With a slight jar, the crystal floor now loosens, and more surprise,
descends. Now beneath the floor, the light is increasing, and a warmth
also, at which we cast off our wraps, displaying evening costume of
home. The car, I now see it to be, is in triplet decoration. Triplet
bell clusters favor us with melodies. I wonder how long we are
descending, when jar, sway, float, as in water. I look about. “Where, oh
where is this?”
We are on the bosom of a broad river in a scene of tropical beauty and
grandeur.
Mae and Charley, as I, are as completely surprised, the others enjoying
its fulness.
“Eden, Eden, garden paradise, whence came you here?” I weep beside
myself in joy. Is this what explorers seek? But they will never get
here. It is hemmed in by the iceberg, two-edged swords, as effectually
as the other one of our first parents.
Roban asks, “What is Eden?” I told her of Adam’s, and the one to come
down to us from the sky. “No,” she says gravely, “the city will grow up
to God.”
Is San Francisco (San-Zion) thus growing?
I see that Show Off, unlike all the others, is in a growing state of
excitement. I jump down quickly and climb to his side, where he is
leaning on the railing of the barge, looking expectantly into the water.
I punch him vigorously. “Tell me, tell me, how came this river down
here, and its vicinity?” He answers vaguely, not looking up, “By the
melting of the under ice.”
“Yes, but to be a flowing river?”
“We confined it for safely, by dykes and jetties,” becoming quite
distraught at some inward thought. Does he mourn the Traveler’s
daughter?
Roban has followed me, and now explains to me more fully.
“When the river got to going good, it melted the ice above clear through
to the sky.” I look up at the faraway opening.
“The sky opening,” she continues, “vegetation started.” I look now
eagerly at the nearby banks in begonia bloom, and crowned with palms.
Long aisles of verdure penetrate the vista, closed by green sheen. One
specialty of form is general, that of vine-climbing and up-looking.
Returning my attention to Roban, she resumes her coaching. “Cities too
sprang up. We will stop now and get some of the luscious fruit,” as the
car-barge slows and draws up to an orchard station.
We who have listened spellbound to explanation are getting over our
paralysis, and are the first to jump on land. Saucy running crazy is
soon lost to view. We dart hither and thither with delight, pulling
mangoes, decking ourselves with orchids, mimicking songsters. I wonder
no more where they get their conservatory plants. When a bell calls us
to dinner.
In a bower, vine surrounded and bird enlivened, we draw up to board, not
a board, either—none, or saws to make them are in the land, it is a
great lily leaf, hardened and enameled.
Indentations serve for places. The food, on small leaf trays, arises
from the table center dummy like. It is in mouthful-size pastry cups
(that makes me think of home tarts), blending grain food with other
kinds. Raised with the fingers, nothing can be neater.
The seats are leaves. Springs raise us smaller people to a level with
the rest.
I observe greatly rejuvenated looks in us and say to Charley: “Do you
see we are getting younger?” He stops picking a pomegranate. “Certainly.
It is the purity of the atmosphere. Have you noticed, my dear, that
there has been no dust since our arrival? And, tho’ the sun is
constantly shining, no one carries a shade or is overheated. Ah, this is
the Country to live in!” Smacking his lips before starting in again on
the fruit.
“Glorious Arc!” I can not say it enough! None other place like thee on
earth in gorgeous marvels! Nearest to God above! I could climb a Pole to
see Him, hadst thou one! I look around to see the climatic effect upon
my aged father; but he is not here. I remember he may be yet on the
Traveler’s shoulder for farther travel. This somewhat modifies my
charm—for a short time only, then I give way like the rest to the
fulness of this Inning Reception. As bright tints float around in the
air, on the water, and foliage, I wonder what pencil but God’s could put
them there.
As we return to the barge Saucy at my elbow grasps my sleeve, saying,
“Auntie, did you see the team that draws the barge? If you did not, look
this time, now.”
What?—what? Crocodiles?
I stagger back, then renerve myself, reassured that what I had always
supposed so hideously untamable could be well broke, kept well in hand,
presenting an innocent pair of open countenances.
“How odd the water is Auntie,” says Mae, when we are calmly seated. She
is looking over the side, then rises and crosses to the other. “It is
high up on one side and low down on the other.”
Robet speaks without looking up, her eyes intent on her nephew, leaning
moodily on the railing. “The river flows sideways.”
“How—how can it?”
“It melts on its inward side, freezing on its outward again.”
“Making ice for cool drinks,” says the child.
While dropping in the incline I commenced a study of the triplet
sisters. Observing them distinct in style with the river people (of whom
they are, and are now to visit their parents, Robet has said), I will
describe them.
Tall and sinuous from a constant looking up to the sky. A changeable
coloring or iridescence enhances their supple attenuation. Robet, when
musing, as I have related in the arbor above, was sober gray-eyed; when
demanding so proudly Charley’s pedigree, intensely black-eyed; then, in
tears recovering him, her eyes were blue, vapor-covered lakes. Seeing
this variableness repeated in her sisters I decided it to be
constitutional; I looked to see if it was a water reflection. No, for it
is not on us others.
Roban and Roba are on each side getting acquainted.
To start conversation instructive to myself I ask the gracious ladies;
“How was it before the country was dyked into a river?”
“We were not born then. Our father was contractor and has told us how
unpleasant were the freshets and disasters yearly.”
“Whole nations were swept away. Did you not find any down there?” Roba
relates.
“I never heard, though Adam, the father of all mankind, was very large
in size, the people became smaller afterwards.”
Looking earnestly at me I see them change slowly from blonde to a gray
tint, bending their heads in reflection, (I see with great surprise.)
“We have always been large. I think it is the cold zone; its slow
revolution causing it. The torrid, as Charley says, with its far
revolution is very hot.” A flush on her face as she raises her
serpentine head.
“It gets more sun and the people there are larger, too,” I correct.
Their eyes, my surprise increasing, turn brown as she steadfastly gazes.
“Then it is not the cold that makes us grow, but preserves us, giving us
great age. We are millenniums old,” she breathes gently,
chestnut-haired.
I am transfixed. When able to look up I see a halo round her head; a
slight toss and it is dislodged in a ring leaving her in violet.
Going on with her deductions a dawn color follows her words.
“Our great size is due to our daylight.”
“But we have as much as you, tho’ more subdivided,” I correct again.
“You have not counted our winter daylight,” she persists.
“Winter daylight? What is that?” I inquired.
“From the center of Arc is always arising, from a deep cavity there, a
constant glow, Aurora! In summer it is not seen, but all winter we bask
in its light.”
“How is that? I supposed Aurora only sent up fitful lights.”
“Instead, this constant, interspersed with fitful sputterings, that send
the flame so high, lower zones do gaze upon it.” Closing a phosphor
color enfolds us, then rises above. Notes in the waves—trumpet notes,
conducted toward us till they sound all about us. A mist-like spray is
rising around. Looking out I am startled to see a large company of
people standing on the water in the center of the river playing
lily-tube trumpets as in graceful ease they dance a stately minuet.
Raising aloft their tubes they spray the air with perfumed drops, which,
catching the rays of the sun through the ice-cleft, a glorious rainbow
arch settles above as we draw to shore and alight upon a wharf of lily
pads.
The sun passes on ahead having kept such even pace with us all day that
it had appeared to be standing still in the sky. The heat had called for
our light dress. To-morrow it will be in lower horizon.
We have arrived in a city that is like the people, tall and pointing
high—a city of slim, needle-like towers.
Passing toward a mansion I turn to tell Show Off to pattern after the
young man with the river dancers, looking so like him who was gay, when
lo! he is not with us.
“It was Show Off himself, Auntie, I saw him put on the funny boat-shoes
and drop overboard.”
“Who is the young lady he was bending over,” I inquire.
“I do not know, some more complications I expect,” inimicably.
“Saucy,” I say comically, “he is not for you.”
“I know it,” sighing, “I will never have him to carry me around on his
shoulder.”
What are Savant and Roba doing ahead, walking up the outside of a tower
residence? Truly they are, and our turn come we see plenty of steps and
walk up too.
Arrived at the second story we enter a low gate into a circular room the
size of the tower. Around the outside is a row of seats which we proceed
to occupy. In front of us are promenading round and round the river
dancers, buoyant in youth.
From these Show Off leads a lustrous river maid and presents as
betrothed to his family, who can but smile upon them, except Robet who
gets quite pale. Whispering to her, “Cheer up, Auntie, love is might,”
he draws her to her feet and waltzes her around until she is hopeful
again. We all get up and dance in honor of the betrothal.
When we sit again the others wait upon us from the center of the room,
which is a mass of flowers, fruit and pastry.
The dance starting on, Robet says to me, “Let’s go out.”
“All right.”
She touches a button and we elevate to the top of the tower. A branch of
clove-scented vine brushes my cheek. Seeing me peer down Robet hands me
a glass to see into the shade of the tropical park beneath.
Seeing me occupied she bends down her head in meditation. Then sighs and
sighs to herself, bravely struggling with these breakers in her love
stream.
I am examining each detail in the grounds beneath. From the palm leaf
that is so strong Saucy runs up and slides down it. Tired of this she
picks an odd blossom in shape of a tiny cupid with drawn bow. At her
touch shoots the tiny arrow and to break in fragrance. Would that all
Love’s arrows were so sweet. I suddenly realize where the verdure of
Upper Arc is produced, as familiar forms greet me, faithfully growing up
as to the summer day. Where are they now? Glass protected in upper
arbor.
Tired of the Cupids, Mae now rolls over and over in the grass with
abandon of childish glee until she suddenly comes upon two lovers—Show
Off and Serpenta (I have named) which latter smiles her a welcome,
stooping down to raise her to where they sit, a long, slim, rope looking
swing or hammock. But Mae starts back with a scream, which makes me look
close. O, dear, it is the live folds of a boa constrictor.