The box
David, Cam & Dursley u3a
The Lost Property Office was a time capsule located in the subterranean realm beneath Liverpool Street station. Members of the public seldom, if ever, entered its’ hallowed space. The information desk on platform 4 dealt with all enquiries, including those from people asking to be reunited with their misplaced items.
A discreet phone call would be made to Mr. Perkins. If he said that the missing article was with him, a junior would be sent down to collect it from the corridor outside the office and return it to the rightful owner, after certain checks had been made to confirm the veracity of the claimants right of ownership.
Gerald Perkins had been in sole charge since he was twenty-three and he was now approaching retirement age. He had made it his life’s work to produce an inventory of the contents of these shelves, but even after almost 40 years he was barely halfway through.
During the course of this mammoth undertaking, he had listed some favourite items which he re-visited from time to time. There was a small painting by one of the pre-Raphaelites which always stopped him in his tracks. An oak card table with ornately carved legs and acanthus motifs was met with a smile as he passed, but there was no question as to his favourite item.
In tunnel number three, on shelf seventeen was a large plywood box marked “Boxes.”
In the box marked boxes was a box of exquisite beauty. Measuring around ten inches by eight and no more than six inches deep, it was inlaid with a fantastical geometric pattern of spirals and whorls such as could only be devised by a computer programme nowadays, but this was centuries old.
The inlay work was crisply outlined in what appeared to be gold, silver and dazzling white quartz. Gerald had discovered it a few years ago during his cataloguing endeavours and left it out on top of the plywood box marked boxes so that he would see it every time he passed that way. It had a wonderfully tactile property to it, and he couldn’t resist picking it up and holding it. Many things had been reclaimed or sold off at auction after a prescribed time had passed, but Gerald had made sure that the box remained where it was.
Over the years, he had searched in vain for some mechanism by which the box could be opened but found none. In the early days, he had concluded that the box must be empty because it had felt empty. However, over recent days it seemed to have become heavier each time he picked it up. This morning, after his customary mug of tea with two custard cream biscuits, he sauntered down tunnel three and confronted the box. He knew that it must be just in his imagination that the weight of the box had increased, but as he reached out to pick it up, he braced his muscles in readiness for the effort of lifting it. It was just as well that he did because the box could easily have been made of solid stone! Initially his hands slipped across the richly embellished surface and the box remained where It was. Using all his strength, he managed to move it sideways a few inches, but no more. Breathing hard from his exertions, Gerald went back to his desk and restored his flagging energy reserves with two more biscuits.
He eased his feet up onto a low stool and was about to commence his mid-morning siesta when there was a sharp rap at his office door. The shock of this interruption cannot be overstated. Noone had knocked on his office door for over seven years!
That time it had been a fire alert. False alarm. This time he decided to ignore it, convinced that whoever it was would go away. Alas, a few seconds later, the rap at the door became a loud knock, accompanied by an equally loud ‘Hello in there!’
Gerald dragged himself to his feet, ran his fingers through his hair and fumbled with the door latch. He eased the door open with a ‘Yes. Can I help you? ‘and was met by the sight of a strikingly beautiful woman of a certain age with classical features and bright blue eyes which seemed to see right through him.
In a low, heavily accented voice she replied, ‘I think you have something which belongs to me.’
Gerald opened the door wide and beckoned for his exotic visitor to enter his domain. ‘And what might that be madam?’
He sat back at his desk and waved her into the padded armchair opposite.
‘A box.’ she said, extracting a slip of yellow paper from her handbag. ‘They gave me this as a reference.’
The lost property enquiry slip had been perfunctorily completed by one of the clerks from the information point and signed with an illegible scrawl. No effort had been made to identify the object or the alleged owner.
‘A box? We have many boxes here. Can you describe the box for me and we’ll see if we can locate it.’
She proceeded to give Gerald a very detailed description of what he called “My box.”
‘Thankyou Mrs., er.’ He glanced again at the slip of paper.
‘Epimetheus. Mrs. Epimetheus. It’s Greek.’
‘Very well madam. And can you tell me what’s inside the box, just as confirmation that it is actually your property?’
She looked down into her lap. ‘No, I’m afraid I can’t tell you what’s inside. My description of the box is surely enough proof that I own this box. It is absolutely unique. How would I know that you have such an item here.’
He had to concede this point, but as a further check, he asked. ‘When exactly did you lose this item madam?’
She fired back immediately , ‘I didn’t lose it! It was misplaced many, many years ago. Can I please see the box now?’
There were formalities to be completed and a claim of ownership had to be made. All of this could take weeks to process before the box could be returned, but Gerald was fascinated by his visitor and couldn’t refuse her request. He was about to say that he would bring the box to her but then remembered the extraordinary weight which it had acquired.
‘Follow me Mrs Epimetheus.’ He indicated the direction of tunnel number three and flicked on the light switch as they entered.
She strode on ahead of him and stopped directly in front of shelf seventeen.
He stood close beside her ready to help remove the box from the shelf, but she simply reached out and picked it up as though it were full of feathers.
‘Thankyou Mr.?’
He coughed politely ‘Gerald. It’s Gerald.’
‘Thankyou Mr. Gerald.’
He didn’t try to correct her. but looked into those bluer than blue eyes and stammered,
‘This box is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I will miss it terribly.’
She seemed genuinely moved. ‘It is also very precious to me Mr. Gerald.’
She tucked the box under her arm, and they headed back to his desk.
‘I shouldn’t let you take it before all the formalities are completed, but I’ll make an exception if you will do one small thing for me. I have always wanted to know how to open it. If you know how, please show me.’
She looked back at him with apprehension.
‘We must not open the box under any circumstances. I know how to open it, and I can show you how it is done, but we must not open it.’
She placed the box in the middle of Gerald’s desk and spread her fingers across its elaborate patterns as if feeling for some minute imperfection in the surface. There was a slight hissing sound and a thin band of intense white light appeared along the entire edge of the box.
With a sudden movement, Gerald dragged the box from the desk and swept it into his lap where it sat like a block of granite, crushing against his legs.
‘Mr Gerald!’ she screamed. ‘Please, please do not open it!’
Gasping under the weight which pinned him to his chair, Gerald replied ‘Perkins. It’s Mr. Gerald Perkins. But you may call me Gerald if you wish.’
She leaned across the desk, so close that he could feel her breath on his face.
‘And you, Gerald, can call me by my first name. It’s Pandora. Please Gerald, don’t open the box.’
In the final microseconds of his life, Gerald knew as no one had ever known, the awesome power of the universe. In that brief instant, he knew everything that was to be known, a life lived in obscurity ending like a supernova with its consequences rippling through time for eternity.