The Camera of Tomorrow

Ryan Perkins is a gentle, quiet thirty year old office worker who enjoys collecting antiques. He resides in New York City and is well-known among the antique dealers. However, while walking to the convenience store this afternoon, something down an alley caught his eye. He notices three gold balls hanging over a door.  Knitting his eyebrows together, he adjusts his hornrimmed glass. “ A pawnshop?”   He tentatively enters the alley for a look, for he hasn’t seen that advertisement in years.

           The alley is a narrow, dirty dead-end.  Ryans’s approach startles a cat that yowls and dashes away.  Startled, he is aware that the hair on his neck is standing on end.  He steps carefully, avoiding the piles of trash on his path. He comes to a recessed door and stops. A dim light shines through the grime on the glass window. Still, he can read the lettering, “Pawn and Loans-proprietor G.Schmit.” Try as he might, Ryan can’t see clearly enough through the grime to tell what is inside the store. He looks back toward the entrance and considers leaving but turns the doorknob and pushes the door open instead.   A small bell announces his arrival.

           Ryan steps inside and quickly observes that this pawnshop is very old indeed. Four old-fashioned lights hang down from the tin-embossed ceiling. The walls are painted a dark tan with rich, deep walnut wainscoting halfway up. He notices that all the display cabinets and counters are full of antiques, most extremely old and in excellent condition.  He looks around the shop slack-jawed, wishing he had enough money to buy the entire place when he hears a voice with a slight German accent call.

           “May I help you?”

            Ryan turns and sees someone standing inside the broker’s cage, whom he hadn’t noticed.  Approaching the counter, Ryan sees the broker is a small grey-haired man with a sizeable mustache drooping over his lower lip. He is wearing a green visor and arm garters and is smoking a vintage Hubertu pipe. The smoke from the pipe is very intoxicating.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t see you standing there.” The broke slowly blinks his sad Bassett hound eyes and smiles.

           “I am so surprised to have discovered your shop!”  Ryan exclaims. “I thought I knew every antique store in the city. Have you been here long?” 

           The little man takes a long pull on his pipe. It crackles loudly.  When  he exhales, he responds, “Since 1903.” Ryan now understands why the store has so many unique antique items.

           “The alley out front used to be a throughway from Broadway to West 236^th street until the city built dat large post office over there, turning the street into the dead-end. Consequently, not many people know I’m here.” The pawnbroker returns his pipe to his mouth for another puff.

           Ryan tells the pawnbroker that he is a collector and is quite impressed by the many exquisite items he sees.

           “Ya,” he responds. We’ve been in business for a long time but do not trade in recent vintage items.  So please take your time and look around. Ask if you see anything you are interested in, and I’ll do mein best to tell you about it.”

           Ryan thanks him and begins looking around at the treasure trove before him. He studies the jewelry, which has many items that look like they were made in the early nineteen hundreds.  There are rings and earrings with huge diamonds set in what has to be fourteen-karat gold. He browses among the steamer trunks, some with clothing still inside, and is amazed at the travel stickers because they look as though they were just placed there yesterday. Ryan’s eyes widen when he sees an old bellows-type camera on a shelf among some old pinholes. It reminds him of an eighteen ninety-six Marion and Company camera. When he lifts it from the counter, he is amazed to discover that a thick metal box has been attached. Turning it over, he can’t see the manufacturer’s name and turns to the old man for help.

           “Mr. Schmit, pardon me, but what can you tell me about this camera?  Unfortunately, I don’t see a name or patent number.”

           Schmit smiles from one corner of his mouth, his pipe hanging from the other.

           “You have an excellent eye, mein friend, for dat is a very rare piece indeed. One of a kind, actually. He removes his pipe and uses it to point to the camera. “Hollenberg invented it in the late nineteenth century. The box on the bottom is supposed to develop the picture right on the spot. No need to take it to a photography studio.”

           “You mean like a Polaroid?”

           “Err, sure. And it worked, too. The problem was that no one believed him.  They all thought he was mad or dat the camera was some sort of trick camera like magicians use.  No one was interested in it.  He ended up destitute after spending his life savings building the camera, creating the right chemicals to develop the photo, and transferring it to the proper paper. He brought the camera to me, and I gave him one hundred dollars. It was the least I could do.”

            Ryan lifts his eyebrows, “Did you say you gave him one hundred dollars?”

           Flustered, Schmit stammers “W-W-What? Did I say dat?  Oh, nein, nein, nein! It was mein grandfather who did dat.  You’ll have to forgive me, you see.  I’ve been here all mein life and know all the stories about every item.  I sometimes feel as though I’m the one who made those transactions, you see?”

           Ryan nods in acknowledgment. “How much do you want for it?”

           The old broker puffs on his pipe a few times while considering a price and finally replies, “Seeing as it is a rare one-of-a-kind piece, I think twelve hundred dollars would be a fair price, ya?”   

           Ryan turns the camera around and asks, “Do you have all the pieces that go with it, and does it still work?”

           “Ya, ya it still works.”

           “Then I’ll take it!” exclaims Ryan, removing a credit card from his wallet.  The piece of plastic confuses the broker.  Apologetically, he informs Ryan that he only takes cash or a check.    Ryan just so happens to have his checkbook and writes a check. Schmit disappears into the back room and soon returns with all the accessories for the camera in a box.

           “It has been a pleasure doing business with you, er,”  Schmit stops to scan the check for Ryan’s name, “Mr. Perkins.”

           “Oh no, the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Schmit, and I promise to be back soon to purchase more!”    As Ryan opens the door to leave, Schmit calls out to him. “I almost forgot to tell you that all sales are final. I hope you understand.” Ryan nods and leaves.

                                                                           …

           Schmit hears the bell above his door tinkle wildly as Perkins bursts in two days later. The old broker scowls while raising his hands.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Perkins, but I did say all sales are final, ya?”

           “Yes, yes. But that’s not why I’m here! This camera, there’s something wrong with it.” Perkins pauses to catch his breath and puts the camera on the counter. “Mr. Schmit, every time I take a picture, the picture that develops is not the same one I’ve taken!  For example, I took a picture of the apartment building across from me, which was fine, but the picture I got back showed it on fire! It clearly was not, for I was looking right at it. I then went downstairs and shot a picture of the intersection at the corner. The traffic was flowing smoothly, but the resulting photo showed a five-car accident with one dead body lying in the street!”

           Shaking his head, Schmit stops Perkins, “Dat was the problem Hollenberg was having trying to get buyers to believe him. He called it the camera of tomorrow because it only took pictures of things that will happen in the future.  So that’s why no one would believe him or thought he was trying to hoodwink them for a fast buck.” Perkins’s color pales as he reaches into his jacket pocket, removes a photo, and hands it to Schmit. His voice cracks, “Then, Mr. Schmit, can you kindly explain this?”

           Schmit looks at the picture and squints, “Hmm.”  He walks to the front door and locks it.  Schmit goes behind the counter and removes a bent and creased photo, the same as Perkins but older. Both pictures show Ryan Perkins lying on the pawnshop floor in a pool of blood with a bullet hole in his forehead.

           Grabbing his head, Perkins staggers back.  “I don’t understand! What does this mean?” he cries.

           “I’ll tell you what it means.  1905, when I pawned the camera for Mr. Hollenberg, I took a picture of mein shop to see how it worked. What I got was this picture of you, Mr. Perkins. As I explained earlier, the picture’s rendering will always come true. The problem is you don’t know when. It could be in a couple of hours, days, or even years.” Schmit’s demeanor changes from calm to rage in a matter of seconds.

           “DAT MEANS I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU TO WALK THROUGH DAT DOOR FOR A HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN YEARS!   Tears are streaming down Schmit’s face. “ I have been trapped in time by the camera until it could complete its forecasted future. You and I are going to end this hellish nightmare right now! Schmit reaches under the counter and produces a small gun.  He points it at Perkins.

           Schmit explains that he has tried to take his own life in the past and failed. He then places the gun barrel to his temple and pulls the trigger three times, click, click, click.  He fires a single shot into the pawnshop ceiling with a loud bang.  As dust and dirt drift down, Schmit sobs, “See? I don’t want to, but I have no choice. I am so sorry.” Schmit pulls the trigger.

Perkins falls, landing on the black and white checked floor as a pool of blood forms around his head. Schmit continues, “You see, Mr. Perkins, it can’t be changed once the photograph is developed. It WON’T be changed! The course is set and will not be completed until everything is as in the picture.” 

           The whole pawnshop changes and crumbles, becoming the dilapidated building of the present age.

           A few weeks later, the convenience store owner phones the police to complain about a terrible stench that seems to be coming from the alleyway.  They discover the remains of Ryan Perkins in an old run-down shop, seemingly the apparent victim of a robbery. One of the coroner’s assistants comments on how the old store looks as if it might have been a pawnshop once and picks up a curious-looking camera from the counter.

           “Hey, Charlie, look at this. I collect old cameras, but I’ve never seen one like this. Do you think anyone would notice if I took it?

           Charlie says, “Nay, but if it still works, could you take my picture?  I’d like to see how I would have looked in a tintype.” Both men laugh and place the camera on the stretcher.