Read Online The Technologists by Matthew Pearl - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Matthew Pearl
Ads: Link
unmoved. “Bob, you haven’t even had your dinner.”
“Eddy, didn’t you hear Conny? The windows came alive!” Bob said with a chuckle. “Surely we cannot be deprived of seeing such a sight for ourselves, dinner or no dinner. I’m certain President Rogers would agree. No more old-womanish twaddle—we’re off!” When Bob Richards led you by the shoulder, there was no resisting.
Bob, Marcus, and Edwin had no trouble finding the location of the incident. A mass of people crowded at the busy intersection of Court, Washington, and State streets. The police and two or three fire companies formed a barricade to keep people out. From the back of the crowd, they could hardly see a thing, a fact pointed out with satisfaction by Edwin. Unswayed, Bob kept pushing through the dense sea of onlookers, clearing a path as he went for Marcus and Edwin.
Marcus tried asking a few of the spectators whether anyone had beeninjured, but they all seemed too busy trying to see over and around the nearest heads, tall hats, flowers, and bonnets to answer him.
“I ’ear there were some kind of thick fumes in the air and then hundreds hurt in the blink of one eye!” one woman finally said to him.
“First the harbor, now the very streets we walk on,” shouted someone in the crowd.
At every turn, they were blocked from moving closer. Any available spot to stand was filled immediately, as if they were on the sideline of a parade. There were men, women, and children who were weeping, asking whether their relatives or friends who worked nearby were safe.
“We better go back,” Edwin said. “This is all for naught, Bob, and a drearier scene I’ve never seen in Boston. We can’t get close enough to even see!”
“Give a fellow a boost, will you, Mansfield,” Bob said, jumping up to reach the railing of a balcony jutting out from one of the older three-story brick buildings. Marcus stooped and let Bob push up with his heels against his strong shoulders. Then Bob heaved Marcus up with him. Edwin waved away their offer to join them. A sharp, acrid smell like rotted eggs and oranges floated on the breeze.
Their vantage point revealed an immediate mystery. Almost every window in the buildings on both sides of the streets was missing.
“What in the devil could shatter all those windows?” Bob asked. “Some kind of earthquake?”
Marcus took off his hat for an unobstructed view. “You have your opera glass?” Bob fished it out of his coat pocket and handed it to him. “Look closer, Bob. They weren’t shattered. The windows in the buildings and the carriages and all the glass everywhere on the street somehow has been … liquefied and … dissolved, erased. The glass didn’t shatter—it disappeared.”
“There’s no sign of any fire or flame that could have melted them.”
“Do you smell that? Some kind of acid or chemical is still in the air.” Marcus paused, watching those who had been trampled in the panic and confusion as they were lifted from the ground or supported on the shoulders of rescuers.
Bob’s face turned ashen gray. He took a few steps back and let Marcus stand in front of him on the balcony, watching a seemingly rigid objectbeing lifted by two policemen out from the planks of a broken wagon. Marcus leaned forward as far as he dared and felt a quiver down his spine as he realized it was a woman, wrapped as though with another layer of skin in a weave of cracked glass. The college students exchanged glances but were speechless.
The dead girl’s eyes remained wide open in her transparent tomb. It seemed, as they watched her lifted, that her stare implored them.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute, Mansfield, give me back the glass.” Bob muttered something to himself as he peered through the lens.
“What is it?”
“That girl—I think. Yes, I’ve seen her before. Heavens! Chrissy, I think she’s called.”
“How?”
“You know sometimes I find myself in the theater, and wander my way to the
“Eddy, didn’t you hear Conny? The windows came alive!” Bob said with a chuckle. “Surely we cannot be deprived of seeing such a sight for ourselves, dinner or no dinner. I’m certain President Rogers would agree. No more old-womanish twaddle—we’re off!” When Bob Richards led you by the shoulder, there was no resisting.
Bob, Marcus, and Edwin had no trouble finding the location of the incident. A mass of people crowded at the busy intersection of Court, Washington, and State streets. The police and two or three fire companies formed a barricade to keep people out. From the back of the crowd, they could hardly see a thing, a fact pointed out with satisfaction by Edwin. Unswayed, Bob kept pushing through the dense sea of onlookers, clearing a path as he went for Marcus and Edwin.
Marcus tried asking a few of the spectators whether anyone had beeninjured, but they all seemed too busy trying to see over and around the nearest heads, tall hats, flowers, and bonnets to answer him.
“I ’ear there were some kind of thick fumes in the air and then hundreds hurt in the blink of one eye!” one woman finally said to him.
“First the harbor, now the very streets we walk on,” shouted someone in the crowd.
At every turn, they were blocked from moving closer. Any available spot to stand was filled immediately, as if they were on the sideline of a parade. There were men, women, and children who were weeping, asking whether their relatives or friends who worked nearby were safe.
“We better go back,” Edwin said. “This is all for naught, Bob, and a drearier scene I’ve never seen in Boston. We can’t get close enough to even see!”
“Give a fellow a boost, will you, Mansfield,” Bob said, jumping up to reach the railing of a balcony jutting out from one of the older three-story brick buildings. Marcus stooped and let Bob push up with his heels against his strong shoulders. Then Bob heaved Marcus up with him. Edwin waved away their offer to join them. A sharp, acrid smell like rotted eggs and oranges floated on the breeze.
Their vantage point revealed an immediate mystery. Almost every window in the buildings on both sides of the streets was missing.
“What in the devil could shatter all those windows?” Bob asked. “Some kind of earthquake?”
Marcus took off his hat for an unobstructed view. “You have your opera glass?” Bob fished it out of his coat pocket and handed it to him. “Look closer, Bob. They weren’t shattered. The windows in the buildings and the carriages and all the glass everywhere on the street somehow has been … liquefied and … dissolved, erased. The glass didn’t shatter—it disappeared.”
“There’s no sign of any fire or flame that could have melted them.”
“Do you smell that? Some kind of acid or chemical is still in the air.” Marcus paused, watching those who had been trampled in the panic and confusion as they were lifted from the ground or supported on the shoulders of rescuers.
Bob’s face turned ashen gray. He took a few steps back and let Marcus stand in front of him on the balcony, watching a seemingly rigid objectbeing lifted by two policemen out from the planks of a broken wagon. Marcus leaned forward as far as he dared and felt a quiver down his spine as he realized it was a woman, wrapped as though with another layer of skin in a weave of cracked glass. The college students exchanged glances but were speechless.
The dead girl’s eyes remained wide open in her transparent tomb. It seemed, as they watched her lifted, that her stare implored them.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute, Mansfield, give me back the glass.” Bob muttered something to himself as he peered through the lens.
“What is it?”
“That girl—I think. Yes, I’ve seen her before. Heavens! Chrissy, I think she’s called.”
“How?”
“You know sometimes I find myself in the theater, and wander my way to the
Similar Books
