II.

Most of Stuart's contemporaries abandoned the practice of photographing the deceased. Public deemed they belonged to the last century. However, Stuart's opinion was different. He started his vocation after he came home from Africa. War left him fascinated by both death and photography. To him, those two connected made a specially mysterious enchantment which tempted every human. Modern people denied it because it was out of fashion, but Stuart knew that there isn't a single soul in the universe which isn't fascinated by the dead. And there was a greater, morbid artistry behind the photos of the dead which photos of the living lacked.

But at the turn of the century Stuart was forced to expand his work because photographing people who passed away didn't made him enough profit. He accepted living customers for financial reasons, but the dead were still his top priority. This tendency brought some notorious publicity upon him, but he didn't mind it. He earned enough to survive and was happy when someone would discreetly ask him to take a photo of their beloved deceased ones.

The man who was to be photographed while Stuart was thinking this over was so old that his eyes seemed closed even when they weren't. Wrinkles covered his freckled face and thin white hair fell all the way to his knees. But his son, who came all the way from Edinburgh to pay Stuart for his special services, was a rich gentleman and had no shame attached to his wish to have a photo of his dead father. "Wait, I want it to stand straight", he said, moving his father's hat for Stuart knew not which time. "He always wore it like that. He'd read newspapers and smoke his Virginia cigar in the morning. I swear I've never seen him without a hat. We were so shocked to find him lying on the floor, with his hat beside him... Must've come off when he fell..."

Stuart finally removed the protective slide and turned the hourglass. While the sand was sliding down, the bell rang and the gentleman whose mother-in-law Stuart photographed the day before entered. The man took of his hat and gave Stuart a respectful bow. Then he caught a sight of old man on the sofa and his face adopted the expression of abomination.

"I'll call my men to pick him up", old man's son said when the process was finished.

While the body was being carried away, Stuart went to find yesterday's photo. He left all photos which were to be handed to customers in the same drawer. He put each photo in special envelope labelled with date and name of the person written in thick black ink.

Before leaving the studio, the man opened the envelope to take a look at the daguerreotype. "She looks alive", he commented, sucking air through his teeth. "Peculiar, isn't it?"

"That's my job."

The man rewarded his remark with an expression of fearful astonishment. As if he got a sudden urge to leave this place which gave him creeps, he left in a hurry.

"I'll come later today if that's okay", the rich gentleman said from the door.

"Sure", Stuart answered. He always charged in advance. The guy paid before the photo was even taken. After that, as long as Stuart was concerned, he could come pick it up whenever he liked, or, which happened rarely, but wasn't excluded, he could never appear again. This rarest case was to Stuart's best liking because then he could keep the daguerreotype.

While he was making magic in the dark room, Erwing's appearance of the day before came to his mind. Stuart was shaken up by the news more than he showed. He struggled falling asleep and remained distracted when the morning came. His hands were shaking as he was heating up the mercury. He had to take a pause to calm down, but it had to be short so that picture wouldn't vanish.

He kept thinking how it would've been better for everyone if he had died instead of Oliver. His brother was always the one people liked more. Smarter, more handsome and better in building relationships with people. Stuart was not immune to his charms. He adored him when they were kids. Yet later, when authorities called for war volunteers, he signed up without telling anyone in advance. He never admitted his real reasons to anyone beside himself. It was jealousy. Boyish days were long left behind them and the difference between them started to bother him. Oliver had a beautiful and intelligent fiancée, he finished his studies and already found a job. Family and friends praised him, adored him. Going to war would never come to his mind. On the other hand, Stuart was stunted, unattractive, unable to impress girls or earn the respect of his family. He was still in college, but his marks weren't even the shadow of Oliver's success. When Oliver found out that he'd signed up for the army, he was furious. Stuart could never forget how he crashed into his bedroom. It was the first and the last time he yelled at his younger brother...

His fingers hurt. He was holding the copper plate above hot mercury for too long. "Damn!" His hand snatched. The uncompleted photograph was cast away. Stuart kneeled down, swearing and waving his burned hand. He had to light a kerosene lamp to find the missing daguerreotype. It was in the corner. Broken into tinny pieces. Stuart sighed as he gathered parts desperately overthinking what might he do to fix it. Some pieces were so small he didn't manage to find them, so merging the ones he'd found had no point. The photo was destroyed before it had been developed. The photographer placed what he'd found on the desk where faint rays from the petrol lamp lighted them. He took another look at his ruined work before giving up all hope.

His eyes captured a part of picture in one of the puzzles. Reacting quickly, Stuart grabbed the piece and, putting his glasses on, brought it closer to his face. For a short moment he was able to see a black dot surrounded by framed whiteness. An eye, goggled as if the person to whom it belonged was experiencing a terrible shock. Another moment and it was gone. Stuart put the fragment down. Rubbing his neck, he mumbled to himself: "Hell, I'm losing it." Perhaps it was only a matter of time for him to go mad, but Stuart didn't think that time had come. It was the fresh memory of his nephew and the unexpected information which came with him. "Oliver dead", he said it out loud for the first time. Whatever had happened between them, if Stuart had been the first one to die, he'd like Oliver to attend his funeral. They were brothers after all, and Stuart had no grudges against his brother. He was sure Oliver had nothing against him neither. The blade which cut their bond was the grudge Stuart felt towards himself.

"I'll be at your funeral, Oliver", Stuart spoke into air, "but first I have to think of what to say to that rich man. I'll have to give him back his money and apologize for destroying the last memory he'd have ever gotten of his father." He sighed again, mourning the spoiled piece of art on his desk.

...

Stuart took a stand next to the statue of Abraham Lincoln. A group of people listening to the preacher giving a farewell to Oliver Malcolm was within the scope of his gaze, but not close enough for anyone of them to notice him. Stuart made sure to remain inconspicuous. He didn't announce his arrival in advance. Before heading off, he contacted an amateur photographer in Edinburgh, an acquaintance of his from the school days, whose family owned funeral business, and asked him to find out informations about his brother's send-off. His acquaintance's voice coming from the telephone revealed that he was bothered by this favour, but Stuart preferred owing someone a return service rather that admitting feelings to his family. Wrapped in coat, with his face hidden by a high collar, Stuart observed his familiars as they left flowers next to the coffin, crying and sobbing for their lost member. Compared to the last time he saw them, they were so different, yet their essences were unchanged. The first person he noticed was Carol, Oliver's widow. He remembered the day when Oliver introduced her to him and their parents. They were so proud, Carol was both beautiful and clever. She was a teacher and had a special sense for organization. Stuart was horribly envious of the diamond his brother had found, but of course he never told anyone. Carol was nice to everyone. While Oliver was at work and Stuart had to remain at home after dropping out of college, she would spend all her free time with him. They got along well. Those were the days which preceded his enlistment in the army. The memory of her dressed in beautiful wedding gown still made him smile. Oliver had married her one week before he left Scotland to follow his brother's stupid decisions.

"Uncle!" Erwing was running towards him. Stuart stepped from one leg to the other, contemplating how to avoid meeting him or anyone else. He had no will for explaining where had he been for the last twenty or so years. But his nephew reached him before he came up with a plan. His face was wet with tears, but an honest smile was glowing on his face. "You came after all! I'm so glad! But why haven't you warned us? And why..." He shook his head. "No, it doesn't matter. You must come with me. There is a banquet at our house."

"I can't. I don't want to bother you. I came for my own reasons and now I must leave..."

Erwing took a hold of his hand and squeezed it. "I'm begging you, join us."

His plea was so honest and filled with sadness Stuart was unable to decline. He allowed Erwing to pull him and lead him to their cab. When others noticed him, some raised their eyebrows and shook heads, denying him the right to reunite with the family after he neglected them for years, but others called his name in surprise and offered him their condolences. Still unaware of the position his brother's death gave him, he didn't know how to react, so Erwing had to thank them in his name.

"This is Loreley", Erwing introduced his wife, "and this is our daughter."

"Very glad to meet you at last", Loreley said, shaking his hand in a feminine and genteel way.

"And you know my mother..."

Carol hid her face behind a black veil. She hadn't stopped sobbing since they left the cemetery. "Stuart", she whispered, "my dear Stuart, you wouldn't believe how seeing you makes me happy... I'm just so sorry it's under such sad circumstances..." Her voice broke. She put her hands on her face. Loreley hugged her and whispered consoling words in her ears.

"It's alright, Carol... I'm glad to see you too... And what's your name?", Stuart asked the little girl sitting on Loreley's lap.

Oliver's granddaughter evaluated him with a careful look. "I'm Louise." Black ribbons in her hair slipped down as she tilted her head on one side. "I don't know you."

"This is my uncle, sweetie", Erwing explained. Turning to Stuart, he added: "Not many people will come to our house. Mother couldn't stand the crowd after everything. But you can stay as long as you wish. My father would like that."

The cab trotted away from the Old Calton Burial Ground. He hadn't been in Oliver's house since the wedding. It was a comfortable two-storey house outside the city centre. Quite a number of people had already gathered in front of the gate before their cab arrived. Stuart felt dizzy. What Erwing considered to be a few people was far too many for what Stuart was used to. Erwing helped his mother reach the entry of the house. Guests followed. Stuart was glad to have Loreley by his side. Her presence seemed to protect him from evil stares.

"It hadn't changed at all!", he commented when they entered. The walls were the same deep green colour as they were when Oliver bought the house. Wooden chairs and desk in the dinning room were the same ones he used to play cards at with Carol. Victorian fireplace in the corner of the living room was the one he remembered Oliver bragging about. The only item which was new to him was a big framed painting of Oliver, Carol and Erwing placed on the wall next to stairs. Stuart stopped in front of it. He couldn't separate his eyes from Oliver's painted eyes. Ocean blue. Those eyes searched for his soul on that fatal day on the battle ground. Stuart wanted to prove he was worth something, too, so he was getting ready to shoot a Boer. The soldier was running towards him, rifle aimed at his head. But Stuart was ready. He would've been the first one to fire if Oliver hadn't stopped him. He pushed away Stuart's weapon and fired instead, without targeting, unadvisedly. The Boer fell to the ground, dead. Stuart stared in blank space, not comprehending what had happened. Oliver took him by the shoulders and pulled him on his legs. "I won't let you turn into a killer", he said calmly. "I won't allow the worst sin label you for eternity."

"The artist really captured us, right?", Erwing appeared next to him. He accompanied his mother to her chambers. Carol was tired and had no wish to participate in the banquet. Stuart wasn't sure whether he was relieved because he won't have to face her or sad because he'll miss the only chance to talk to her. "I was only fifteen when my father ordered this. Mum laughed because he wanted a painting instead of a photo. I guess you weren't the only old fashioned member of the family." He put one hand on Stuart's shoulder. "Let's go to the dining room."

As his attention transited from one face to another, Stuart recognized each person sitting at the table. His sister-in-law's fat mother, his brother's friends, Erwing's godfather, cousins who used to visit when he was a kid. Nobody ate nor talked much. The atmosphere was heavy with anxiety. Stuart absorbed every move his neighbours at the table made. After some time, he started calculating how many years had each of them left to live. Erwing and Loreley were, beside their daughter, the youngest couple. Others were the same age or older than his brother had been. His cousin Henry coughed. Sickness? Something fatal? Two, three years until destiny pulls him into oblivion? Then he couldn't help himself but to imagine his cousins and Oliver's companions forever entrapped in a photograph. The last spark of life in them locked by his camera.

"Such a tragedy", someone said on the other side of the table. "Death is always a tragedy."

An eye on the fragment of a broken daguerreotype.

But man's eyes were almost closed when the photo was being taken.

The number of guests was decreasing. Black clouds covered the sky. Storm was coming.

"Uncle Stuart, you must stay overnight", Loreley was convincing him.

"Everyone else is leaving. I don't want to be a burden..."

"Nonsense", Erwing joined his wife. "Others have personal cabs and a place to stay. We won't let you travel all the way to Dunfermline in this weather."

He had no choice but to surrender.