As tends to be the case with human beings, I was infatuated with the blade for a short period of time before I put it away. Eventually, I all but forgot about the artifact and carried on my usual business. Part of this business was to visit with my friend Luke Lakatosh, a resident of the nearby borough of Yardley. Though a small town, Yardley was rich in history and very old architecture. It was peopled by two distinct groups: the descendants of the original settlers to the area who were a quiet and eccentric folk - having the knowledge of the strange oral tales passed down from generations - that kept to themselves and the newcomers who were attracted to the town’s recently acquired status as a popular resort town for those who did not struggle with their means. The area is dominated by Lake Afton, a small but idyllic body of water on the edge of the borough before the roads disappear into farmlands. Luke’s restaurant sat just across the road from the lake.

One day nearly a year after obtaining the knife I remember clearly as the first time that Mr. Lakatosh illuminated me on a particular problem he was having with a waterlogged receptacle outside of his house - less than 200 paces from the restaurant. It seems that a few weeks prior he had obtained a particularly choice recipe which called for the inclusion of an exotic and rare plant, eryxiana arboria or the Eryx Vine. He knew little of the vine and did not divulge to me how he came in possession of a sample but did note that there were clear instructions to keep the trimmings dry and away from rapid temperature changes to keep them from spoiling. He served the dish to a full house and, satisfied with the day’s commerce, brought the scraps of the plant home with him to salvage what could. The remainders, and they were little, he disposed of and then thought nothing of it.

What happened next was a truly baffling sequence of unfortunate mishaps. The day following his success at the restaurant, record storms erupted in the region which rose Lake Afton by several feet, flooding many homes, and bringing with it severe winds which knocked the lid from his garbage bin to some unknown location. The heavy rains filled the can with water nearly to the top, so much so that the collectors refused to lift it the following day and my friend was forced to drag the bloated container back to his house, puzzled as to how to proceed. For the meantime he decided it was best to simply drill holes into the side of the container, which he did, to at least unleash the gallons of water inside. He did so, late one night, and left it drain until the morning.

To be continued …