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Authors: Mary Doria Russell
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possible that there might be some scientific basis for communication with the unseen soul. There might be a sort of telephone of the spirit, or maybe radio waves, which were there to be heard if only one were tuned to the right frequency. Why not try to assuage our hunger for one more moment with the shockingly, suddenly absent? Why not yield to the desire to contact the dead, to ask one last question, to receive one last message?
And I did so long to hear my sister Lillian’s voice again! Maybe she could settle the differences between Mumma and Mildred.
All of which is why I am not embarrassed to tell you now that my decision to go to Egypt was set in motion by the eerie male voice I heard in the darkened room of a glassily bejeweled woman who called herself Madame Sophie. “Years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did,” the disembodied gentleman predicted. “Throw off the bowlines! Sail away from the safe harbor, madam! A sea voyage is what you need!”
“That is the spirit of Mr. Mark Twain,” Madame Sophie whispered, leaning over the fringed paisley shawl that covered a small round table. “He was a skeptic in life, but he visits me frequently.”
Well, I don’t know about that, I thought, but I listened anyway because, like Mildred’s, this voice too insisted that I travel, that I see the world from a different perspective. And a coincidence like that seemed the sort of thing to which one had to pay attention.
“Mr. Twain,” I said, feeling more than a little foolish, “while I am a great admirer of your work…Well, sir, since the influenza, I—I dream of drowning, and sailing would be—”
“—just the thing!” he exclaimed. “Like getting back up onto a horse after you’ve been thrown.”
Then it happened. Clear as a bell, I heard Lillie’s dear remembered voice.
The best time for Cairo is March,
she said.
And then go on to Jerusalem, as I did…
You can wear the silk charmeuse,
Mildred added.
“What about Rosie?” I asked, my hand running down her back as she snuggled in my lap. “I have a small dog—”
“That will be no problem at all!” the putative Mr. Twain assured me warmly. “Take her with you, dear lady. All the best ocean liners are delighted to accommodate the pets of valued guests such as yourself.”
Of course, it didn’t take a great deal in the way of deductive reasoning to work out that Madame Sophie was the
inamorata
of a gentleman who ran the Thomas Cook Travel Agency, located one door down the corridor from her second-floor salon, but I simply didn’t care. Within the hour, I had booked passage on a steamship to Egypt. And then? I drove directly from Cook’s to Halle’s to consult Mildred about a wardrobe for warm weather, and bought a beautiful set of matched luggage to contain it.
As you can imagine, Mumma argued nonstop, the whole day long.
It’s nerves,
she said as I steered the electric off Carnegie and angled up the hill toward Cedar Glen.
You’ve no regular work, nothing to take you outside yourself. You have a great deal to be grateful for, right here at home, young lady.
I’ve been good all my life, I told myself and Mumma. I’ve been oh, so good for oh, so long! Just once, I’d like to trade good for happy.
I suppose now you’ll tell me you can buy happiness.
Not happiness, but maybe a little fun.
But Egypt, of all places! You’ll get a disease. You’ll be kidnapped by white slavers!
Lillie and Douglas did just fine there. Maybe I’ll be a missionary. Why, I could teach at the mission school in Jebail.
Well! Mumma didn’t know about
that
.
Neither did I, truth be told. I had never fully shared Lillian’s joyous, confident faith, although I did believe in God. Indeed, as the weeks passed and my departure date neared, I knew I ought to ask for divine guidance, but my courage failed me. What if God answered? What if He agreed with Mumma?
The thought of renouncing this trip made
And I did so long to hear my sister Lillian’s voice again! Maybe she could settle the differences between Mumma and Mildred.
All of which is why I am not embarrassed to tell you now that my decision to go to Egypt was set in motion by the eerie male voice I heard in the darkened room of a glassily bejeweled woman who called herself Madame Sophie. “Years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did,” the disembodied gentleman predicted. “Throw off the bowlines! Sail away from the safe harbor, madam! A sea voyage is what you need!”
“That is the spirit of Mr. Mark Twain,” Madame Sophie whispered, leaning over the fringed paisley shawl that covered a small round table. “He was a skeptic in life, but he visits me frequently.”
Well, I don’t know about that, I thought, but I listened anyway because, like Mildred’s, this voice too insisted that I travel, that I see the world from a different perspective. And a coincidence like that seemed the sort of thing to which one had to pay attention.
“Mr. Twain,” I said, feeling more than a little foolish, “while I am a great admirer of your work…Well, sir, since the influenza, I—I dream of drowning, and sailing would be—”
“—just the thing!” he exclaimed. “Like getting back up onto a horse after you’ve been thrown.”
Then it happened. Clear as a bell, I heard Lillie’s dear remembered voice.
The best time for Cairo is March,
she said.
And then go on to Jerusalem, as I did…
You can wear the silk charmeuse,
Mildred added.
“What about Rosie?” I asked, my hand running down her back as she snuggled in my lap. “I have a small dog—”
“That will be no problem at all!” the putative Mr. Twain assured me warmly. “Take her with you, dear lady. All the best ocean liners are delighted to accommodate the pets of valued guests such as yourself.”
Of course, it didn’t take a great deal in the way of deductive reasoning to work out that Madame Sophie was the
inamorata
of a gentleman who ran the Thomas Cook Travel Agency, located one door down the corridor from her second-floor salon, but I simply didn’t care. Within the hour, I had booked passage on a steamship to Egypt. And then? I drove directly from Cook’s to Halle’s to consult Mildred about a wardrobe for warm weather, and bought a beautiful set of matched luggage to contain it.
As you can imagine, Mumma argued nonstop, the whole day long.
It’s nerves,
she said as I steered the electric off Carnegie and angled up the hill toward Cedar Glen.
You’ve no regular work, nothing to take you outside yourself. You have a great deal to be grateful for, right here at home, young lady.
I’ve been good all my life, I told myself and Mumma. I’ve been oh, so good for oh, so long! Just once, I’d like to trade good for happy.
I suppose now you’ll tell me you can buy happiness.
Not happiness, but maybe a little fun.
But Egypt, of all places! You’ll get a disease. You’ll be kidnapped by white slavers!
Lillie and Douglas did just fine there. Maybe I’ll be a missionary. Why, I could teach at the mission school in Jebail.
Well! Mumma didn’t know about
that
.
Neither did I, truth be told. I had never fully shared Lillian’s joyous, confident faith, although I did believe in God. Indeed, as the weeks passed and my departure date neared, I knew I ought to ask for divine guidance, but my courage failed me. What if God answered? What if He agreed with Mumma?
The thought of renouncing this trip made
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