Middle Ln. March 12, 1970
No one ever went in there, the attic. I was told I couldn't either, but being five years old I did anyway. The stairs were steep and squeaky. Carefully one by one I proceeded up trying desperately not to wake my parents. Boxes were all over the floor and so was plywood. A trunk in the back of the dusty room caught my eye. When I went to investigate it, it felt leathery and cold. The color of it, brown hardly shown through the thick layer of cobwebs and gunk. Not held closed with a lock I decided to open it. A strong scent of. . .curry escaped and filled the air around me. Inside were pictures, maps, a hat, coat and backpack. Interest must have got the best of me because I didn't even hear my grandfather come up the stairs.
"I see you found my trunk."
I about had a heart attack.
"Please dont tell mommy and daddy I am up here. Please papa." I begged him
"We won't tell them, as long as you agree to let me tell you a story"
Only now do I realize that this was called blackmail.
"What kind of story?"
"Adventure. Head downstairs to the kitchen table while I grab this trunk." My grandfather bent over to pick up the large case and I ran downstairs to the kitchen table cautious to walk by my parents room instead of run.
At the kitchen table we re-opened the lid of the trunk and he pulled out a picture of a large group of men.The picture was black and white, in the background was a freighter, and they were all. . . young.
"Papa, you aren't in this picture."
He laughed " Yes I am." His finger pointed to a young man, scrawny, thin, tall and with a full head of dark brown hair. "That of course was in my younger days. Almost, what, 49 years ago."
New York, New York June 4th, 1921. . .
YOU ARE READING
Papa's India
Historical FictionAn adventure story following a young man and his band of archeologists through India on a journey to research and excavate historical sites. In his journey he will meet new people to replace the ones he has lost.
