GFP 020: XI: Gouda Hippopotamus

Jonathan held the strange scrap of paper before him. He squinted his eyes, hoping the words would magically transform. They did not. What he had just read a moment ago remained.

The entry began:

Harrowing, The (harōiNG, hær oʊ ɪŋ) intrasolar, interpenetrated plane. The subconscious plane, or world of dreams, in Hermeticism, Thesophical, Rosicrucian, Aurobindonian, and early Gnosticism refers to the macrocosmic or universal plane or reality that is made up purely of shared unconsciousness or dreamstuff. This reality constitutes only one gradation of eight in a series of planes of existence. The Harrowing interpenetrates the Physical Realm (not unlike a thin veil draped over reality). Early mystic Basilides (2nd C. AD) believed access possible via self-inflicted…

Here the page was ripped abruptly, its sheared edges denying Jonathan further knowledge. He pondered on it for a spell, a faraway itch tickling in the back of his mind.

Jonathan’s entire winter semester consisted of exactly two obsessions. Anne Campbell and the occult.

Of the former, he’d recently confirmed the affection was mutual. Oh joy and praise! Of the latter, it was back in January, when he’d stumbled on to a rare pamphlet regarding parallel planes while perusing for a collection of Keats’ poetry at Branagh & Burkes.

He’d chuckled dismissively at first. A Cambridge man of his scientific and intellectual rigor? Giving this misplaced document the time of day!? How utterly droll and amusing…

And yet, he held on to it.

Perhaps it was the novelty of it. Perhaps it was a “sign” from the universe. Perhaps, and more likely so than not, deep down, Jonathan Plover as a young child had believed in ghosts, the supernatural and guardian angels.

Over the following weeks, he would gingerly remove it from between the flyleaf and back cover of his worn copy of Endymion and inspect it, poring over the absurd claims and implausible benefits of “tapping” into these metaphysically unproven planes.

And now this. This lost scrap of paper fallen out of the zoology encyclopedia volume. Another coincidence perhaps? A cosmic event? Or maybe, it was his fairy godmother tapping him lightly on the shoulder, urging him to investigate further?

Shaking himself out of his lost reverie, Jonathan realized he’d been staring at the snippet without reading it, but almost as if seeing through it for over a quarter of an hour now.

Something bothered him about this. Not the actual content itself, but the look and feel of the page.

He lifted his head to examine the empty library. His starched shirt collar bristled, deafening in the hollow vastness. Funny, Jonathan thought bemusedly, it was so quiet and intimate only a few minutes ago when Anne Campbell was standing beside him.

Crepuscular rays illuminated the room. The sweet smell of old books was intoxicating. Sheepskin leather, toluene and vanillin. An gust from an unknown source gently spun the orrery.

I should head back, Jonathan deduced, I wonder what Anne is doing. My god, Anne! What if she had been waiting for me right outside the library and grew impatient and abandoned our fledgling tryst? What if that were the case? Stupid, stupid Jonathan.

He proceeded to march out when it came to him.

The scrap shared the same font, format and style as the ninth edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica. But of course! Jonathan smacked the heel of his palm against his forehead a little too roughly.

Ouch. But never mind that. Jonathan course corrected and rushed to his uncle’s 24-voulme set of Encyclopædia Britannica, the “Scholar’s Edition” with Thomas Spencer Baynes as the editor-in-chief. Such beautiful, luxurious ribbed spines. He traced his fingers along them until he reached Vol. XI: Gouda - Hippopotamus.

Surely the page must be missing from this set. He opened it and began to riffling through the pages.

Harris, Sir William Snow… Harrisberg… Harrison, William Henry… Harrogate… Harrow-on-the-Hill… Harry, Blind… Harte-Beest… wait. I missed it. Let’s try again. Harrow-on-theHill, and then Blind Harry. Nothing stood between a Middlesex village and a mostly forgotten blind poet.

There was no “Harrowing” to be found.

How very strange. Jonathan placed the torn scrap of paper next to the diagram of the harte-beest. As he had suspected, the font, format, the ink color and thickness, the paper’s texture and thickness… they were exactly the same. If it were not from the Encyclopædia Britannica, it must surely be a very good replica or counterfeit.

Or perhaps it was removed in latter editions, or excluded from earlier editions, or…? It didn’t matter. It was no use. This was a dead end to his little occult adventure today. Unless…

Jonathan tilted his neck back every so slightly. There on the shelf directly above the set of Encyclopædia Britannica was another exact copy of the Encyclopædia Britannica, ninth edition, in the same distinct burgundy, the same ribbed spine, the same gold floral pattern with a crown resting atop a five-petal rose.

How strange.

Jonathan knew his uncle Frederick was eccentric by all accounts, and furthermore, given to unusual excess that’s privy only to those with access to the Plover family fortune. But to purchase two sets of the same Encyclopædia Britannica was beyond redundant. It was wasteful.

But since Jonathan was no judge in these matters legal, financially nor spiritually. He felt no obligation to scoff in disgust at the needless squandering before him. And so he picked up Vol. XI: Gouda - Hippopotamus once again today. It’s twin in the parallel universe just above its brother below, hidden from view.

Jonathan began to flip through the pages, not so serious this time.

He paused on page 493 and eyed the entry to Sir William Snow Harris at the bottom-right corner for quite some time. He was afraid to turn the page and see the entry for the ninth president of the United States.

He closed his eyelids tightly so that crow’s feet appeared and turned the page.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that page 494 (with page 495 on the backside) was unceremoniously ripped out, leaving an amputated page before him. ☣