My brother left, and a few days later my sister arrived to help. We embarked upon the difficult task of investigating the secret compartments in the bookshelves of Dad’s office. The windows had been shut for twenty years, and Dad hadn’t occupied the room in ten. Summer’s heavy heat had me sweating through my clothes, while the dust affected my sister’s asthma. Even the planning stage proved arduous. The three panels were located at the very top of the wall-to-wall bookcase, pressed against the high ceiling. I couldn’t reach them by standing on a chair. We moved stacks of porn to make space for a rickety wooden stepladder. My sister held it while I ascended. The middle panel was a long narrow trapdoor that had to be opened first, in order to allow access to the two flanking compartments. The entire bookcase had listed hard toward the corner, pinching the humidity-swollen wood. The middle panel wouldn’t open.
My sister handed me a hammer and screwdriver. Two light taps snapped the panel open to reveal a narrow compartment, just high enough to be out of my range of vision. I gingerly stood on the top step, which was split along the grain. I glanced at my sister to make sure she was holding the ladder. Her earnest expression sparked a flash of memory—I recalled standing on a wooden box placed on a chair while she handed me a new lightbulb for a ceiling fixture in her bedroom. Our parents had been out of town. We’d been on our own, same as now.
Using a flashlight, I peered at a massive mouse nest in the secret compartment. Beyond that were fifteen plastic pill bottles, which I removed. The ladder swayed as if windblown. Working together the same way we’d changed the lightbulb as children, we inspected the other two compartments. After gathering everything in a box, we carried it downstairs and laid out the final artifacts of our legendary inheritance.
SILVER
14 Liberty dollars
1 Kennedy half-dollar
1 Franklin half-dollar
2 Washington quarters
34 Mercury dimes
48 Roosevelt dimes
JEWELS
Black star of India
Garnet
Opal
Tigereye
Amethyst
Moonstone
Rutilated quartz (fleche d’amour)
Tourmalated quartz (Cupid dart)
GOLD
One Cross pen, tarnished and inoperable
One bird’s nest containing four robin eggs sprayed with gold paint
My sister was disappointed in our father’s treasure, citing its worthlessness as evidence of his distorted view of the world. Dad had filled us with his own delusions, which we dutifully believed, in the hope that items of genuine value might surface. Instead, we were heirs to hidden junk.
I carefully sorted the goods, trying to understand why he might have considered them worthy of preservation. The coins were old silver, remarkable for the bell-like peal they emitted when bounced off wood. Unfortunately, all were worn smooth from excessive handling. Despite their secure location and long-term storage capped in plastic tubes, they had no value beyond a coin dealer’s woeful term of “melt value.”
In the 1980s, Dad purchased many packets of semi-precious stones through the mail. Each came with an official Certificate of Authenticity signed by a representative of the International Gem Finders. The flimsy papers crumbled as I unfolded them to read:
This document certifies that the enclosed acquisition content has been professionally evaluated by our supplier and guaranteed authentic.
I admired the vagueness of the language as a marketing tool. “Enclosed acquisition content” could refer to any item whatsoever, thereby allowing the certificate to be slipped into a variety of packages. My father patronized two companies: North American Minerals and Gem Collectors International. Both were owned by Raffoler, a company bombarded by lawsuits for deceptive advertising, selling shoddy merchandise, misrepresenting products, running illegal lotteries disguised as sweepstakes, and violating mail order rules for timely shipment. The gemstones Dad so carefully hoarded had the same low value they’d had at the time of purchase, which is to say a few dollars.