranger until that moment. He did not know the man’s name, or his job, or who his family was. He never knew that this old man ever existed. And that was the strangest thing.
“Josiah, my boy -” Josiah flinched at the sound of the old man’s voice, not out of fear but from surprise. He had expected a raspy voice to accompany such a tattered figure, but the voice was strong - strong and full - even in his hushed tone.
“I thought you might never come. I thought I had been such a fool. But as chance would have it, you have come with perfect timing. I must apologize for my skittish behavior. There are reasons for my fears of knocks upon my door. Much is to be explained. I imagine you are a bit afraid, but I can reassure you that you have no reason to be, though my word may not quite be trustworthy just yet. You have the right to be wary, my boy, for it was I who sent you the directions which were knowingly put into your jacket specifically in your corner while you were absent. And all for a purpose. You see, Josiah, we are both searching for something.”
The boy remained quiet and cautious. He did not sense that the man was harmful, only that he was wild. The man seemed to be omniscient and perfectly wise, something that Josiah had never experienced before. The Captain, in his character and power, paled in comparison. In fact, Josiah thought that it was a disgrace to the stranger to even think about such a man in the moment. But who was this man?
“Ah, but forgive me. I know who you are, but I have yet to introduce my own self. You may call me Historian.”
“Historian? Then you must write our history books for school.”
“Not quite. However, I could tell you things about our history that would astound you, but I’m afraid that would only serve to drive you off at the moment. We must not be hasty, so let us leave that dialogue for a later time. I am sort of a keeper, if you will. Ah, but you see, even that is getting ahead. I’ve never had to explain a thing about this to anyone before now so pacing is crucial. It would do no good to unwind everything since there is simply so much to unwind. Little at a time does it. There are many important things that will go misunderstood and missed altogether in the process. I have most likely already done so. For now, for simplicity’s sake, let us say that I am a teacher. And I am in the hopes of having you as my student. I predict, though, that you will be the one to enlighten me soon enough.”
“What?” It was all the boy could say.
“I’m sorry, Josiah. I hope I haven’t completely confused you. I am just talking to myself mostly. I’ve been at it for too long, it seems. Will you at least accept one lesson from an old man, just for his own amusement?”
“Yes, sir. I guess I can do that.”
“Splendid.” He drew up an old wooden chair, the only one in the room. “Have a seat, Josiah, if you wish.” Josiah took his seat very nervously.
Josiah the Reformer Page 7
