Jan took them down a flight of worn steps to the basement door and turned to face them with a wide grin spreading across her face. She looked like a naughty child caught in the act of some delicious mischief.
“This is what I call my ‘treasure room’,” she breathed in a voice hushed with gleeful secrecy. “Inside are things most people haven’t been able to get for years, or threw away ages ago. But I don’t throw anything away – it’s all in here.” She looked suddenly apologetic. “Of course, most of it doesn’t work anymore.”
David got the distinct impression Jan was deliberately heightening the suspense by turning the key slowly and pretending to wrestle with the lock.
“Haven’t been down here in a while,” she offered as explanation. David felt a growing sense of excitement at what might be beyond. What could be so special you would call it a treasure room? He imagined it must contain something valuable or rare or perhaps even illegal.
Finally the door swung open and Jan reached for the solar-powered light switch. A small room was revealed, cluttered with an odd assortment of objects and appliances. A thin layer of dust coated everything but was stirred into motion as they entered. David realized with a gasp that he had been holding his breath. He longed to know what each and every fabulous thing was for.
“This is incredible,” said Grandad softly, as if the room was some sort of sacred space that would be profaned by raised voices. “I didn’t know you had all this down here.”
“Look, a t.v.”, said David excitedly, pointing to a thin panel leaning on the wall in one corner. He had read about televisions and been told by Grandad about them, but had never seen one. “Does it work?”
“Ah, no. As I said most of this stuff stopped working years ago. That’s what you call ‘planned obsolescence’ I’m afraid. Nothing’s built to last. But there’s not much to see on t.v. these days anyway. There’s only one station broadcasting for a few hours a day in the old 2D format and it’s all political stuff from the government.”
“I must admit I do miss the telly,” sighed Grandad. “It was like a holy ritual, sitting down each night to watch the box. You knew you were sharing it with billions of other people all around the world.”
“What sorts of things did you see?” asked Sophie.
“There was everything – news, documentaries, dramas and movies, funny comedies and soaps. You name it and it was on the box, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week,” grinned Grandad proudly, as if he was remembering some great achievement of his own.
“Soap,” giggled Sophie and she hit Grandad playfully on the leg.
“Yes, well, not the sort you’re used to my girl.” He tousled her hair with his wrinkled fingers. David felt once again a sense that Grandad came from a different world, one where people watched movies and “soaps” at all hours of the day and night and marvellous things were taken for granted. He wished he could have seen such a world, and wondered how much Grandad missed his former life before the Regression. Did he wish he could return to those golden times? Even now he had a wistful look as if he was once more becoming lost in thoughts of the past.
“What’s this one?” asked David, hoping to break the spell before Grandad became too gloomy.
“A computer,” explained Jan.
“I’ve heard of those.”
“Of course you have,” went on Jan, “but these days you have to be rich or in business to afford one. Once upon a time everyone had one, and you could communicate with anyone in the world instantly and find out about anything at any time. They controlled everything in your house from your alarm call in the morning to flicking on the lights for you and they could drive your car much better than you could – even give you counselling if you needed it.”
“How could a computer put on the lights?” laughed Sophie.
“You just asked it.”
“Could it talk?” Sophie screwed up her face in confusion.
“Yep, and you could even decide whether you wanted it to speak like an old man or a young lady. Of course Cameron, my late husband, always chose a young lady,” grinned Jan with a sideways look at Grandad.
“And this?” queried David, pointing at a slim black box.
“Ah, a Playstation 6 console. My dear husband wasted a lot of time on that blasted box.”
“What was it for?”
“Playing games.”
“Like chess?”
“Well, no”, continued Jan. “It was more like being in a story, where you were playing one of the characters. You put on some goggles and a special suit and you could see, hear and feel what they did as if you were really there. You even got some tastes and smells.”
“Wow,” sighed David and Sophie in unison. David wondered why Grandad had not spoken of such a wondrous thing before. He wished with all his being to be able to experience something like that for just one moment. Perhaps he could put on those goggles and see what the world of Grandad’s youth looked like. He would see all the fantastic things his grandfather spoke of – television and birthday parties and rugby matches. It would be a dream come true, but there was also something a little frightening about the idea.
Jan looked suddenly cross. “Yes, well it’s not that amazing. The damn thing almost cost us our marriage.” Grandad chuckled along with her.
“This was the worst thing of all,” she said, picking up a small device. “It’s a mobile phone and it completely controlled every aspect of your life. I’m sure some people asked it for permission before going to the bathroom!” Everyone laughed.
“Anyway,” said Jan, looking suddenly a little embarrassed as if she had shown them something forbidden, “it’s all just collecting dust now. Everybody upstairs and we’ll start getting dinner on.”
David and Sophie protested but there was no changing Jan’s mind and she ushered them upstairs to begin making the evening meal.
They had a production line going and David enjoyed the sense of camaraderie and shared labour. He peeled potatoes in the sink and prepared the vegetables, Grandad made a sauce to go with it and Jan cooked a delicious omelette using eggs collected from the farm that morning. Even Sophie was occupied setting the table with plates and cutlery. She was bathed in the evening light spilling in from the doorway, but clouds were rolling in to obscure the sun.
They sat down to eat and for a while they were quiet as everyone ate while it was hot, but soon the conversation turned again to the past.
“Hey, we didn’t tell them about t.v. dinners,” said Jan to Grandad with a wink.
“T.v. dinners?” exclaimed David.
“No we didn’t eat television sets back then,” laughed Jan. “It was a pre-made meal you just heated up to eat in front of the telly, usually of doubtful nutritional value.”
“Why did people eat them then?”
“So they didn’t lose a single precious moment in front of their beloved boxes,” trumpeted Grandad with a laugh.
The light dimmed and shadows crept from the corners of the room as they finished their meal.
The plates were tidied away and everyone sat out on the porch, enjoying the cool of the evening and the gentle sounds emanating from the farm around them – a soothing chorus of crickets, birds and shuffling animals. A gentle breeze tickled their faces and called forth long, deep sighs from the treetops. The lonely screech of a pukeko came like some ghostly warning from the darkness beyond. They sat in a small island of light and warmth, sipping mugs of hot chocolate. David wondered if this was the sort of thing people watched on television. Could they sometimes sit down to enjoy replays of gentle evenings like this? Did they watch shows of night-time noises and the quiet unravelling at the end of the day? Television must have been a wonderful thing indeed.