I spent most of yesterday organizing notes, visiting San Juan and booking another trip.
I am now on a coche-cama (literally, a bed bus) on the road to Buenos Aires; I’m going to visit the city for a few days and say hello to an old friend. I guess she’ll be quite surprised to see me here.
The seats on the bus are comfortable and can be reclined almost all the way back for the night; very Minbari, but it is a 14-hour trip in the vast emptiness between two cities, and it’s not difficult to see why the bus companies made comfortable sleeping one of their basic services.
Too much to visit, too little time. Writing postponed.
I would have loved to stay more, but I had stretched this trip to Argentina already too much and it was time to head back home. On the evening of the previous day I said goodbye to my friend and pretended to go to the airport, but I really shifted back to the small island-hut. I was tired and fell asleep almost immediately. I thought I heard something rustle in the night, but I didn’t pay much attention to it, and I lost, perhaps, the chance to meet the mysterious overseer of my journey.
I woke up in the morning and noticed immediately that something had changed. The Habnn journal was not there where I left it the night before, and the locked drawer was now open instead. Inside I found a new journal: a diary, apparently, in the odd havenese script and with a single bookmark on front. As I flipped through the pages a note fell out: it was in English, and addressed to me. And it was signed…
I realized with sadness that this first exploration had come to an abrupt end; a new one, however, had just begun.
I won’t divulge the contents of that note for now. Suffice to know that I’m now translating the new journal and learning more and more about this new hidden civilization. It might be years before this is published, but I keep working on with the knowledge that, at the end of this job, I might even go and visit Habnn itself…
“And now I am at rest, understanding that in Books, and in Ages, and in life, the ending can never truly be written.” — Atrus