Lost and Found

What I’d thought to be the corner with the glassware store led into nothing but an empty piazza. More dusty and decrepit than the tourist filled spaces I’d been fighting through all day, this wide area held nothing but an ancient statue in its center. No one snapping pictures, stumbling for selfies or trampling others to get a better look. Eerie silence.

I glance back along the narrow street I had just galloped down, trying to get my bearings, but it disappears around a corner, leaving nothing visible beyond.

Could I have already crossed this piazza when I was scrambling to find my stolen bag? Maybe Jane and the others are waiting for me right on the other side.

Still, wouldn’t I have remembered this odd statue? Maybe I should just turn back and try a different corner.

For a split second I think I’ve decided to leave the piazza behind, but before I know it, I’m approaching the greying statue in the middle. It bears none of the religious markings I’ve seen around here all day, and the style differs from that of the old classics. More rough and sharp at corners, hard to decipher. Is it an old woman or veiled young one? A witch or a siren? It’s supposed to have billowing green-grey robes, long curling hair to its heels, but its posture is what compels me. She’s not standing to present her features or lying down exposed to the artis. She seems to be caught mid-flight, in action, running, her head turned away from me; and running suddenly feels like a great idea.

“You lost boy, maybe?” A raspy voice startles me half to death.

In the shade, right by the wall enclosing the piazza rests an old man on a dark wooden bench. He’s sitting cross-legged and smoking, his fedora hiding his eyes as he studies the cobblestone.

“Oh, hi, sir, I didn’t see you there. I’m afraid I’ve gotten completely lost! Do you speak English, could you direct me to the tourist port?”

I take a couple of strides toward him, relieved to have found a soul to help me get back.

“I’ve lost my bag, you see, well it was stolen, or maybe I set it down somewhere, I don’t know, but it had my phone. And my passport! I thought I saw a guy running away with it and I chased him but then I didn’t know where I was, I- ”

As I walk toward him, he lifts his gaze and meets mine. His piercing blue eyes catch me off guard, and I come to a sudden halt. “I didn’t mean to disturb you -”

“No. This is where we come to find lost things. Lost to time, lost at sea, lost to love,” he says gesturing toward the statute.

“Uhm,” what? “Is there,” I try, “a lost and found office around here? I know I saw one somewhere along the streets. If I could just recover my passport, the rest isn’t really all that important.”

To my dismay the old man starts to laugh.

“Lost and found?”

He chuckles as he gets up and I realize the shadows have grown longer and the sun is no longer blazing. There’s actually a sweet chill in the dusky piazza. “If a thing we’ve lost is found again, then it was never lost. Ah, but to truly lose a thing -”

“Okay, sir, sorry to have disturbed you, I’ll be on my way.” I’m covered in goosebumps as I try to turn back.

“Nonsense. Come,” he orders, heading towards a stone archway at the side of the building. In the shadows hides a door.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve loved exploring. Seeing what’s right behind the corner, breaking untouched snow, walking a path I’ve never been down before. My steps have even before gone where they would, pulled by some mysterious force of discovery.

But now it’s not curiosity guiding the way as I follow the old man, it’s a path inside me I cannot escape.

Right before I enter the building after him, I take a last look over my shoulder at the piazza. From this angle I can finally see the face of the statue. She has no mouth and her burning, bright, golden eyes bore into my soul.

…

The door closes behind me and with a metal clank I’m thrown into a different world. The streets imbued by sea breeze and old stone are gone and all that’s left is this stuffy, poorly lit chamber. A thick, orange ray of sunshine makes its way through the tiny window. So opaque with grime, there is no view beyond it.

“What’s lost, boy? Papers?” The old man asks pointing to a bookcase covering the entire wall. Dusty books, papers and envelopes are strewn across the shelves which bow at the middle. They appear not to have been touched in an era.

“My – my passport. I need it to return home.”

He studies the bookshelves for a long moment, then shifts his gaze back to me.

“What home is this? That needs you papers to come back?”

I consider explaining about border control but decide against it and glance back to where the door shut behind me. In the dark, I can’t make it out.

“But I know,” he continues, “I know. Once there was a line drawn here where we stand that cut the town in two. Only papers big and small go over the line. I lost myself love on this here stone line, and never it was found again. Do you have love, boy?”

Flashes go through my mind, glimpses of green eyes and laughter. A soft voice. Sad eyes and a warm embrace to last forever. These thoughts never really leave my mind, not completely. They’re the running background of all my days.

“Ah, I see,” he says, furrowing his brow and clutching at his heart. “Love is not lost that never was. Better. Love that is lost hardens, closes. Turns you to stone.” He glances at the piazza through the dirty window, where I know the golden eyes of the statue glisten in the setting sun.

“I’m not so sure you’re right about that; at least you have the memories.”

“Yes, memories,” he says scrutinizing the window again. “Memories, to remember what you have lost.”

“Tell me, boy,” he suddenly turns to me raising his voice, “what memories would hold you to ground. Keep you from sailing to faraway shores?”

There’s all but nothing left of the sunlight trickling in the dusty room. The old man is a shadow against shadows. If there ever was a entrance to this place, it’s gone now.

I try to shield my mind from the images that are sure to flood. Green eyes telling me to wait. Things will settle down and there will be time. Crossroads and choices. Love leaving me behind. The feeling of cold wall against me as I cry broken on the floor.

Something moves outside the window.

The man’s eyes snap to the windows as something drags against the wall. The sound makes my blood run cold.

“Nothing lost, boy, only pride! Pride is no loss to no one.” He moves faster than I thought possible to the small glass opening and sets his palm against it, murmuring something indecipherable. He only turns to me his indelible eye, still incandescent blue.

“Speak now!” he yells, “is there love?”

Something hard bangs on ghost-door.

“Speak!”

Of course.

“Yes!”

A loud bang comes through again, accompanied by the sound of wood splintering against stone. My breath catches, and I’m still not sure any of this is real. But something real I am sure of is the fear curdling my blood.

The bookcase begins to tremble, papers fly, and books drop one by one.

“Quick now,” the man says, letting go of the glass and jumping to pull out a random book. I follow him as shrill screams come in through the shattering wall. Through a crack I can see a hint of deep, molten gold.

“Say it now, boy, say it loud!” He says, still holding the book and pressing the back of the bookcase with his other hand.

“What do you want me to say?! I love her! I love her with everything that I am and I always will. I won’t let her go.” The old man smiles, and the frame of a secret entrance begins to appear in the bookcase. Now a door handle. The screams are farther away, and the banging slows down.

He grabs my hand and places it on the handle. I want to push through but he stops me with a hand on my chest. The old man is grinning now.

“Don’t forget your papers,” he says as he thrusts the book in my hand, and I am pulled through the secret door out of there and out of time.

…

I’m in front of the glassware store and the sun is almost set. My friends are waiting, concerned expressions etched on their faces. And Jane.

“Oh, my God, there he is! There you are! Where were you? Did you get lost?”

Lost.

“Kevin had your bag all along, you’d forgotten it in the coffee place. Here it is with all your stuff. I was so worried! But what’s in your hand?”

In my hand I have my passport. I look at Kevin who is holding my bag, and I know for sure that in the interior hidden pocket there is also a passport with my face on it. Identical to the one I’m holding, except with covers faintly glinting gold.