Layers of Memories
That I awoke with a vague memory of last night. They covered me in layers of blankets. The bump on my head hurt like someone had pulled a piece of my skull off. Which it turned out there was a now a hole in my head.
The police were there. I had a name card of a person who was missing at the time they asked what happened to me. My memories of the event were in a brain fog. The police were very insistent because I was a foreigner and the lady missing was a foreigner, too.
My brain did not help. The staff at the hotel where I awoke informed me I was their cook and had worked there just a nine days ago. Five days of work and then I had disappeared for three days and then found in the basement with blood on my head.
The layers of mystery kept on being added. That I did not remember my name. Or being a cook. Seemed not to bother me as much as some missing lady I did not know.
In the room I was in, I found three books, a couple of journals, and several maps that were pieced together from other maps. How did I know this? I am not sure. But looking at the maps, I could tell that the maps were a combination of allot more maps because of the different legends.
The layers grew even more when I read the journals. The staff assured me the journals, and all were mine. So I read them. The newest one stating I was a cook at the Pera Palas Hotel. And that the year 1929 I had looked for a treasure of a knight Templer. The diary references other diaries which, according to a note at the front of the diary, I had left with a cousin along with 15000 maps and several other books. Seemed rather ridiculous if you asked me. But here I was, bump on my head. Memory fog who I was or am. Reading about where I was and, to be honest, what year it was.
The dairy referenced several other adventures trying to find some treasure. Did I believe in the diary? No, not really. I did, however, believe the little black bag that hid in the bag I had. It contained, as in the diary, referenced seven golf Florins. Six of which I had inherited from Bob. Who had provided the maps and books? And one I had found in my search for the treasure. Along with that, the referenced a coin dealer in Ole London, England, where I had sold one of gold Florins for 800 pounds, like four months prior to the date I had awoken in the hotel.
The layers of confusion seem to be great. The diary references a lady on a steam ship Sidi Aissa, who was staying in the hotel at least nine days ago. I made inquires and found that she had left for her home in the countryside. What was even more wild is I was in Istanbul, Turkey, and the staff that had been taking care of me up to that point were speaking to me in English.
Gaining my feet, I started back to the kitchen. Why? I figured if I got to cooking, I would remember maybe a bit of what was going on.
Thank the Lord, my memories and recipes of dishes made for. The funny part is that layers of memories did not seem real or even contain an idea of how I knew to add salt to one dish, a pinch of pepper to another. To exchange a lot of sugar for starch and honey. I seemed to cook. The lovely serving ladies seemed to enjoy my cakes. The management even upped my wages five days later when the guest of the hotel mysterious appeared in her room. She, too, did not know what had happened.
I bumped into her. She was a writer. And I asked if she recognized me or saw me or anything along with her ordeal. She said other than screaming once and seeing vague shadow with a lantern, the entire ordeal was lost in her mind.
I said thanks and gave her a cake. Her name Agatha Christie was memorable eyes. I wished her well on her writings.
Then I went back to work from 7 PM to 3 AM. I would read my journals, and diaries. The layers of the diaries made it seem that I was here to find a lake. An underground lake that the hotel they might have built it upon.
One night, a new face appeared in the kitchen. The weirdest part. I could swear I had seen her naked and that on her tush was a tattoo of a moon. I think I ogled her too much, for she demanded what I was looking at. I gave her a cake and smiled. Her demand was not in English or Turkish. It was, to my ears, Russian. Which made no sense how or why I would understand her statement.
Layers of what I was to do here. Who had hit me on the head? What had happened to the lady missing for fourteen days? Seemed to grow on me.
Then one night as I did prep work, I was in the basement. And a memory of a door behind some boxes came to me. I pushed back an enormous pile of flour and corn meal. There was a doorway locked. I wondered what adventure laid within.
I got off work at 3 AM and instead of going to bed. There was a variety of entertainment at the cafe that I went to. Let’s be honest, it was a whore house. The funny part of layers I could remember that a lot of the women of ill repute had the ability and craft skills of well picking locks.
The layers grew in my mind. Why or how I knew this which came not from the diaries and or any memories to trigger the idea made me wonder who or what I did in my life prior to my bump on the head.
Anyway, there I saw a lot of ladies with moons tattooed on their tush. After a brief conversation, I found a lady who had what I wanted. My mind not wanting to share the details, I purchased a small kit to pick a lock.
When I say small. Remember, locks back in 1929 are a bit more made of iron and the system or detail within some rather ingenious people sometimes craft them to keep thieves out.
Two nights after that, I had my first night off by working two shifts back to back. I went down to the basement and for an hour picked the lock open. I had brought two lanterns and went into the dark. Placing a torch used by the hotel for the basement at the entrance.
Going down the passage way I came upon a spot where some blood spot showed up. I wondered if it was mine? The blood smear went off in one direction. However, I could hear voices or, more specific laughter coming down another passage.
I went with the laughter. I came upon a wide open space. The ceiling was high enough that the lantern did not show a top. However, the laughter I could see seven women dancing. To be honest, it was not just that they were dancing; they were naked and dancing.
Then something moved. When I mean something, it was big enough to be larger than a horse. It was moving towards me. I ran back the way I came.
The layers of the mystery. At least I now knew why I knew lady had a moon on her tush. And one of the staff members was two of the seven ladies dancing around a bonfire in the middle of the night.