Time Travel

The delicious aroma of roasting pork took me back to a week before my eldest daughter’s birth when something happened to change the course of my life forever. My father came to assist me. My mother had died from an unexpected stroke five years previously. I’d wanted Dad to move in with us, but he felt he’d deprive us newlyweds of precious alone time. Just as well, because we moved to a sleepy village about an hour and a half away soon afterward, as my husband undertook a huge project that would take approximately a decade to complete.

            Dad lived in the same house that he’d shared with Mom since their marriage. The only changes for him were his hobbies, which now included cooking and baking. Mom was a stay-at-home housewife, who loved cooking. She’d made terrific meals, which Dad missed and tried to emulate. I suppose it was a way of keeping Mom’s memory alive. Those wonderful aromas from the kitchen reminded us all of her. On finding her cookbooks, he’d discovered his new love and was eager to try recipes of his own. Anton and I traveled back to visit him and Anton’s parents every second weekend, saving them all the petrol expenses. 

            Dad took three weeks’ leave, arriving the week before I was admitted, saying I should take it easy and have a good rest before the baby’s arrival. He was also eager to help me in the week following my C-section operation. What happened during that week changed the course of our lives forever. My dad being highly intelligent, had us really worrying about his state of mind after his weird experience. However, we soon realized that there are more things in Heaven and Earth that even the most educated people cannot explain.

              Dad arrived on a Sunday, so we’d stocked up on groceries for at least a week. Dad’s generosity allowed me to enjoy restful naps during the last week of my pregnancy. While snoozing, Dad would toddle off to the shops after having a light lunch, to purchase fresh food for our daily dinner. He wanted to make special meals, with ingredients we didn’t have.

            Dad had never visited this part of the world before, so our little village with just one street with quaint shops was completely new to him. The inhabitants liked its peaceful ambiance, where we all knew each other and were like a big family who knew most everything about each other’s lives and were very supportive of one another.

            I’d informed the village folk of Dad’s visit and they looked forward to meeting him. I was sure that he would have a grand time chatting to all. I smiled as he left, knowing almost exactly what would transpire at each of the stores, as I knew that all would come out to greet him, “Good day, Mr Beaton. You must be Laura’s dad. We are so happy to finally meet you. Laura has told us so much about you.” So, we were not expecting to hear about the experience that my dad shared with us on his return.

            His story started off similar to the one I’d been viewing in my mind’s eye. My dad was very impressed with the friendliness of the shop owners and townsfolk.

“Do they purposely keep everything here back in the past?” he asked.

“What do you mean, Dad?” I asked at his strange description of our little sleepy hollow. 

“Well the people were dressed as though they were Voortrekkers and, in fact, I didn’t see any cars on those dirt roads. I saw an ox and horse-driven wagons.”

            Anton and I exchanged worried glances with one another with each new disclosure.

“So how did the shopping go then...?”

“I couldn’t get exactly what I wanted for our meal tonight. There are no processed foods on their shelves and, come to think, nothing frozen either. Luckily they had quite a decent selection of fresh vegetables. What I did get though was a jewelry box similar to one my grandmother used to own, so I bought it for my new granddaughter.” He smiled.

“It’s beautiful Dad. Where did you get it?” “That corner tobacconist shop. I think it’s called Coates and Coates.” This drew even more curious frowns from the two. “You’re sure about that name, Dad?” I enquired. “You’re not trying to have us on hey, Dad.” Anton was the first to ask. “Why on earth would I have you on? What do you mean anyway...and why are you both looking at me so strangely?”

            We both hesitated before Anton eventually answered. “Because there is no tobacconist called Coates and Coates in this town.”

Dad looked affronted. “Do you think that I am lying?” he said, while we stared back in silence, concerned, wondering whether Dad was okay or whether he had suffered some kind of brain seizure. Anton tried to lighten the discomfort. “So what did you pay for this beautiful treasure?” 

Dad hesitantly gave his reply, probably guessing that what he said would sound suspicious.  “Well you know it was a strange thing. The shopkeeper seemed more interested in bartering instead of monetary payment. He especially took a fancy to my cheap, multifunction watch which I picked up for only fifty bucks just over two weeks ago when I misplaced my own watch and needed to have the time, as I was attending meetings all day. I was lost without it so I bought a cheap one from a street vendor. The shopkeeper seemed to be really enchanted, especially when I told him that it was waterproof. It was as if he’d never seen such a watch before. He was actually very happy to let me have the vegetables and jewelry box in exchange for it. I kept telling him how cheap it was, yet he seemed satisfied with the exchange. I can’t say what the sale value actually was for the jewelry box, but wait; he did give me a cash receipt.” Dad jumped up hurriedly wanting to prove himself, having noticed the strange glances that Anton and I exchanged with each other.

Dad returned with the receipt, looking at it comically. “It says 2 pounds 6 shillings.  “Let’s see,” I said jumping up to take it from him. It was indeed written onto a Coates & Coates embossed cash slip. The fountain pen writing style clearly belonged to that unhurried, elegant, olden-day style of a period long gone. The date written in the top right corner was 15th May 1912. “You’re having us on, dad?” I smiled at him once again. Dad suddenly turned pale. He refused to continue with the subject on hand. He just turned and walked towards his bedroom. “I think I’ll go to bed now, maybe this will make more sense in the morning. All I’m saying is that I went to town. I saw the jewelry box in that shop window and felt the urge to have it for your firstborn, so I went in and bought it. When I entered the shop, which I thought was a tobacconist, I was surprised to discover that they carried a wide range of products including the vegetables that I bought from them. It did remind me of the shops when I was a young boy. Think whatever you like,” he continued as he walked off in a dejected huff.

“I have never known your father to be one to pull jokes on anyone,” Anton whispered after Dad had left. "You're right and he is not one to even tell a small fib. My dad is one of the most honest people I know, but I’m worried...what do you make of it?"  “Let’s phone around to find out if someone saw your dad in town,” Anton suggested. Nobody had laid eyes on him even though most had been looking out for him, knowing that Laura had said he’d make his appearance sooner or later.  “Well, he must have shopped. He came home with the food and the jewelry box and it’s not as if there are other villages close by like in Europe, where he might have ended up in another small town if he’d taken a wrong path,” Anton added and then lifted the phone once more.  “Mr. Thomas, I apologize for disturbing your evening once again…” I heard Anton say. “I hope you don’t mind me asking…your family…your parents and grandparents seem to be of the longest surviving inhabitants of the area. Can you recall, was there ever a tobacconist store in this village?” 

    I could hear that Anton was having difficulty asking the question, and I was holding my breath as this was touching on the supernatural and I was reluctant to pursue this path. path.   “Really?” Anton exclaimed. “And do you by chance remember the name of the store?” My heart was starting to beat wildly, hearing how the conversation between Anton and Mr. Thomas was progressing. “Jewish people, you say?” Mr. Thomas is there anybody still living here who might have more information regarding this store?” Anton continued showing me his thumbs-up signal. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to hear more, but Anton dialed again after ending the call with Mr. Thomas.  “Good evening, Mrs. Puffett. This is Anton Summerton," I heard Anton go through all the pleasantries. “Yes, well, I hope you won’t mind giving me some information about some long-lost friends of your family. Mr. Thomas says that you may remember more than he does. I believe that you may have known the people who once owned the tobacconist store that was once part of this village?”

            My nerves were jittery so I left to make coffee and returned with a cup for each of us, to find Anton staring blindly at no particular spot on the wall in front of him. “What is it? You’re frightening me,” I questioned.  “You won’t believe this,” he finally said. “Your dad’s right. There was a Coates & Coates tobacconist. They sold all sorts. Mrs. Puffett was 17 in the year 1942 when the Coates family, who were her grandparent’s friends, left. The shop's property has changed hands at least three times since then each time being altered to suit the new owners. It stood where the Total garage now is.” “You’re scaring me. How was it possible for Dad to … No, I can’t take this. Maybe we’re all dreaming. Let’s go to bed. In the morning we’ll see clearly that it’s only a dream.” But it wasn’t.

            We pretended to Dad that nothing had happened. Dad though was determined to get to the bottom of it. He returned to the store. It never happened of course because it couldn’t be found. Anton pried information from every source possible and because of his current work project, was able to gain access to the municipal archives to dig up the town’s history. The village was established in 1826. The tobacconist was one of the first stores to spring up. Four generations of the Coates family had been owners for over a hundred years. Anton fine-combed the transaction slip, dated 15th May 1912. It looked like a recent transaction, but when carbon dated, it matched the period of 69 years before.

 How was it possible? Could it be that Dad had slid back in time? We were all avoiding the subject. Especially me, who was in denial of something so weird. Such tales were just creepy fiction stories to tell around campfires.

            Dad spoiled me rotten with his cooking and baking, carrying trays of tea and snacks after me at regular intervals. On the day before I was to deliver my baby daughter, I found myself taking a tray to Dad instead and gingerly broached the subject.               “Dad, Anton has done a lot of digging and your tobacconist did exist. Is there something more you can tell me about your experience?”                                                                                              “I’ve been thinking about it too. Those vegetables were fresh, better than fresh… they somehow seemed fresher, but how come? If they came from the past, they must have been harvested nearly seventy years ago.” Dad just shook his head, but after supper, just before retiring to bed, he handed me the jewelry box. “I got it for Jayde. Look after it until she is of age to appreciate it.”

     Anton and I had already decided on the name Jayde for a girl, but while sitting in bed turning the jewel box over and over, expecting answers to spring at me, I noticed an inscription under the lid.

To Wakanda,

You’ve chosen to wear this beautiful name - So that luck will endure, like an eternal flame,

It will show you the magic that few get to see, without the name just the box, you will not hold the key.

    I let the name roll over my tongue as I pronounced it slowly a couple of times. Wakanda…..Wakanda…..Wakanda. It was as if this name held a special connotation. It also felt as though it had cast a magic spell over me, which somehow it probably had because suddenly I knew that Jayde was not the right name for my first daughter. I fell asleep and awoke the next morning with the name rolling from my lips. Wakanda…..Wakanda…..Wakanda                                                                 “What’s that you’re mumbling?” Anton smiled, presenting me with a cup of steaming coffee.  “It’s the name of our daughter,” I smiled back.  “I thought you were set on Jayde?"  “Weren’t you also?” I questioned.  “Whatever name you decide on, I’ll be happy, my love,” he assured me. Anton rushed off and returned with an encyclopedia. “It’s a strange name you have chosen,” he said. “It means ‘Inner magical power’. What made you suddenly decide on it?” I told him of the engraving on the box’s lid, and he understood.

Now Wakanda is 30 years old, I am about to become grandmother to her daughter. I’m wondering whether she will pass the magic she’s enjoyed all her life onto her daughter. I suppose not everyone would agree that knowing things beforehand is such a pleasant experience. We’ve seen it in a different light. I remember the first time that Wakanda exposed us to her gift of knowing.  “Why is Aunty Sheila’s light going out?” she’d asked  “What do you mean, Aunty Sheila’s light going out?"  "Her light! Her light!” she’d answered quite agitated by my lack of understanding.  “Which light, Sweetie?” I tried again.  “Ugh, man, mommeee! Her white light, all her colors are already gone.”

            I’d soon clicked. I’d heard about auras but had never quite believed in such nonsense, but here my little girl of only 3 was telling me that she was seeing auras around everyone and in fact everything, animals, trees… everything, so I learned to accept it. I had to. That same night our neighbor, Sheila, passed away. She’d not been ill. It was a sudden, unexpected event for everyone except Wakanda. She knew. She also knew about all the others when she saw their lights fading. She also knew, once they’d left their earthly bodies, whether they were making plans to return into a new incarnation.

            We soon grew used to messages sent to us from the long gone. They were always warnings that helped us survive some or other difficult situation or disastrous event. We took these warnings seriously after they proved to be infallible.

            Through Wakanda, we also learned to trust our instincts and have faith in outcomes, even when we had no idea how a wanted outcome would materialize. Mostly we learned to believe in magic and miracles, that the higher force that most of us call God, would provide the answers at the perfect time.

            From the very first moment I opened the jewelry box to wind up the ballerina to dance for baby Wakanda, she was immediately pacified by it, to the beautiful haunting tune it played. Her face always lit up and she squealed in delight. The box was indeed the solution to almost any problem. I should add that Wakanda hardly suffered any injury or illness, but if she had the slightest health problem, it was quickly healed when the jewelry box was brought to the rescue. A grazed knee and a bump to the head healed before our very eyes in the sight of the precious jewelry box. Another mystery, on each and every one of Wakanda’s birthdays we discovered a perfect gift awaiting her inside it. Mostly the gift was some form of jewelry. Her first birthday gift was a pacifier attached to an exquisite designer broach to clip the pacifier onto a garment so that when the baby spat it out, it would not fall to the floor.

            On her thirteenth birthday, the first of her teen years, a beautiful pen awaited her, with a message engraved on it “The pen is the solution to peace, not a gun. And now recently, on her 30th birthday, a second pen. It’s a fountain pen of pure gold, studded with diamonds. It had a double engraving “The pen is mightier than the sword” and again, “The pen is the solution to peace, not a gun.”

            Wakanda’s passion for writing had often had teachers at school criticizing her farfetched stories, but we knew better. These tales that she had so often written about in her compositions were her everyday life experiences and of course ours too. We’d opened up to a completely new understanding of consciousness.

            So now I wonder whether Wakanda will be prepared to pass this magic on to her daughter. She knows the history of her jewelry box. Anton and I have reminded her of it often, and of course, grandfather tells his tale so eloquently, since it was his direct experience, his encounter. The tale that defies logic. And so in conclusion, I want to again quote the words of Shakespeare who wrote: “There are more things in heaven and earth that man could possibly dream of.”