entered a series of numbers, the door slid open. He turned to John and said, “Come inside and see for yourself. You are the first ever to enter this place besides me, and you will find your proof here.”
The door opened to a small corridor. It was a bit chilly, something like a wine cellar. After they walked a few meters, they reached a sparsely furnished room. One wall was covered with photographs and documents, and there were a small table and chair against the opposite wall.
“What is this room?” John asked.
“I constructed this room forty years ago. It’s equipped with an amazing security system, and only I have the numbers for access. I change that code every week, according to a formula I devised. I cannot risk the contents being destroyed. If you look closely at the top, there are fitted pipes. Those pipes release a substance that can dissolve anything made of paper. That is why I never leave this place unattended for more than five days at a time, John. I must always return to reenter the formula, without fail,” Yaturo explained. “Feel free to peruse the photos if you’d like.”
John began to observe them. Each one held the image of a younger Yaturo standing next to a variety of people. Some of them seemed familiar. Each photo showed Yaturo with a different individual. He was never alone and never with more than one person at a time. In some, he was with a child, with teenagers in others, and even with infants in some. John was sure he recognized some of the faces, but he couldn’t recall from where. What does all this mean ? John wondered. Dissolving paper? Secret rooms? Encoded rings? Is Yaturo crazy? What have I gotten myself into? Who is this madman anyway, and what do these strange photos have to do with anything we’ve been discussing?
Yaturo was enjoying it, as he knew it would all confuse John more and really ignite a fire of curiosity inside of him. It was exactly what Yaturo wanted. It was crucial that John felt the importance, the heavy weight, of all the knowledge he was about to pass on to him. When he thought John had built up enough curiosity with the mystery of it all, he approached him. “Do the people in the pictures look familiar to you, John? If they do, it is because they should.”
“Huh? But…why?” John stuttered, confused.
“The photos you see here are of people who became famous or important over the years, so you likely recognize some of them.” He started to name each person in the photos.
John couldn’t believe it. Yaturo had taken photos with actors before their time. He had a photo he’d posed in with one of the U.S. presidents, back when he was nineteen. There were photos of prominent businessmen before they were even out of diapers. A tennis legend was a baby in one, and an Oscar-winning icon was eleven years old in another. One of NBAs greatest was just in one photo, and it seemed Yaturo had even held a social network genius before the Internet was even invented. The photos went on and on and on.
After a moment, John needed to rest his spinning head, trying to grasp it all. He plopped down on the only chair in the room. He asked Yaturo, “Who are you, Yaturo? How did you know all these people back then…when they were little? Does this mean all their fame and fortune has nothing to do with their own capabilities? Were they given some kind of mystic upper hand to achieve their successes?”
“Not at all,” replied Yaturo, “but I knew they were going to be something one day. It was easier for me to take their photos before they became too big and famous! It was a hobby of mine to meet them and record my visits, back when I first got the knowledge, anyway,” Yaturo continued.
John’s head was still spinning. “But…how do you know all this? How is it possible? How could you possibly have knowledge of…well, of everything?”
“It was passed on to me,” said Yaturo. “Without that, I know
The door opened to a small corridor. It was a bit chilly, something like a wine cellar. After they walked a few meters, they reached a sparsely furnished room. One wall was covered with photographs and documents, and there were a small table and chair against the opposite wall.
“What is this room?” John asked.
“I constructed this room forty years ago. It’s equipped with an amazing security system, and only I have the numbers for access. I change that code every week, according to a formula I devised. I cannot risk the contents being destroyed. If you look closely at the top, there are fitted pipes. Those pipes release a substance that can dissolve anything made of paper. That is why I never leave this place unattended for more than five days at a time, John. I must always return to reenter the formula, without fail,” Yaturo explained. “Feel free to peruse the photos if you’d like.”
John began to observe them. Each one held the image of a younger Yaturo standing next to a variety of people. Some of them seemed familiar. Each photo showed Yaturo with a different individual. He was never alone and never with more than one person at a time. In some, he was with a child, with teenagers in others, and even with infants in some. John was sure he recognized some of the faces, but he couldn’t recall from where. What does all this mean ? John wondered. Dissolving paper? Secret rooms? Encoded rings? Is Yaturo crazy? What have I gotten myself into? Who is this madman anyway, and what do these strange photos have to do with anything we’ve been discussing?
Yaturo was enjoying it, as he knew it would all confuse John more and really ignite a fire of curiosity inside of him. It was exactly what Yaturo wanted. It was crucial that John felt the importance, the heavy weight, of all the knowledge he was about to pass on to him. When he thought John had built up enough curiosity with the mystery of it all, he approached him. “Do the people in the pictures look familiar to you, John? If they do, it is because they should.”
“Huh? But…why?” John stuttered, confused.
“The photos you see here are of people who became famous or important over the years, so you likely recognize some of them.” He started to name each person in the photos.
John couldn’t believe it. Yaturo had taken photos with actors before their time. He had a photo he’d posed in with one of the U.S. presidents, back when he was nineteen. There were photos of prominent businessmen before they were even out of diapers. A tennis legend was a baby in one, and an Oscar-winning icon was eleven years old in another. One of NBAs greatest was just in one photo, and it seemed Yaturo had even held a social network genius before the Internet was even invented. The photos went on and on and on.
After a moment, John needed to rest his spinning head, trying to grasp it all. He plopped down on the only chair in the room. He asked Yaturo, “Who are you, Yaturo? How did you know all these people back then…when they were little? Does this mean all their fame and fortune has nothing to do with their own capabilities? Were they given some kind of mystic upper hand to achieve their successes?”
“Not at all,” replied Yaturo, “but I knew they were going to be something one day. It was easier for me to take their photos before they became too big and famous! It was a hobby of mine to meet them and record my visits, back when I first got the knowledge, anyway,” Yaturo continued.
John’s head was still spinning. “But…how do you know all this? How is it possible? How could you possibly have knowledge of…well, of everything?”
“It was passed on to me,” said Yaturo. “Without that, I know
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