The Phantasm Camera Riddle; Chapter One

I.

Picture credits https://www.alamy.com/stock-photo/daguerreotype-process.html?sortBy=relevant

Hourglass has been turned. The man standing beside the sofa gave the photographer a suspicious look, without doubt querying why'd they chosen this eccentric old man instead of a proper artisan.

Stuart didn't return the stare. Instead, he glanced at the wife, a stout looking woman. It must've been her idea. After all, she seemed quite old fashioned. The kind of person whose affinities resembled his own.

When the last sand particle fell to the bottom, Stuart covered camera lens with a protective slide. Customers waited for his sign. "It is done", he announced. Man waved his hand to two large fellows who waited next to the door. The subject being photographed was carefully removed from the sofa and placed inside a mahogany coffin. The couple approached Stuart. Woman coughed and looked towards her husband, reminding him to speak up.

"How much?", the man asked.

"One pound", Stuart answered.

Obviously in a huff because of the expensiveness, the man muffled an objection while bringing out the money. His wife's stare was directed somewhere behind Stuart. "Terribly sorry for your loss,

ma'am", he spoke just to remind her of the reality. She thanked him in a frenzy way. "Photo will be ready in about half an hour."

"I'll come pick it up tomorrow", man grumbled, "we will be too busy with funeral today."

"Of course", Stuart bowed his head. "Again, accept my deepest sympathies."

Before the couple waddled out of his studio, Stuart took another glance at the nicely polished coffin carried by the two men. The dead woman laying inside of it, his female customer's mother, shall be put into a grave in less than an hour. By that time, he will already have developed the last photograph of her. Her eyes will be wide open and someone ignorant of her condition might mistake their glow for a life spark in the photo. Beside her son–in–law and daughter, he will be the only one to see her last photo. After she's been put into grave, he will be the one of only three people in the whole world to see her again as she was before the burial.

Stuart shivered. People who walked out left the door open and the cold autumn breeze was coming in. After closing them, he approached his camera. It was time to get back to work.

In the dark room, he took the copper plate out of the camera. The side covered with silver threw glares in the darkened space. He prepared mercury in advance, so now he only had to bring heat to it. Poisonous vapours circularized around the plate like fire tongues from Hell and seemingly licked the photograph-to-be. When the mercury process was finished, he bathed photograph in the making in chemicals, after which it had to be coated with gold chloride which protected the surface. Stuart put his glasses on. Old woman's features were becoming more and more visible. No matter how many times he went through this process, it's marvelousness never failed to amaze him. As if he was bringing back the life to the deceased ones.

The completed daguerreotype was put into a frame and covered with a glassy transparent plate. With it in his hands, Stuart climbed the stairs to reach the door which connected the dark room and his living room. It was a cloudy evening, so there wasn't much light to be spoken of. Nevertheless, he spread the curtains to let the grey autumn light into his home. He placed newly made photograph on the wooden desk and sat on a couch opposite of it. His eyes absorbed picture's every section. He was the creator of this piece of obscure art.

A bell hanging from the eaves on the outside of the entry door to his studio rang. He didn't expect more customers that day. People rarely came unannounced. Leaving the photo on the desk, the photographer went to meet the visitors.

A young man wearing long coat sprinkled with raindrops stood next to the camera stand. He took off his hat after Stuart walked in, revealing disheveled blond hair and sharp facial contours with crystal blue eyes. He stepped away from the stand and nodded in a saluting way.

"Good evening", Stuart said in return, "how can I help you?"

"Don't you recognize me?", the man asked.

Stuart took another, more vigilant look. A good looking fellow, without doubt financially stable and modern. Not the kind of person Stuart usually worked with. His customers were mostly elderly people or conservative individuals. But he couldn't fail to notice that something in man's face seemed familiar to him.

"You do not", the unknown visitor concluded. "It doesn't surprise me. You haven't visited us in years, uncle."

Stuart had to take a hold of the nearby desk in order not to stagger towards his interlocutor. The last time he saw his face he was a boy, but that was ages ago. "Erwing?"

Erwing confirmed with his head. "Hello, Stuart. I see you haven't changed much." He pointed to daguerreotypes exposed on the walls, only a part of Stuart's private collection. "With all those modern methods, I don't understand why you still bother with this primitive ways. You'll never raise your profit unless you adapt to fashion. I heard about cameras which can take two photos at once and they come right out of machine."

"I don't care. The core of photographic art is in the old methods. But I presume you haven't come for a chat about my practices."

Erwing took a deep breath. This was enough for Stuart to understand this shall not be a happy reunion. "My father has died."

Heavy silence. Stuart closed his eyes for a moment and allowed past to return to him. His older brother, his hero. The two of them laying prone, both wearing kilts as a part of Highlanders' uniform. Stupid brothers who volunteered and fought for someone else's cause.

"How?"

Erwing raised his head. There were tears in his eyes. "He was sick. We sent you a letter a month or so ago. I suppose it never reached this place. Or you just didn't read it."

"I would have read it", Stuart said, but wasn't sure of his words. It wouldn't be the first time for him to leave a letter from his family aside and forget about it. Christmas cards were frequently forgotten and thrown away long after holidays passed. "I'm sorry for your loss. He was... a good man."

Silence once again. "The funeral will be held in Edinburgh", Erwing explained after gathering his emotions. "Your birth village is too far north and snow has already clogged the roads."

"All right", Stuart said, "do you need... money for it?"

Erwing's face expressed disgust. "God, no! Do you actually think we'd ask money from you while you live in such conditions?" His look escaped towards mildewing corner on the ceiling. "I haven't come here to ask anything of you, but to inform and invite you..."

"Invite me? My dear boy, unless you want a daguerreotype of your father, I'm afraid there's not much for us to talk about."

Erwing was shocked. "He was your brother!"

Indeed, Stuart thought. In some other lifetime, the two of them were very close. Not only as relatives, but as best friends. Stuart could always count on his brother. He protected him when their father would be in one of his dangerous moods. He looked after him at school. His care knew no boundaries. When Stuart signed up for war in 1880, his brother followed. They were grown up and there was no need for Stuart to be guarded by his older brother. But Oliver Malcolm would never allow his brother to head off to south Africa on his own. In less than one year, brotherly relationship which seemed everlasting diluted. The last time Stuart saw his brother was at another funeral when their father died. Twenty years ago.

Now Oliver was dead. He shall never see him again unless he gets a request to take the last photo of him. Although being the last one to capture the vanishing soul by trapping it in a daguerreotype would excite him in any other case, the thought of photographing his dead brother with whom he went through heaven and hell gave him creeps. "He was. He's gone now. I'm too old and tired to go through this post-mortem complications. I'm sorry you lost your father. Erwing, and, believe it or not, I do grieve for my brother, but I see no reason to get included in family business after staying away from it for years."

Oliver wanted to say something, but swallowed his comments. "Very well. But you should know that father left house filled with different objects. I presume some of them would belong to you now if you were willing to come and..."

"No", Stuart interrupted him. "I don't want anything. Take everything he left. You need it more than I do. I'm certain you have a family... Do you?"

"Yes. Five-years-old daughter."

"There you have it", Stuart continued, "glad to hear something positive after sad news. Little girls have a whole lot of wishes and needs. Keep what you want, sell the rest." He came closer to the young man and put a hand on his shoulder. Looking at him from this close, he realized he resembled himself when he was a young lad. Stuart never married and didn't have children. If circumstances had been different, his son might have looked exactly like Erwing. "It's the circle of life, Erwing. Nothing we can do to stop it or change it." Taking a glimpse of the outside where rain was sipping from thick cloudy mass, Stuart asked: "Have you travelled in a private cab from Edinburgh? The weather's terrifying. Will you stay at my place? I have a comfortable living room, kitchen and bedroom downstairs..."

"No", Erwing refused. "I'm staying in a pub lodging and heading straight back first thing in the morning. I just wanted to notify you face to face. I shan't bother you any longer."

Stuart had an urge to stop him and reassure him that he wasn't a bother at all, but he did nothing of the sort. He watched with his mouth closed as his brother's son ran to the cab and disappeared behind its black door in a hurry. The horses galloped prompted by the coachman's shouts. The cab was swallowed by the foggy narrow streets of Dunfermline. Stuart found a cigar with his hand in a pocket on his vest. He lighted it and continued starring through the fog, far above which the pinnacle of the City Chambers sprang up. A baby's cry was heard from far away. Stuart finished his cigar and went inside.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Submitted; 6th December 2022

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