Message from the bottom drawer (Kerry)

The hieroglyphics on the crumpled paper must have meant something to someone.

The scribble looked important but the question was to whom and what did it mean. I had just been rummaging through the bottom drawer of my grandmother’s tall boy when I cam upon the scrap. My mother had told me of my grandmother’s interest in witchcraft so was this connected?

Carefully I flattened the paper on the old table behind me. The ragged edges were a warning to me to handle it with care. The writing appeared to be in ink; there were blotches above the top line. A careless spill perhaps. Or maybe the message (if that’s what it was) had been written in haste. Some characters had faded, particularly those nearest the edges of the paper.

I recognised the hieroglyphics as Middle Eastern in character or maybe Greek. My knowledge of such things stemmed from the course I had done earlier in my youth on Middle Eastern and Ancient languages. I decided it was probably Arabic script. I’m sure I would have recognised some of the characters as Greek symbols. Especially since I had taken extensive university Maths courses and was very familiar with pi, epsilon, beta, alpha and so on.

I knew that I was not going to be able to translate the words myself but I wondered if my next door neighbour, Hassan, who comes from Iran would be able to help me. I was curious now and immediately resolved to visit him

I knocked tentatively on his door. We were neighbours but I wouldn’t have said we were exactly friends. He was much older than me and didn’t share my taste in music, or pets for that matter. Mine were too loud for him on both counts, the metal jazz and the Rottweiler. Before he came to the door I composed myself and tossed around in my head what I would say to him.

When he finally opened the door and steered his wheelchair out into the porch I was ready to broach the subject of the hieroglyphics.

“Hi, Hassan,” I stammered. “Sorry to disturb you this afternoon. I’ve just taken delivery of a piece of furniture from my grandmother who died a month ago. I found this piece of paper in one of the drawers. I think the writing on it is in Arabic and I wondered if you would be able to translate it for me.”

I handed the paper to him. He scanned it quickly. His face turned pale. His eyes widened. The paper dropped from his hand and fluttered to the ground. Hastily he turned his wheelchair and disappeared through the doorway. I heard the key turn in the lock.