Copyright James J. Doyle, Jr., a.k.a. Grandpa Jim

Professor J.D. Hemisphere and Dr. Cook, the retired physician, are in Hemisphere’s book-lined study, the professor at the desk writing and Dr. Cook peering over his friend’s shoulder.

“Where did you find the old quill set?” the doctor inquires.

“Curio shop, down near the college, quaint little side street. It is an odd shop, owned by a cousin of my wife’s. Wandering about, I noticed this quill. When I reached to examine it, the shopkeeper-cousin appeared out of nowhere and said, ‘I have just the ink for that one. It will suit you perfectly.’ I had no idea what he meant, and then he explained.” Hemisphere continues to focus on his writing.

“And what did he explain?”

“Disappearing ink, you see. Quiter marvelous. Extraordinary. Are you watching?”

“Yes, you are writing, ‘I will disappear and reappear in five minutes right here in this chair.’”

“Don’t panic. Tell the wife I’ll be right back. Make up something.”

“Yes. But, J.D., the writing . . . and you . . . are fading . . . and you’re both . . . gone!”

At the door, Agnes Bellweather Hemisphere, the professor’s young and attractive wife asks, “Did he leave, Doctor Cook? I had a question about the course materials from my new class. He can be so helpful – when he takes the time. I was hoping he would . . . take the time.”

“He stepped away, Agnes. . . . Said he’d be back in a jiffy.”

“Please tell him I’m looking for him.”

“Yes, Agnes, I will.”

Dr. Cook waits and watches as first the hand and quill appear and then the whole man.

“How do I look?” the professor asks.

“How do you feel?”

“Always the good doctor. I feel fine. Each time, I disappear and then reappear. From here, to there, and back again. I don’t remember a thing. One must be quite precise. Once I ended up in a flower bed. Made a nasty mess of my suit, a new one too. Nonetheless, I do think I’m getting the knack of it.”

“J.D., are you sure this is safe?”

“Not at all, dear friend. Not at all. But it is fun. Meet me at the college tomorrow and we can talk more. Now, I must see after the wife. Let yourself out.” Professor Hemisphere rises, smiles and passes through the door into the hall. 

And that was the last Doctor Cook saw of his friend, Professor J.D. Hemisphere, for some time.

After several weeks, Agnes invited Doctor Cook to the house. She appeared to be handling her husband’s unexpected absence well. Still, worry was evident on her pretty face. Apparently, she had overseen their finances, and she asked the Doctor if he might examine the Professor’s office at the college and report any findings, particularly if he should discover any negotiable bonds. “Just to be sure everything is in its proper place,” she’d added, with a slight touch frustration edging her voice.

That was when things started to change.

The desk was in proper order, quite neatly arranged, as to be expected of Hemisphere. The Doctor nosed about and around, sat down in a very comfortable old roller of a desk chair, reached under and felt what seemed a button above his knee. Bending to examine the situation more closely, he saw the quill and ink stationed beside a pad on the desktop. Studying the quill, he knew his next step. It was only a short walk to the curio shop, and he could stop at the pub on the way back for a bit of dinner.

The bell above the door jingled as he entered.

“What can I help you with?” the voice wheezed at his elbow.

Momentarily startled by the appearance of the clerk so soon and so near, and the strange nature of that person, bent and dusty jacketed with wire-rimmed glasses and a twitch about the right eye, the Doctor calmed, adjusted his manner and addressed the strange personage. “I’m wondering about a quill set.”

“To purchase or. . . .”

“To inquire about,” the Doctor finished before the clerk’s next twitch. “I’m seeking information related to a friend who purchased a quill and ink here.”

“And where is your friend?”

“We don’t know. . . . He seems to have . . . well . . . disappeared.”

“Of course. Yes. I can help you. Follow me, please.” The bent figure scuttles off down a cramped aisle and around a dusty bin of what appear to be small stuffed creatures, stopping at a worn and scratched cabinet. Producing a key, the curio clerk unlocks the door, reaches inside, removes a glass jar of ink, blows dust off the top, and hands it to the customer.

“Go to where he was writing last,” he instructs. ‘You know the place?”

“I do.”

“Yes. Use the quill there and this ink, not the ink there, this ink only, and write simply ‘Where are you?’ Then, wait for his answer.”

“But he doesn’t have the quill?”

“Don’t need it, sonny boy. This here is reappearing ink. He hears, he speaks there, the words reappear here. Only works if there he went with the first ink. And, of course, it will only work if he’s alive still, which is always an interesting question, and he may not be, but, maybe, maybe he’ll hear, and you may read his spoken words. Maybe. That will be four large silver coins. For you, a bargain price.”

“That does seem . . . a bit extravagant.”

“Then give it back, miserly backstabber of a no-gooder friend. Huummppff. . . .”

“I beg your pardon.” The Doctor produces the money — he wasn’t that hungry, and the rent could wait — and hands over the coins. 

A gnarled hands grabs the change and waves. “Now, off with you.”

The Doctor turns at the door. “But what if it doesn’t work?”

“Then you have in your hand a very expansive jar of very old ink. Out. Out. Closing time.”

It did work. But not as expected.

“Agnes, I need to talk with you.”

“Of course, Doctor Cook. You are always welcome here. Come in.” She directs him to the front parlor and a comfortable chair near the window, while she sits very properly on the edge of the settee across from the Doctor. “What is it, Raymond?” She didn’t usually use his first name, but it seemed oddly appropriate at that moment.

“Thank you, Agnes.” He was silent for a bit. “I wasn’t fully honest with you that evening, some time ago now, when you asked after the Professor. Your husband didn’t step away. Actually . . . he faded and then disappeared quite completely. Though he was, in fact, back in a jiffy.”

“I know, Doctor. I know about the disappearing ink. Don’t look so surprised. The odd fellow at the curio shop is a cousin, a very distant cousin. I bring him food each Tuesday, and he tends to tell me things. Not everything. But some things. Poor J.D., I fear he had a fit of wanderlust.”

“Then . . . you know where Professor Hemisphere is located.”

“I do not, but, from my last conversation with my cousin, I suspect you do. I mean you did message him with the reappearing ink. That day, after you examined my husband’s office for me.”

“Yes, of course, I did message him. ‘Where are you?’ is what I asked.”

“And?”

“Agnes, he’s on a small volcanic island in the South Pacific.”

“The South Pacific?”

“Yes. Apparently, he’d heard of the place talking with some naval officers at the club. Beautiful, he says. Beach, sun, water, a volcano. The natives are quite friendly. One of our schooners stops by once a month. We have a small administrative presence. J.D. is getting by with advances from the navy and the generosity of the natives. But. . . .”

“. . . he didn’t realize the ink had distance limitations,” Agnes fills in. “My cousin takes a dark delight in not explaining such details to his customers.”

“Yes, well, your husband, Professor Hemisphere, would like to come home, but he has that medical condition and. . . .”

“. . . he can’t travel long distances by sea, I know. Horrible seasickness. He’d never make it back by boat from there.”

“What’s to be done, Agnes. What is to be done?”

“Why, that’s obvious, Raymond, you must go and ink him back. I’ve talked to my cousin, and he will provide the long-distance disappearing ink and quill. But you must be most exacting in the matter of your return destination. Your words must state precisely, ‘Return us at once to our designated chairs.’ Write those very words. I have them from my cousin. From here, I’ll use the reappearing ink to inquire as to the date and time of your arrival. There you have it. I’ll have the ink and quill delivered to your flat. Book the passage as soon as you can. It will be a long trip.”

“I will do just that, and I will follow your instructions precisely. Thank you, Agnes. You are an amazing wife and lady. And, before I leave. . . .” The doctor reaches into his bag. “There is another matter. . . .”

And so the arrangements were made.

* * *

“The trip was quite lengthy and tedious, J.D., but this place is . . . well, it’s paradise.” Professor Hemisphere and Doctor Cook sit on lounge chairs under a coconut tree, watching the waves break on the beach, the sunset coloring the sky in bright streaks of red, orange and yellow, a mixed fruit and juice drink in one hand and a small fan in the other.

“This paradise has a sameness to it, Doctor. I tire of the unchanging pleasantness and the lack of stimulating conversation. Thank you for coming so far, dear friend. I had intended to have the finances with me to manage things, but that ink didn’t work as expected. And, as you say, you couldn’t locate and transport the hidden funds, my travel money, you discovered in my desk. Well, enough of that. Water under the bridge, so they say. It’s time to use your long-distance disappearing ink and get us both back home. We told Agnes to expect us at this very time. My makeshift desk is just inside the grass hut there. I’m sure everything will sort itself out once we’re home.”

And so they wrote with quill and ink: “Return us at once to our designated chairs.”

But it was not quite what they expected.

“What is this place?” Professor Hemisphere asks in a worried tone. “And why are our wrists locked to the arms of these chairs.”

“I fear, J.D.,” Doctor Cook responds, “that these are not our old chairs, and this . . . .”  The doctor scans the cold concrete walls and high barred window. “This is a place of incarceration, a cell, I would say.” 

“And that small dead creature on the floor with its legs straight up and a wire around one paw leading to the wall, what is that, good doctor?”

Before the Doctor can respond, the door creaks open and the bent figure of the curio-shop cousin enters and points a crooked finger at the expired animal. “That, Professor J.D. Hemisphere, thief, purloiner of funds from my sweet cousin, will soon be you, fried and burned to a crispie. Why did she marry you, only to have her inheritance pilfered by you and your doctor accomplice? Now, the jig is up. Let me demonstrate your near approaching and quite fatal fates.”

The clerk reaches to the wall and pulls a lever. The tiny, desiccated form lifts, twitches, quivers and shakes, a red glow from within illuminating the shriveled body. “Now, the same for you two rogues!” The rough ink-stained hand grasps another lever with wires connected to the two chairs and starts to pull. “Heh, heh. Say goodbye to things as you know them. You are about to fade from memory. Oh, this is fun, fun, fun.” 

“No!” The  Professor exclaims.

“You don’t understand, I can explain!” the Doctor shouts.

A slender hand touches the arm of the bent figure, halting the downward course of the lever. “Really, cousin? One of your stuffed squirrels with a new electric light bulb inside. Stop this charade at once. I knew it was you when these two didn’t show up in the study. More of your ink tricks.” Agnes smiles a curious smile. “I wonder, though, is there any real current in those wires?”

“Enough to give them a good shake and shiver, dear cousin. Scare some sense into ‘em. No real harm. I just wanted to hear them screaming and pleading. Before I send them home to you, let me give them a twitch, please.”

“None of that. You can leave them to me. Now, please unlock my husband and his friend.”

“Jimminees willicakes, why did you have to spoil the fun? I was just getting started.” He shuffles over, producing a rusted key from a torn vest pocket.

* * *

The two sit in the study chairs, while Agnes pours the tea adding a large dollop of whiskey to each cup. “I think you both need a little wallop, don’t you?” she says without making eye contact, handing a cup to each, then sitting on the old and battered leather couch, hands folded on her lap.

The Professor takes a big drink, squirms in his chair. “Can you ever forgive me. . . .” he starts.

“I already have,” she finishes. “Provided. . . .”

“Provided?”

“Yes. Provided, you stop the pilfering, and you retire from the college and spend more time with me.”

“With you?”

“You want to travel. You shall. With me. Dear husband, paradise is not a faraway place. Paradise can be where you are already and with whom you already are. I’m ready to see other places, not too far away, of course – if that’s what you want. Let’s use my money and see them together.”

“Jolly good offer, J.D.,” the Doctor interjects with a big grin. “Much better than jail.”

“Thank you, Raymond,” Agnes adds. “And thank you for returning the bonds to me before retuning my husband from that island.”

“Doctor Cook!” The Professor sits straight in his chair. “You said you couldn’t find them.”

“I said, dear fellow, I couldn’t ‘locate and transport’ the funds. Once I realized the bonds were not yours, I could hardly transport contraband over the open seas. It was to protect you, old chum. Temptation, and all that. Sometimes the best medicine is to withhold the bad medicine. An old doctor taught me that.”

Professor J.D. Hemisphere takes a deep breath and pauses before speaking. “I don’t deserve either of you. But most of all you, sweet Agnes. I think I just discovered what I was searching for and nearly lost. Yes, I wholeheartedly agree to your conditions . . . with only a few provisos of my own, if I may?”

He stands as Agnes walks over. They take each other’s hands.

“Provisos, dear?” She asks.

“Yes. No travels by disappearing ink, your very strange cousin does not travel with us, and could we delay the warmer islands for a time? I am so tired of mixed fruit and juice drinks?”

They laugh and hug, while the good doctor claps his hands in delight.