name and address, the only words that were written with a potential reader in mind. Milosh Derleth, 22 Murray Sq, (Vic.D.) London, E16 3AL. That name did sound familiar in the far reaches of my memory and I recalled distantly reading about a photojournalist’s disappearance many years back.
Intrigued I thumbed through its roughly fifty pages and saw about two thirds filled with little tables of what seemed records of specific exposure and aperture settings, names, telephone numbers and short journal-like entries that got increasingly long and decreasingly legible towards the end, almost impossible to identify. But I had nothing of importance to do that day and so I opened my own notebook, took another sip of my coffee and started to copy the entries in a much more readable fashion.
11th of August, Saturday. Arrived at Tempelhof aerodrome late. Customs x-rayed camera-bag incl. all films. Need to get new ones now—pillocks! Called Heike, didn’t respond. Will stay at Patrick’s in Neukölln while I’m here.
12th of August. Found a small shop that also sells 120-type films near Rudower Strasse and bought all their HP5’s. Called Heike again, no response. Got in contact with Bodo at Potsdamer Platz who knows Heike. Said she’ll call me, gave him Patrick’s number. Spent the rest of the day walking around the wall and former death-strip, taking pictures. Beautiful light, lovely atmosphere, although people shy.
13th of August. Finally! Heike called early. We meet at 4 p.m. in Rudow. Cleaned camera, helped Patrick move heavy furniture to his flat in exchange for letting me stay.
Heike once had worked there and assured me she knows her way around and will guide me, but I should expect a long walk through harsh terrain if I really wanted to see the factory because “driving up to the front would be suicide”. Didn’t inquire further. Need to get camping kit. She seems anxious but probably needs the money bad, wants half of it now. Don’t have enough with me. Ordered wire transfer. John said it’s a stupid idea but will send me the money regardless.
14th of August. Spent last D-Mark on sleeping bag, backpack, food, water, etc. Borrowed the rest from Patrick. This better be worth it! Was all day busy packing bag as tight as possible. Patrick asked me where I was going. Told him I couldn’t answer.
16th of August. Money arrived, tried to call Heike. Called Bodo. Bodo will inform Heike but instructed me to follow Heike’s every word to the point on our trip. They both take this incredibly serious and seem a bit weird. I can put up with it as long as I get my shots of the factory.
17th of August. Gave Heike half the money. She was ecstatic. Will meet her tomorrow below Ostkreuz station at 6 with gear. Told Patrick not to intervene when I’m not back by Tuesday. Might be forced to head for Poland.
18th of August. Sitting in a train headed south with Heike. She’s taciturn and stopped talking altogether when somebody entered our compartment. A bit paranoid? I hope I won’t lose my temper with her. Got enough films with me, took half a roll of scenery from the train already.
We got off in a small town (Schwarzwiesen? Schwarzweiler?) and rambled for three hours through fields and into a forest. Heike made sure not to be seen, we met nobody else. Heike often halts for no reason for half a minute, listens, looks around. According to her we still need to travel at least for another hour today. I think she might be lost.
The next paragraph was hard to decipher for the lines of text occasionally being on top of each other and scrawled even worse than what was before.
In a fit Heike threw my torch away the second I switched it on so I have to write in the dark. She’s mental! But I lost my way already and have to rely on her if I want to get back. Will try to get some rest. I think Heike still is awake. She gives me the creeps.
19th of August. Bugger! Heike’s a druggie, saw her shoot when she thought I was still asleep. Too late to turn back, must see it through, despite her being a risk.
Posh light when we left but sun disappeared an hour later behind clouds. Heike still doesn’t talk. Tried to start a conversation with her and take a picture. She threw herself at me, threatened me (at knife point!) to never try to take her picture again. Bloody nutter! I am losing hope the factory still exists. I pray that Heike is not just some junkie trying to rob me of my camera far away from civilization. Need to keep moving.
Lost almost all rolls of film today as we were crossing a small river with boggy surroundings. It’s Heike’s fault: She took some ridiculous detour despite the factory already being in sight! Was lucky to hold on to the camera at least. Remaining two rolls will have to make do.
20th of August. Finally arrived at the factory. The building still exists and hasn’t collapsed! Took an ex [exposure?] from the outside (1/30 / 11). Heike’s unbearable: Instead of walking through the front entrance, we snuck around the back, climbed over concrete walls and through dilapidated warehouses of some sort. Don’t know how much longer I can put up with those kind of bollocks! Inside: Magnificent decrepitude—took a few ex’s. Heike only whispered and told me not to wander off. She looks worse than usual and instructed me to work fast and quietly. Now I am standing in the assembly hall. This is unbelievable!
Here followed another short table of numbers, again most likely exposure times and aperture settings, little scribbles of what appears to be a rudimentary floor plan and some indiscernible notes. The next paragraphs appeared like they were jotted down with waning light again.
Incident with Heike. When she was staring out the long broken windows with crazy eyes, I found an access to the basement. The halls there were dark and partly flooded with water, took an ex (~30 / 5.6) and discovered purely coincidentally the vault door! It was shut tight, looked unaffected by the decades. Tried to open it. It was too heavy and I just managed to pry it open a few centimeters. Pitch dark inside; if I just still had my torch! Then Heike hissed my name above. Took an ex (~15 / 4) of opening and door before she found me and went bonkers, called me a fool and other words. Ran off without me, said our deal was off. Caught up with her, promised her double the money if she leads me back safely. Lots of arguing and shouting but she gave in. Tomorrow we’ll head back.
It’s getting dark fast now. I’m still in the factory for the night but Heike refused to sleep next to me. She’s in the woods, can hear her sob.
As if the last paragraph didn’t test my ability in reading sloppy handwriting enough, what followed were even more clumsy letters and faint words, each line worse than the other, some words beyond recognition, despite my best efforts.
21st of August. Must’ve caught a bug, feel terrible. Maybe too much sun? Begun as we left. Wanted to take ex of factory from front. Heike cried & (shouted?) that I need to follow her (footsteps?) if I “want to live.” ?! She’s a raving lunatic & a junkie and I ignored her, took the pic (1/30 / 22). Returned and she looked at me like I was Jesus Christ. Went on …. sudden headache, vomiting, …, nausea, the shits. … watched me suffer … her eyes. Must get back … hospital … the films. … I … much worse.
That was the last entry.
“We’re closing in ten minutes,” the green-haired girl’s voice reached me from the anteroom. Perplexed I looked at my watch, then through the little window above me. More than three hours had passed since I had lost myself in the transcription of the events in the journal, that exposed more questions than it provided answers. The camera laid now in the shadows, the jagged spot of sunlight had travelled across the table, across the room.
I drank the last cold remains of my macchiato and put the green journal back into the bag where the two rolls of film still lay hidden. In the last hours they became more precious than I could ever have guessed and instead of tossing them away, I tucked them neatly back in their resting places. After all those years there might be a chance that they held the last photographs Milosh Derleth ever took. I wondered what it might have been that he saw through the camera’s eye. With a more or less fully equipped darkroom in the windowless bathroom of my apartment I was in the lucky circumstance of unveiling the hidden secrets those two rolls held myself.
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Quickly I packed the bag, paid for the coffee and left. On the subway ride home, the dirty bag tight to my chest, I tried to recall the proper procedures for developing film and hoped that the necessary chemicals I had at home were untainted. In today’s world of digital photography it had been years since I last got my hands dirty with physical film.
With the last rays of the warm summer sun I unlocked my door and went straight to work, gathering all necessary developing charts and references on the process to jump-start my memory. On the kitchen table I set down bag and camera and carefully grabbed the white rolls of film. When I had everything ready and the right chemicals in the right amount mixed in the right ratio, it was already night and perfectly black in my little makeshift darkroom as I switched off the lamp.
Utterly blind and devoid of light I unsealed the first film and separated it from the transport paper. To my delight its surface felt as smooth against my clumsy fingers as a new one, an indicator that the emulsion was at least chemically unaffected since the films had been stashed. After a number of impediments caused by lacking routine on my part, I finally succeeded in having the film securely on a spool inside the light-tight processing tank and