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LOREN TEAGUE |
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At first glance, it might be easily thought that the hallway was empty. But it wasn't. A gigantic portrait camera stood in an alcove, its lens focused on anyone who approached. It had seen every new tenant who'd moved into the old colonial house and there had been many since the turn of the century. Nobody knew where it came from and no one ever bothered to find out. The camera was made of wood, dark oak, and sat on a black, wrought iron stand. Sometimes people stopped and touched the camera, running their fingers along the side. The brass lens, as long as a child's arm, protruded out the front arrogantly, like a gun ready for action. The wheel made the camera move up and down. It would squeak when turned almost as if the camera was trying to speak. Perhaps it was. Because if it could speak, it would tell some interesting stories about life and people. The camera had seen it all. Proud soldiers in uniform, blushing brides in creamy dresses, and even skimpily clad models. It had always observed people long after it had ceased to take photographs, capturing shapes and textures, courting light and darkness, regardless of whether the subject knew or not. It was simply the King of Cameras. One winter's day, a man called Alex moved into the bottom flat. He had been looking for a place to stay for a long time and this place was just perfect with its high rimu ceiling and ornately carved fireplace. The house was reminiscent of yesteryear - and yesteryear was Alex's specialty. He had studied history at university and wrote for a living. Writers know that creating a story has a potent effect and it frequently left him giddy and excited, full of enthusiasm. But lately, he had been feeling restless, almost lonely. Was he missing out on something? One evening, Alex walked into the hallway and stood beside the camera. Every corner was plated in silver and the oak casing still had a faint smell of beeswax. He whipped out his white hanky to wipe away the moisture on the lens. Funny, he almost felt as if the camera was alive, shaking with each loving touch. As a writer it aroused his writer's curiosity. Who had it belonged to? He peered through the glass lens and saw a fair-haired woman in a long, green silk dress. It was slightly blurred but she looked very lovely. His heart did a quick flip. "Hello," he said, shyly as he straightened his back. He was never stuck for words when he was writing but lately he had just found it too difficult to talk to people, and so he had stopped trying. Alex's jaw fell open. There was no one there. A silvery light caught the camera at a peculiar angle, making the lens glow mysteriously. He reached out to touch it. "Ah ... I see," he said softly. As he started writing, the camera clicked. Published in THE THIRD CENTURY, Tandem Press Click here to return to the previous page
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The Third Century, an anthology of 100 short short stories, includingThe Camera by Loren Teague Published by Tandem Press, 235 pages, $24.95—Available from any bookshop in New Zealand |
