The Spyglass

Stargazing Log: Day 43

Visibility has been poor again tonight. For five nights now, I have waited for it to get dark before trudging up the hill in the diminishing hope of seeing something—an exercise in insanity some might say. Alice certainly does. I prepare my astronomy gear in the hallway while waiting for the kettle to boil and she simply gives me a look before guffawing at my perseverance, knowing that I’ll come back a few minutes after midnight with a dejected look on my face and mutter ‘didn’t see much tonight’ before getting undressed, climbing into bed and trying again tomorrow.

Stargazing Log: Day 44

The weather was awful once again, however, I am no longer alone in my endeavour. As I was assembling my telescope, I heard the low rumbling of a car pulling up beside mine at the foot of the hill. Then the scuffling of feet indicated that someone was coming towards me. Slowly, a figure came into view, poorly illuminated by my torch but I could see he was a tall man, dressed in combat gear, with a telescope slung over his back and clutching a tripod.

‘Good evening’, he called jovially. ‘Pleasure to meet another immersed in the astronomical arts.’

‘Don’t think there’s going to be much in the way of astronomical arts tonight.’ I replied. ‘The weather’s been bad all week.’

‘Ah well, I’m sure we’ll make the most of it.’ He placed the tripod on the ground before setting about adjusting the scope.

‘I’ve not seen you around here before’, I continued. ‘How long have you been an astronomer for?’

The stranger looked at me and smiled. His features gave the impression of youth yet this was offset by his dark bronze eyes which seemed to illustrate the weight of history before him. 

‘Ah, It’s something I’ve been doing for as long as I can remember. My father was really into astronomy, he said, before muttering under his breath: ‘at least in a manner of speaking I suppose.’

I nodded in agreement with his sentiment. ‘My Dad was a keen stargazer too. Taught me all the constellations and everything; built me my first telescope too out of parts he mail-ordered. He kept his gear in a shed at the bottom of our garden but would bring it all inside a few times a year to clean it. Used to drive my Mum crazy.’

 I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Mum’s shaking head when my Dad would appear from the shed, balancing a ragtag mixture of scopes and tripods to bring into the kitchen. ‘There he goes again’ she would always say without fail.

‘Guessing your Dad showed you this spot.’ He said and I nodded. The man looked upwards at the sky. ‘I’ve been coming here for a while too; it’s an excellent spot for stargazing.’

‘When the weather’s good’, I said.

‘Yes, of course. But that doesn’t really trouble me.’

 There was something a little off-putting about my stranger. He seemed to be far wiser than he was letting on—as though his surface-level humility could quickly shatter to reveal a different side altogether.

After a while, I gave up with my attempts to view anything, another day to chalk up as a failure in this stargazing log that is repeatedly failing to actually record any actual stargazing. My newly-found partner didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by the weather but wished me well and inquired as to whether I would be returning to the hill again the next day. I said I was unsure, I cannot seem to decide what to do. Perhaps my new fascination will be less to do with the stars in favour of those who do the stargazing.

Stargazing Log: Day 45

When I got to the hill tonight, my comrade was already there. Hunched over his telescope, he didn’t see me approaching; so engrossed that he barely flinched when I placed my tripod down beside him. The weather was still bad, I couldn’t understand why he was even using his telescope, though this just made me think about why I had come, determined to understand more about my strange companion.

‘Evening,’ I said, ‘how long have you been here? You seem really dedicated if you don’t mind my saying.’

He shifted away from the telescope and looked towards me.

‘Ah, I suppose I am. Astronomy is less of a hobby for me and more a way of life. People forget to look up sometimes and realise that they are part of a much bigger whole. The idea that anyone can exist independently of another just isn’t comprehensible. Look up, then you’ll understand. There’s a whole universe, every star shining brighter than the one before.’

 The way he said this, it didn’t sound obnoxious or elitist in the usual way hobbyists do when describing their passion. Here was someone who truly believed in what he was saying, as though every ounce of his soul was reliant on the ability to look upwards and cherish the thousands of lights strung across the endless black void of space.

‘Be nice if I could actually look up and see something,’ I replied. Every night for a few days now, I’ve been coming here expecting something different.’

The stranger smiled at me. ‘Perhaps you should try different equipment. Like mine for example.’

It was only now that I noticed the stranger’s telescope. It was the most peculiar object, resembling a museum piece rather than something the modern astronomer would use. As though taken out of Galileo’s workshop, this was nothing more than a brass tube set upon a mahogany tripod. It looked to me more like a spyglass than a telescope. Yet despite the weather and the primordial appearance of the object, he was persistent that I should try using it. Bending down and facing the eyepiece, I cannot begin to describe the sight that awaited me. I have never witnessed such extraordinary beauty; aghast at the picture in front of me; cascades of diamonds immersed in the dark, silky malevolence of space with the pale sphere of The Moon exalted in such exquisite detail that I found myself surprised that I could not see the footprints of those first travellers to step foot on that other world; their journeys immortalised upon the surface.

 When I finally drew myself away from the scene, I found my companion grinning ear-to-ear, delighted that the spectacle hidden by the facade of antiquity had produced the desired effect.

‘I don’t quite know where to begin.’ I mumbled. ‘I’ve never seen such a sight as that, in all my years of astronomy. How is it even possible?’

‘I find the best thing to do is not question it. The object simply is. It’s been in my possession for a number of years now and let me assure you: the spectacle never wears off.’

‘Where did you get it?’ I cried.

My partner laughed. ‘Funnily enough, it was given to me by another astronomer decades ago. He was ageing and disposing of stuff in the way some people do when they are aware that their time is nearing its end. He gave it to me on the condition that one day I must pass it on to someone else. He believed that the beauties held within should not be seen by a single pair of eyes. He told me that the universe is infinite and ever-growing, so should the sights held within this piece.’

He hesitated, as though trying to remember ancient history before continuing.

‘I’m planning on taking a journey soon. One in which I’m sure I won’t return for an incredibly long time which is why I’ve been attempting to find someone to take possession of this object. You spoke earlier of my dedication in the pursuit of this art but clearly, you’re a truly passionate individual too to come night after night despite the hindrances posed by the weather. I believe I’ve found a worthy successor to inherit this artefact.’

 I protested that he would be better served by selling or donating the artefact to a museum, yet he was persistent that he must honour his promise to the former owner and adamant that I should inherit the telescope. He eventually resorted to dumping the object in my hands so I could no longer protest.

‘When do you leave for this journey that you are talking about?’, I asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from our strung-out argument.

‘Ah, not long now. You’ve taken a great burden from my shoulders now that I know the telescope has gone to a well-deserved owner. I must ask you to keep the same promise I gave to my inheritor all that time ago now, once you feel you no longer have any further use for the object, pass it onto another worthy owner. It’s the only way we can ensure the timeless secrets held within remain timeless.’

I gave him my promise and we made our farewells. I left him gazing up at the sky, locked immobile within the immensity of it all.