Counternarratives (22 page)

A round of polite applause, and then another white gentleman, this
one much younger, the one I recognized earlier talking with Dr. Cassin and Dr.
Cresson, was standing on the dais. From his grey longcoat he extracted a thick
square, his talk it turned out, folded several times over. He fumbled with it,
smoothing it down, and though most of the gentlemen seated stayed silent, amongst
some of them ran a current of whispers provoking frowns from Mr. Robins and Mr.
Linde. Yet the gentleman at the lectern, who would certainly have heard the murmured
censure, didn't appear in the least perturbed. Instead, he continue to assemble his
papers, smoothing and arranging, not looking up, until he finally did and said, “My
distinguished guests, I appreciate your indulgence and your presence this May
afternoon. As the Academy's eminent leader Dr. Cassin noted, I am
Th
addeus Lowe, and I appear before you to speak about the
advances, with which many of you are already quite familiar, in the science of
flight, human flight.”

Horatio's weight was pressing in on me, and I saw he was about to topple
over, so I hooked my foot around the back of his and kicked till I stirred him to
attention. The very idea of human flight fascinated me so that I concentrated on
everything Professor Lowe had to say. “For the entire history of mankind, he has
carried not just in heart but in mind the dream of riding the air. Perhaps this is a
vestigial phantasy born of our lifelong witness of the clouds, our long familiarity
with birds and God's other flying creatures, with our thirst for knowledge of the
heavens and of the angelic orders. . . .” I was training my gaze on
that single spot across the room, while Professor Lowe spoke about the myths and
history of human flight. He touched upon the Greek myths, Icarus and Dedalus, some
Frenchman, a range of other pioneers including Americans like John Wise, and John
Steiner, who was, he noted, a resident of this city just as he was. The professor
recounted his own experiments and demonstrations, with ample details about different
types of gases used and the materials the balloons required, his calculations and
conversations with other members of the Academy, such as Dr. Henry, at the College
of New Jersey, and the beneficence of Dr. Cresson and the city's Gas Works.

I found myself even more involved when he reached the technical elements
of the flights. Professor Lowe launched into a story about how just weeks before
today he had attempted to demonstrate to the people of Cincinnati something about
the practicality of balloon flight by traveling in an aerostat to the federal
capital, but ended up off course and drifted all the way south to South Carolina,
after
Fort Sumter! When he said this most of the audience sat up, and
someone on the far side of the room emitted a noise somewhere between a cough and a
harrumph. The simple country people who took him prisoner, Professor Lowe said,
thought he might be an evil spirit, or at least a spy, so to prove he was who he
said he was he announced that he had brought Cincinnati newspapers, which sat in the
basket and which he handed out, but as he was a Northerner they were still quite
suspicious, so he still had to wait until several brethren men of science, all
Southerners, could fully vouch for him and guarantee his safe passage home.

Course I wasn't allowed to say anything, not even “Good afternoon, Sir,”
unless he spoke to me first, and even then not a thing more than “Yes, Sir” or “No,
Sir,” but when he finished and the question portion commenced, if I could have I
would have asked him specifically about what it felt like when he was high up enough
to see past the tops of the mountains, whether he could touch the clouds, was the
sun brighter than on the ground. How, I wondered, did it look with all of Ohio
behind him and Kentucky out front below? How was he sure he would be able to land
and not just keep soaring higher and higher until he headed toward the moon?
Th
en I estimated these would have been the most foolish
questions ever asked at any Academy lecture I had ever heard, and was glad I had to
stay silent and listen, though a number of the questions that started coming were
not that much better than mine. One gentleman asked him if he wore special clothes
to prevent from freezing when so high in the air, another asked him how did he keep
the gas from blowing up, yet another pressed to know if he had ever crashed and
broken any limbs. The scientists, all of them, asked better questions, it seemed to
me, about flight patterns, machinery, and aeronautical science, though Professor
Lowe responded politely to everyone.

Soon as he ended and before the audience applauded Kerney gestured that
it was sherry serving time, unless we were on the coat detail which I wasn't. I
fetched my tray, arranged the glasses on it soon as they were filled, and slipped
into the smaller reception hall where the guests were milling about. I stayed in my
assigned post till my tray emptied then went and loaded up again while Jonathan and
one of the other stewards collected the empties, our routine until Kerney's signal
to clean up. As I stood there, my mind alternating between the account of the
balloon flight and thoughts about souping turtles, which I hated to do, all that
shell and tendon and soft flesh, up came young Mr. Robins, with Mr. Linde. I
extended them the tray of sherry and Mr. Robins acknowledged it with a half smile,
as he said to his friend, “But they have always been unreasonable. It does not take
the most careful student in the history of this country, Neddy, to grasp that every
foot we have given them has been turned not just into an ell but a tyrant's mile,
especially under Buchanan, and it was on the pretext of last fall's campaign, let
alone victory, that they began the process for cleaving us in two. I view this mess
as the opportunity to discipline them once and for all.”

Mr. Linde did not say anything at first, but sipped his sherry and
stroked his chestnut mustache, nearly as sparse as mine though he was, I knew, in
his early twenties like Mr. Robins. Another man round the same age approached them,
Rev. Hodge, whom I overheard tell someone's guest at my first shift back in February
that he had only a few years ago graduated from the theological seminary in New
Jersey. He said, “Peter, don't you think that if we pursue things as Lincoln appears
likely to do this will all turn out very badly? Speaking not as a clergyman but as
an American. There'll certainly be consequences.”

Mr. Robins finished off his sherry in a gulp. I accepted his empty glass
and passed him another. I glanced to my right and Horatio, perched like me with his
tray almost empty, was watching me closely, as if he was trying to tell me something
I should be able to figure out, while to my left I saw Jonathan collecting more
empty glasses. I looked back at my tray and tried to imagine how many people would
be manning and attending the party I was working tonight, if there'd be a band or
not or two, like the event I had jobbed two weeks ago out at the estate in Merion.
They had carried on so well past dawn that we all had to sleep on the cellar or
attic floors till morning, then we helped the man's staff clean up and each of us
got a little $2 more, because those people, Dameron said, had so much money it was
flowing like the Bushkill Falls, and that man even provided us with special coaches
to get back to the city so we didn't have to walk or hop the railway—

—“Neddy,” Mr. Robins was saying, “is playing the taciturn but he
has stronger convictions on the matter than me, Hodge, I assure you. He's still
taken with Lowe's lecture, clearer to his mind than mine, but then he is the one who
studied such things at the old college.” At this Mr. Linde nodded. “Remember he's
the one who made a pilgrimage up to Cambridge to spend a year studying at Lawrence.
The whole time Lowe was lecturing he was probably transforming the words into
equations.”

Mr. Linde continued sipping for a bit before pulling a small bound
notebook and pencil from his inner coat pocket. He said, tapping his temple with the
book, “This is just between us,” and, leaning in, Mr. Robins and Rev. Hodge bowing
in close too, continued, “but if Lowe does get an aeronautic corps going, I'll be
first on his list. I was planning to sign up in any case, but I especially fancy
flying in one of those contraptions, even if we end up sailing off to Florida or
some other preposterous place.” He and Mr. Robins started laughing but Rev. Hodge
shook his head. None saw the older Mr. Robins, Dr. Cresson, and Professor Lowe
approach until they stood right behind the younger trio.

Mr. Robins senior offered his round of introductions, and young Mr.
Robins, Rev. Hodge and Mr. Linde all praised Professor Lowe's lecture, thanking Dr.
Cresson and Dr. Leidy, who I could see was circulating on the other side of the
room, for inviting him. They launched into some small crosstalk until young Mr.
Robins abruptly said, pointing to me with his near-empty sherry glass, “This boy
here pays as much attention as we do, don't you, Theodore?” and I immediately grew
nervous because I had never ever said a single thing in front of Dr. Cresson beyond
“Yes, Sir,” or “Thank you, Sir,” and usually only played young Mr. Robins's “game”
with his friends and the given month's guest. I smiled, raised the tray, and smiled
again, but young Mr. Robins persisted, saying, “Come on, Theodore, why don't you
tell our guest, Professor Lowe, at least one thing you heard him talk about?” Mr.
Robins senior was looking at me, Dr. Cresson was frowning, and Rev. Hodge's cheeks
were deepening to wine, but Professor Lowe and Mr. Linde looked like they expected
to hear me speak, to respond to young Mr. Robins' request. I wanted to call Jonathan
over, snare Horatio's attention, even have Kerney bail me out by snatching me away,
because the whole room appeared to be pausing until I uttered my reply.

I said, “Professor Lowe say—said—that when he flew the Pioneer balloon
last year, watched even by the Japanese ambassadors and their retinue, it rose to
two and one half miles above this city, Philadelphia, and he experienced a ‘mirror
effect' in the clouds, then he travel—traveled—all the way to New Jersey's
ocean-side before the lower currents brung it back about 18 miles to here.”

Professor Lowe's eyes scoured my face, they all did, then he turned to
young Mr. Robins and said, “This boy apparently took exceptional mental notes, I
barely remember having said that, correct though it is, at all.” He clapped, then
they all clapped, save Rev. Hodge, who appeared somewhat annoyed. After Professor
Lowe patted me on the shoulder, nearly causing me to drop my tray, they dispersed
toward another group, except young Mr. Robins, who told me, “That was splendid,
Th
eodore. Before you leave today you will get quite
a treat.” Mr. Edward Linde walked back over, and looking me straight in the eyes,
said, “Like a little machine. I especially appreciated the details because my memory
is like pumice stone—” to which young Mr. Robins said, “Though you can work anything
out from first principles, Neddy, which is more than I or anyone else in this room
can do.” Mr. Linde handed me a carte de visite, which I tucked in my pocket,
continuing, “so if you find yourself seeking work, write me or call upon me care of
that address and you can join me at the Aeronautic Corps, wherever we are.” Young
Mr. Robins patted me on the head, as he usually did, and said to his friend, “You
know, I'll even put Theodore in a balloon and have him fly himself down there to
you, or perhaps in a
BOX
to do the same,” at which he
burst out laughing so hard he had to take out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes. He
kept repeating “Box” to Mr. Linde, who did not appear to find it humorous, as they
joined a nearby circle.

All the while I was wondering if Mr. Edward Linde was the son of or
somehow related to Mr. Albert Linde, the host of the evening's event, and I thought
given how he had addressed me that maybe I should say something, yet we were
forbidden to talk to the members or guests unless they spoke to us first. Later,
when we were done, young Mr. Robins before he left gave me several crisp bills about
which he said, Mr. Edward Linde standing right there, “Don't tell a soul” although I
knew Kerney, Jonathan and the others had seen him give me something extra after we
played his “game,” and I thanked him profusely and replied that I wouldn't. As he
filed out Mr. Edward Linde, looking straight at me, once again tapped his temple
with his notebook and stated in a clear voice, “Remember.”

Once all the attendees had left and I was in back changing, Kerney for a
change didn't pay me any attention, in part because he was busy counting out the
money. Horatio, shirtless, looped his long knotty arm dark as roofing felt around me
and said, “You going to meet me to hit the streets 'night, s'right?”

“I got a shift tonight, Ray-Ray,” I told him, adding, “Party for
Dameron, where I'm heading once I get change again, then I head out to it before
sundown.”

Horatio removed his arm from my shoulders and laid his immense hand on
my knee. “Edray, I think you don't love ya boy no more.” He directed this not just
to me but announced it as if he was trying to make sure some of the other stewards
sitting near us heard him. They chuckled but paid him no special mind, and continued
dressing and cleaning up.
Th
en he grabbed my goattee
and pulled on it, hauling me forward until I slapped his hand.

“Watch it, now, ignay,” I told him, as I often did since he wanted to
keep on roughhousing around like we had as children, “don't be fooling like
that.”

“See what I mean.” He rose and tucked in his shirt. “Y'ain't got no love
for ya boy no more. I'ma still come by ya place and drag you out there, even if you
sound asleep. Can't let these coins burn a hole in my pocket.” He flashed the beacon
of his large white teeth and I couldn't stay mad at him, but when he reached for my
chin hairs again I put up fists, mock fighting, though I knew he could flatten me
with a single punch if it ever came to that.