by Alex Bledsoe
Justin looked up. “What’s that, Detective Mills?”
“Don’t do it,” she mock-warned.
“Are you asking me—”
“No!”
“What’s in the baaax?” he finished, imitating Brad Pitt in Seven.
“You are awful,” she said, and they both laughed.
He put the guitar aside and stretched out beside her. “Whatever it is, we can’t just break it open. It might be private family stuff.”
“He didn’t have a family,” she protested. “We’re his family.”
“We’re his friends, watching out for his dignity.”
She scooted closer and draped one leg across him. “Come on,” she said teasingly, gently pressing her hips against him, “aren’t you the least bit curious?”
He pushed her onto her back. “I’m very curious.”
“So what do you think is in it?” she asked again, wrapping her legs around him.
“I don’t have a clue,” he said as he began to move more rhythmically.
“You worked with him every day,” she said breathlessly, meeting his movements with her own.
“Only for the past year,” he said, shifting his weight to free one hand to caress her breasts. “He’s been at the school for thirty years, and who knows how much stuff he might’ve…”
For a few urgent moments neither of them spoke. Then, after he rolled off, caught his breath, and kissed her deeply, he said, “We don’t even know how long that box has been there.”
“If the stack of magazines on top of it was any indication, quite a while,” Veronica said, tucking hair behind her sweaty ear. “Some of them went back fifty years.”
“Look, our job is just to organize and catalog it. It’s all the property of the school.”
“I know. It’s just that I hate mysteries.”
He chuckled. “You mean you love mysteries. You’re a freaking ghost hunter.”
“Parapsychologist.”
“Po-TAY-to, po-TAH-to. Either way, you eat mysteries for breakfast.”
She smiled and stretched with contentment. “I do indeed.”
2
Dr. Coffin looked over Justin’s folder. He was the kind of administrator who printed out hard copies of students’ files so he could flip dramatically through them at moments like this. Except for the noise of rattling pages, the only sound was the droning air conditioner and Coffin’s occasional, “Hm.”
“Sir?” Justin finally prompted. He was dressed like a white frat boy, in khaki shorts and a polo shirt, but he dripped with nervous sweat. He hadn’t even brought his guitar, so there was no tactile comfort to be had, and Coffin’s tone didn’t help.
At last the department head closed the file, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Well. I see where we are now.”
“Where is that?” Justin asked, hoping he sounded polite.
“Doc wasn’t the most rigorous advisor, was he?”
“I don’t have much to compare him to,” Justin said with a little chuckle that died in his throat. “I mean, Veronica has Dr. Tully in psychology, and that’s the only other masters advisor I’ve really heard about in any detail.”
“Hm. Dr. Tully, I suspect, requires a little more … organization, we’ll say, than Doc did.”
The suspense was getting to him. “I don’t mean to be impertinent, Dr. Coffin, but should I be worried? Because I am.”
“Hm? Oh, no, I’m not criticizing your work, you’ve done exactly what Doc required. It’s just that without his advocacy, I’m not sure the rest of your committee will be … satisfied.”
Justin’s stomach dropped. “Oh.”
“But it’s not too late for you to graduate on time. It will just require a lot of work.”
“Can you define ‘a lot’?”
Coffin closed the folder. “As in ‘starting from scratch.’”
Justin’s stomach dropped. “Sir—”
“Justin, your thesis is ‘Contemporary Folk Music Performance and its Connection to European Sources.’ In practice, that essentially means you get to go catch a lot of current acts, doesn’t it?”
That was exactly the way Doc had described it, over a joint they’d shared on the older man’s back porch. Justin said, “It’s a little more than that … sir.”
“Oh, that’s right. At some of these concerts, you are the act.”
“I learn things playing the songs live that I never would listening to recordings.” It was true, but it sounded impossibly weak spoken aloud.
“I’m sure you do.” Coffin tapped the closed folder. “Look, I’m not speaking ill of Doc, he was a friend and colleague for many years. But when you go forth into the world, you’ll be taking the name of West Tennessee University with you, especially as one of our few minority graduate students. So it’s my job to make sure you don’t embarrass us. And truthfully, giving you a degree for this would.”
Justin’s mouth was so dry he almost couldn’t speak. He managed to croak out, “So what should I do?”
“Well, first, I’ll be your new advisor and committee chair. I’ll help you as much as I can, because I like you and I do want you to succeed.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But I simply won’t accept some of the nonsense that Doc accepted. He was a brilliant man and a top-notch scholar, but as a teacher and advisor he was, frankly, lazy. He was an old hippie, and he liked hanging out with students a whole lot more than he did holding them to standards.” He paused and leaned his elbows on his desk. “I need a better idea from you, Justin. For your thesis. And not to put too fine a point on it, I need it yesterday.”
Justin was numb as he walked the short distance from Coffin’s office down to Doc’s. Veronica had left a note on the door: Back after class. Love you! He got a cup of coffee from the teachers’ lounge, went into Doc’s office and closed the door. He sat down behind his desk and surveyed the mess that had been Doc’s domain.
He couldn’t believe all this had come down on him. Two weeks ago, his academic future was assured. Now he was adrift, tumbling without the parachute he hadn’t even realized Doc represented.
Justin wasn’t exactly afraid of hard work, but he hadn’t done much of it in his life, either physically or academically. Most things came easily for him, and he’d gotten used to that. Doc had been the perfect advisor for him, steering him toward the biggest rewards with the least possible effort. He suspected, though he’d never asked, that he was mimicking Doc’s own career. But Doc was gone now, and he was on his own.
That, he realized, was a first.
* * *
When Veronica arrived, she took one look at him and said, “You’re dressed like you’re pledging one of those fraternities that beats up guys like you.”
“I met with Dr. Coffin.”
“And?”
He went to her and sagged into her arms. “I’ll tell you about it, but not right now, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, and kissed him. “What do you want to do?”
He gestured around them. “Work at something where I can at least see the progress.”
“Okay.”
They continued sorting and organizing Doc’s office, arranging things in silence unless one of them had a work-related question. Then, as he went through one of the desk drawers, Justin suddenly said, “Aha.”
“What?” Veronica said, looking up from a stack of old chapbooks.
He held up a key ring with a single key. “I think it’s the answer to your prayers.”
“You’re the answer to my prayers, hot stuff, but if that’s the key to the lockbox—”
“Let’s see,” he said.
The key did indeed fit the lock, and with a little effort, it turned. The hinges squeaked as the lid rose.
Inside rested a metal film can. Protected for so long, its finish was still a shiny silver. Black electrical tape wound around the edge, sealing the two halves together.
A wide paper label was affixed to the center, and on it were writ
ten three words in Doc’s distinctive, often unintelligible handwriting. These words, though, were clear.
This is real.
Justin carefully lifted out the can and turned it in his hands.
“Is it an audio tape?” Veronica asked. They’d already started a stack of reel-to-reel recordings.
“No, it’s a movie.” The can’s width told him it was sixteen millimeters, and if the reel was full, it was a film of about fifteen to twenty minutes.
“What’s it about?”
He tapped the label. “A documentary, according to Doc.”
“Can we watch it?”
“Watch it?”
“Come on. You know you want to.” She put her chin on his shoulder, and whispered, “Your devilish girlfriend might get all hot for you if she saw it.” Then she switched to his other shoulder and said, “On the other hand, your angelic sweetie might give herself over to chastity.”
He turned the can over in his hands. Technically it was sealed and should probably stay that way, but like Veronica, he was now dying to see what it was. Doc had countless other media that they’d sorted through, but this was the only actual, physical film they’d found. And everything else was labeled, identified, and often found together with Doc’s copious notes. This was the first enigma.
At last he looked at her, grinned, and said, “Okay, come on.” He took her hand, and they practically ran out of the office.
* * *
Steve the A/V librarian turned on the light in the windowless study room. He carried a huge old sixteen-millimeter projector in one hand and a toolbox in the other. He put the projector on the table and unwound the cord, which held its shape despite being off its holder.
“This thing hasn’t been used in years,” Steve said. “I think the last time was some sorority ‘silent movie’ night, when they wanted a real cinema experience. I don’t even know if it works.”
“So you keep saying,” Veronica said. Steve was young for staff, and cultivated friendships with students who shared his love for obscure movies. After his first conversation with her about Werner Herzog, Veronica became one of his favorites.
“The real test will be if the bulb holds out,” he said as he continued to set up the projector. “If it doesn’t, I don’t know if I can even find a spare.”
“We’ll cross our fingers, then,” Justin said. He carried his guitar, and Veronica held the film can tightly, as if afraid it might somehow vanish before they could see it.
“One of old Doc Adams’s treasures, eh?” Steve said. “He helped write the grant request that got us our digital transfer equipment a couple of years ago. Thought we’d already put everything he had out on YouTube.”
“He may have forgotten about it,” Justin said. “Found it in a locked box, with the key tucked away in his desk.”
Steve looked at him skeptically. “Doc Adams forget? He was sharp as a tack right up until the day he died. He might’ve hidden it, but he wouldn’t forget it.”
Justin and Veronica exchanged a look. The idea that Doc had deliberately buried the film hadn’t occurred to them.
Steve saw it. “Having second thoughts?”
“No,” Justin said.
Steve flipped the switch, and the bulb flared to life. He quickly switched it off. “Whew. Looks good.”
Justin handed the can to Steve, who found the end of the sealing tape and unwound it. Then he wrestled to get the two can halves apart. At last, with a metal scraping sound like a sword being drawn in a video game, he pulled it open and took out the mostly full reel inside. He pulled out the white leader until he got to the actual film. He held it up to the light.
“Looks vintage,” he said. “It’s been sealed up in that can, so there hasn’t been much disintegration.”
“Is it safe to watch it?” Justin asked. “I don’t want it to burn up or anything.”
“Should be.”
As Steve threaded the film through the gears, Justin and Veronica sat on opposite sides of the table so they’d have a clear view. When it was ready, Steve turned off the light and switched on the projector. On the bare white wall, they watched the blank leader, then the first images.
The title card read:
Spectacular Motion Pictures presents
THE FAIRIES OF SADIEVILLE
No writer or director was credited. And there was no sound, not even music.
“Is it silent?” Justin asked.
“Looks like it.”
The image faded in, from a reverse iris, to show a slow tracking shot of rounded, forested mountains. Then it cut to the busy street of a small town, filled with people, horses, and one early-model car. In the foreground a covered stone bridge provided a natural frame. A title card immediately afterward identified it as Sadieville, a Smoky Mountain coal town.
A man carrying a tin lunchbox and wearing a miner’s helmet strode down the street and across the bridge. A cut, and this same man walked through the forest. He was identified as Litt Larkin, an honest coal miner.
Another man, bearded and wearing a fedora, waved to him from up the trail. The two men met, and the angle changed to a medium two-shot. A title card read Litt meets his friend Dallas Walters, a moonshiner. The two talked in silence for a long moment, Litt mostly shaking his head, Dallas clearly entreating. Finally Litt nodded, and Dallas clapped him on the back.
A title card read Litt agrees to carry moonshine for Dallas.
Then there was a cut to a man hiding in the undergrowth, watching the other two. He was identified as Jim Barton, a young revenue agent sent to apprehend the moonshiner.
Justin took out his guitar and began to noodle along with the film, trying to absorb its atmosphere. It didn’t seem to be a comedy, so it must be a melodrama. He played dramatic minor chords and slow notes.
When Litt and Dallas parted, Barton followed Litt. A short distance away, he accosted him. Litt shook his head, but Houston was adamant. A title card explained Barton forces Litt to show him where Dallas’s still is located.
Then the film cut to show a girl from behind as she watched Litt and Barton. After Barton departed, Litt stood with his head down, clearly dejected. The girl, still shown from the back, emerged and approached him.
A title card read “Don’t be afraid, Litt Larkin. Come with me.”
Litt looked up, and mimicked surprise with such an over-the-top pantomime that Veronica snorted a laugh. “Sorry,” she muttered, and covered her mouth to hide her giggles.
So it’s a romance, Justin thought. He changed his playing to accommodate this new direction.
The girl wore a long dress with a lace collar. She took Litt by the hand and led him offscreen. Three long shots followed, of the girl leading Litt along a high ridge that showed off the scenery behind them. Finally they emerged into a sunlit clearing.
“That’s not the same girl,” Veronica said.
“What?” Justin said.
“That’s not the same girl from earlier. This girl is taller and skinnier. And look how she’s dressed.”
Justin hadn’t noticed. But he did notice that “Litt” was also dressed very differently, and played by a noticeably different actor. “What’s that about?” he said.
Now the girl turned to Litt and finally revealed her face. She was beautiful, clad in a flowing summer dress, a completely different outfit from the prim one she’d worn moments before. Her hair was dark, and she had the cheekbones of a Native American. The new Litt stood casually, without a care in the world, nothing like the worried character he’d been before.
A title card read “Litt Larkin, do not be afraid. I can save you with my magic.”
The next shot was clearly a continuation of the first. The girl stepped back, lowered her head, and held her arms out to her sides. The film went momentarily out of focus. When the image cleared, the girl stood in the same spot, except …
She now had wings.
Justin froze in mid-note. The only sound now was the projector’s clicking.
&nbs
p; The girl’s clothes were gone as well, replaced by a white, togalike wrap that shimmered as she moved. Her sparkling wings made one slow, graceful flap, and she rose from the ground and hovered a couple of feet in the air.
The shot held as Litt stepped closer and slowly put out a hand. She took it, and her wings moved until she rose even higher and her body turned to hover horizontally, parallel to the ground. She and Litt kissed.
“Great effects,” Steve murmured.
A title card appeared: Dallas burst in on them.
If the earlier acting of the first Litt had been over-the-top, then Dallas’s look of surprise was even more ridiculous. There was a cut, and Dallas ran into the center of a totally different clearing, one that might’ve been an indoor set. He looked around, mimicking surprise, and they saw that this, too, was a new actor, with a fake beard and different hat.
A title card read: “Where did you go? Litt Larkin, you betrayed me!”
The film returned to a few more seconds of the second Dallas pacing the fake clearing, then cut to a sunset—or rise, it was impossible to tell—over the mountains. A title card explained, The fairy took Litt to her magical land, and they were never seen again in Sadieville.
This was quickly followed by The End.
The film slapped against itself until Steve turned off the projector and turned on the room lights. For a moment all three were silent.
“Wow,” Steve said at last.
“I thought this was supposed to be a documentary,” Veronica said. “I mean, the sticker said it was real.”
“Maybe he meant something else by that,” Justin said as he put his guitar away. His mind turned over various possibilities but kept ending up with only one, and he didn’t dare say that one aloud.
“Why did they switch actors?” Veronica asked.
“It almost looked like they combined two different films,” Steve mused. “And I wonder how they did the fairy effects? I mean, they were pretty sophisticated about special effects back then, which is not generally known. But that sure looked real.”
Justin looked down at the can lid, with Doc’s comment stuck to it: This is real.
“But, I mean, it can’t be, can it?” Steve finished.