Lost Manuscript

Errol died suddenly. He left a neat apartment packed with creativity and no living soul to appreciate or own it.

His motor bike collided with a bus and death was instant, but he had not left a will or any directions about the distribution of his belongings. Errol had many interests, including oil painting and drawing, he was a talented pianist and read extensively. How little we really knew about our friend and was revealed to us when we entered his apartment with a key from the landlord.

Eve and I had been Errol’s closest friends and the only relative we knew of was an aunt in Toronto. I found her details in his meticulously recorded address book, along with all the places where he sourced his painting and drawing materials and books.

There were three library books on the credenza in the living room and his study was lined with others, all neatly arranged in categories of drama and historical novels and nonfiction travel and history books. Eve gaped in surprise when she saw them and was lost for words at first. ‘I had no idea Errol was such an avid reader. Maybe the library will take these. They are all in good condition.’

I rang the aunt. Errol’s bank was helpful in telling us he had only a small bank balance and I guessed his only income was from selling paintings and he paid a high rent for his large apartment in Rossmoyne, and his hobbies would have been expensive as well. Aunt Gloria only wanted one of Errol’s paintings- a landscape please, she had said.

Eve and I each chose a painting too. I was enthralled by a series of Picasso-like pictures with lopsided people, bits of animals and faces, in bright primary colours. Eve was more interested in a portrait she suspected was Jan, the bartender at our local pub. She was sure she had notice Errol one day making a sketch of Jan on a paper napkin.

‘Larry will be pleased with all the sheet music. He is also a keen pianist’.

‘I’m not sure who will want the paintings and all the materials- the easels, paints and canvases. Maybe we could hold an auction. Errol always donated to the Blind Society. His mother was blind, you know.’

As we went from room to room, we found neatly indexed travel photographs in a filing cabinet, and also photographs which would no doubt be for copying for his paintings and sketchings. The third drawer was full of sketches, and many were quite fantastic, really fantastic I mean- fanciful and unreal. I must have one, I thought. It would provide a fond memory of my friend.

The bottom drawer seemed to hold receipts and records of sales and purchases, charts and auction catalogues. We decided to leave this to last and began the big clean up in the kitchen. Left over food was scrapped, and all the pots and pans and mixer and kettle and crockery and cutlery were all packed to be donated to the Salvation Army.

Eve had bought three dozen packing boxes and that would not be nearly enough. The kitchen alone used up four boxes and three for the linen cupboard. It did not surprise me to see the towels and bed sheets all neatly folded in different coloured piles.

Errol’s clothes and shoes also took six boxes and again they had been precisely ordered in the wardrobe, and also three painting smocks smattered with blobs of different coloured paints hanging in the loft where he drew and painted. The library was eager to take some books and sent one of the staff around to select them.

I flopped down on the sofa after packing up the books- one pile for the library and one for the auction. Eve sat down beside me, and we both sighed sadly. How little we actually knew about our friend.

As the apartment was packed away, we found the washing machine full of damp clothes, and outside the back door, two hungry canaries in a large cage. Thank goodness we did find them before they starved or were scared to death by wayward neighbourhood cats.

By the end of the week, we had finished most of it, except for the drawing room sideboard and the filing cabinet. The sideboard held mainly card games and board games and a magnificent mediaeval chess set.

‘Wow, do you think Errol would have minded if we kept some of the games? I’d love that chess set.’ Said Eve.

‘Go ahead, I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded.’ That last sentence hung sadly in the air, and we sat down glumly, then I stood up and decided to make coffee.

The filing cabinet was last. I wonder if deceased people have to submit a tax return. I had contacted the Public Trustee about disposing of all these things, as Errol had not made a will, and they were happy with my plans, and for the proceeds to go to the Blind Society. I must find out about all these receipts and about the tax return. They had agreed I could be the administrator of his estate. How cold that sounded. Not like Errol at all.

In that bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, we found a yellowing folder with a thick leather thong around it. It was aged paper and I hoped it would not fall to pieces. But what a treasure trove it proved to be. It was a manuscript about Leonardo Da Vinci with line drawings of his inventions, like a flying machine and a jeep, and sketches of faces and people who would later appear in his paintings.

Eve and I spent an hour, engrossed, carefully turning the pages and marvelling at the wonderful mind of the master. We decided this precious find should be offered to the State Library. Maybe they could display it under glass or take copies of it and preserve the original.

We wondered how long the manuscript had been hidden away, lost to everyone. Surely if Errol had remembered it was there, he would have used some of the sketches himself. Maybe he would have painted a second Mona Lisa.