Wrapped in the Past

by Chess Desalls

  He responds with a mysterious grin. “I bought them at market at a place and time similar to where we’ll be traveling. We will need to blend in once we arrive, Shirlyn. I wanted to be as authentic as possible.”

  “Of course,” I say. I hadn’t thought Father would trouble himself to ensure we had the right clothes—especially without consultation from Mother.

  I shrug into the robe, slipping it over my clothes and around me. The sleeves reach perfectly to my wrists. Once Mother and Father are similarly dressed, I stifle a laugh. We look like we’ve been shipwrecked after performing a Christmas play. As if this isn’t bad enough, Father hands me what looks like a motorcycle helmet with a wraparound glass visor. The glass is dark like the lenses in the goggles Father keeps in his workshop for welding.

  “What’s this?” I say.

  Father wags his hands at me. “Place it over your head, and turn down the visor. The Blanching Effect will commence once we are in motion.”

  “The Blanching Effect?” I look at Mother for help, but she’s watching Father work the controls. At least I think that’s her under the strange costume of robe and helmet.

  Father flips a switch near the boat wheel and then grabs the wheel with both hands. “The Blanching Effect is the light that encompasses all places and all times—the Everywhere and the Everywhen.”

  “The Every—what?” I barely manage to secure my helmet before the boat picks up speed. The water and shore, along with everything else outside the yacht, begin to glow so intently that I turn down the visor.

  Mother gasps as I hear Father mumble something about wishing he could invent a device that would combine the ability to travel with the protective properties of a visor for the sake of efficiency. Before I can ask what he means by that, light permeates everything, filling every space with the glow of white-hot flame. I squint until there are slits between my eyelids. The brightness forces my eyes to close completely. I press my hands against the visor in a final attempt to protect myself from the light’s painful sting.

  Chapter 4

  Ancient Persia

  When I open my eyes again, the brilliance of the Blanching Effect, or whatever Father said it was, is gone. No longer standing inside the wheelhouse, or inside anything for that matter, I find myself sitting on top of something and looking at the back of a helmet. I hold on to the helmeted person. From its size, I expect it’s Father. Someone else grips me from behind, as if connecting ourselves together will help to steady the bouncing—a swaying motion that feels quite different from the rolling waves of the sea. Just as I’m beginning to feel seasick, we jerk to a stop.

  I drop my hands and remove my helmet. “Father,” I whisper. I don’t intend to be quiet. A smell takes my breath away—something oddly pungent, like a poorly kept horse. I swallow back a retch. “Why are we on an animal? And what happened to the yacht?”

  “The change of vehicle is intended to help us blend in better within this place and time. In other words, our yacht has turned into a camel. Given that our clothes don’t change, I prepared for us to wear the robes prior to our arrival.”

  Covering my nose to inhale the spicy scent of my robe, I bend to the right to take a better look at our mount. The animal is dark brown and saddled with a rug with golden tassels. Its colors resemble the browns and golds of the yacht. “A camel?”

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” says Father, chuckling. He pats the camel. “Elizabeth, Shirlyn, bend forward. We should dismount before the impact of our arrival hits.”

  We shift back and forth until the camel’s legs are folded underneath it and our feet touch the ground. Mother’s arms fall away as I step onto the sand. The heels of my shoes sink until sand and dirt fill in the spaces between the straps and decorative cut-outs. “We should have planned for sandals.” I grit my teeth at the thought of how long it will take to get all the grains of sand out of my favorite pair of walking shoes. At least the robes are long enough to hide our shoes.

  Father shrugs in a way that makes me feel horrible for pouting. “I’m sorry, dear. Having not worn women’s shoes, I hadn’t thought of that particular detail. After the impact subsides, we’ll walk alongside the camel. I’m happy to carry your shoes for you. For now, please lower yourself to the ground and cover your head.”

  He expects me to walk through the desert in my silk stockings? I shoot Father my best quizzical look. But there isn’t enough time for him to respond. A surge of energy overtakes me, knocking me to my side. “Mother!”

  “It will be fine, dear,” she calls out. “Do as your father says.”

  “But, I—” I spit and sputter sand from my lips. Clouds of dust swirl around us. The ground groans as if it knows we don’t belong in this particular place and time. It trembles and quakes, lifting more sand until I’m coughing for air. I want to scream out for Father—to ask him what I should do. But the thought of inhaling terrifies me. I pull the robe over my head and hold my breath instead.

  When the trembling stops, I lift the robe and peek outside. Father and Mother are shaking dust from their shoes and robes. The camel looks on as if bored by the recent events. “Is it over?” I ask.

  “Yes.” Father adjusts his eyeglasses and extends me his hand. “All is safe now. What you felt was nothing more than the impact of our arrival. Our travel through the Everywhere and Everywhen created a tear to allow us to pass through.”

  “I see.” I fight to still my hands now that I realize they are shaking. “Will that happen again when we return to the harbor?” Father’s hobby was odder that I’d imagined.

  He nods. “We won’t ride the camel until it’s time to transport back home. The waters of Folkestone Harbor will absorb some of the impact, but I expect we’ll be tossed around once we arrive and the camel has turned back into its original form.”

  “Very well,” I say, still unsure. There’s more to time traveling than I realized; although, I must admit that the adventure is far more interesting than Father’s initial gift of blankets. “How long until we find—” The rest of my words fall away as light from above attracts my attention.

  I look up to see a star, so bright and of so many colors that I question whether I’m seeing all colors in existence together at once or if there are no colors at all. It’s white and yet not white, a spray of rainbow and flame. A tail of moonbeam, or rather star beam, falls from its center like one of Father’s torch lamps.

  “Is that the Christmas star?” I say, stupidly. What else could it be? I doubt all stars from this time period would be this brilliant.

  Father doesn’t answer until we’re all on our feet again. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he says, “It must be the Star of Bethlehem. I don’t know why I expected something more subtle.”

  Mother exhales slowly. “It’s magnificent.”

  “According to tradition,” Father says, “the magi saw the star in the East, and then followed it to Bethlehem.”

  Dunes spread in all directions, as far as I can see. “How does anyone find anything out here?” I shake sand from one shoe and then the other. “There are no streets or signs or—anything, really.”

  “If we follow the star, then perhaps it will lead us to the magi or the magi will follow it to us.” Father tugs on a rope, causing the camel to walk forward.

  “How did you know to do that? And how to dismount earlier, before the impact?”

  “I learned it when I traveled to purchase the robes.”

  “So you’ve had a trial run at all this?”

  “I like to think of it as practice, Shirlyn. My prior destination was well-populated. I will say the impact of my arrival caused a disturbance at the bazaar. But the men there were patient with me and taught me how to handle and ride a camel.”

  Mother huffs. “At what price, Edgar?”

  Chuckling, Father says, “I traded some of my inventions with them. Insignificant trinkets that made them smile. My zippered bag made me seem like more of a mage than those of their time. No matter. I’m sure they forgot a
ll about it the very next day.”

  “Forgot about it? Father, do you realize you could have changed the past by giving them items from the future?”

  “Yes, but not without a Daily Reminder. You see, persons from the past to whom we travel are no longer those persons, but past-versions of them—reflections of what they once were. The TSTA calls them silhouettes or remnants of the past. The memories of silhouettes are shallow and limited. Everything they see or hear from travelers like us, who are not part of their actual lifetimes, disappear when they wake the next day.”

  “But there is a way to leave an impression—a reminder?”

  “Yes, of course. A Daily Reminder is a writing on a physical object, written with the intent to change the past. Had I left a note or signed my name to one of the items I left with them, then the silhouettes would have a recording of my presence there—something to remind them of my existence each day. A Daily Reminder changes circumstances in the past, which could lead to unnatural and dire consequences. This, my dear, is why inserting a Daily Reminder in the past is a punishable offense.”

  “Punishable by whom, Father?”

  “The TSTA.”

  The way Father spits out the time travel agency’s name quivers my spine. Deciding I’ve heard enough for now, I bite my tongue before I start asking questions that would cause me to have nightmares. Admittedly, I’m curious about the types of punishments deserving of such a wrong. But I don’t see any reason why I’d want to leave a Daily Reminder in the past, especially in this time and place.

  Chapter 5

  The ground below us and the dunes ahead look much like they did five minutes ago, possibly even hours ago. My mind wanders to the orange lodged inside my pocket. I imagine its sweet juice rolling across my tongue, followed by a pinch of acid burning the back of my throat. I cough.

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  “Did you remember to bring the fruit and water, Father? I could use something to drink.”

  “Yes, there are canteens for each of us. I hoped we’d find the magi by now, but I suppose we should rest. If this goes on much longer without finding what we came for, I propose we mount the camel and return to the harbor.”

  Father hands a canteen to Mother and then one to me before opening one for himself. I manage a dainty sip before throwing back my head and guzzling half the container.

  “Shirlyn!”

  “Sorry, Mother,” I say, wiping my lips. “I don’t remember ever having been this thirsty.”

  Father sits, staring at the sky with his helmet on and visor flipped up. I frown. Even his helmet looks deflated. “According to my calculations, they should have been here by now,” he says.

  “Cheer up. We did get to see the Christmas star.” And should we need to cut this trip short, I add in my head, I might be able to get in a bath before dinner. Smiling, I daydream of soap bubbles and dancing Christmas puddings.

  The bubbles pop and the puddings fall to the sand when I notice a cloud of dust in the distance—not along the route where we were headed, but behind Father, back in the direction from which we came. Figures appear. Three of them. Instead of walking on foot like us, they are riding camels, one after the other, in a train.

  A soft hiss escapes my teeth. “Could that be—”

  Father springs up from where he’s sitting, yanks the helmet off his head, and smooths down his unruly hair. “It must be them. Shirlyn, come here.” He’s pointing before I can scramble to his side. “The one in the middle must be Melchior from Persia,” he says. I note that his hair and beard are brown and that he has an olive complexion. He looks to be Father’s age.

  “Melchior,” continues Father, “is the mage associated with the gift of Frankincense.”

  “How clever,” I say, taking in the man’s robe that looks much like the ones my parents and I are wearing. I glance at his feet and find what I expected. Sandals. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of my own.

  “Next in line,” says Father, “is Caspar who is believed to be from India or Turkey.”

  I nod, noting that this mage has a bright, white beard. He rides hunched over his camel as if the journey’s too much for him. Like Melchior, Caspar wears a long robe and sandals, only his are decorated with gold. Suddenly, I feel very smart. I look at Father through the side of my vision. “Is Caspar the one who gifts gold?”

  Father smiles. “Yes. He is known to be the eldest of the three magi.”

  Melchior, followed by Caspar, continues riding in our direction. Mother places a hand on my shoulder. “This is exciting, isn’t it?”

  “Right now, I feel as if I’m wandering through the inside of a history book or an ancient biblical text. Except for the star, a lot of what I’m seeing is similar to what’d I’d imagined—”

  A flash of red catches my eye as Melchior and Caspar’s mounts turn a bend in the path, and the third member of the magi comes into view. My jaw drops.

  “Hmm.” Father looks back and forth between me and the approaching mage. “I was aware that Balthazar was the youngest—quite younger than Caspar—but I didn’t expect him to be this close to Shirlyn’s age.”

  My lips form what I imagine is a stupid grin. The flash of red is from Balthazar’s scarlet robe, worn over loose-fitted pants. His dark skin is clean-shaven. A white turban wraps his head, topped with a golden brooch. His smile is just as bright. This must be what a prince looks like. I can’t help thinking this, even though I know he’s supposed to be a philosopher, a scientist, or a magician, depending on one’s view. I resolve to make a point to find out. Mother did, after all, say that we should pursue our own adventures. I stand up straighter as I clear my throat. “Where is Balthazar from?”

  “Babylon,” says Father. “Africa. He brings the gift of myrrh”

  “Myrrh.” I like the sound of that—it means he probably smells good too. More like the spicy smell of my robe and not like the stench of our camel. Suddenly, the clothes underneath my robe cling to my skin. “What do you suppose he—I mean, they—will think of us?”

  “To them we likely look just like another set of travelers. Don’t worry, now. We’re merely observing, Shirlyn. After the magi’s silhouettes fall asleep tonight their memories will dissipate. It will be as if we were never here.”

  I frown. “That’s right. They won’t remember us.” Wrinkling my nose, I add, “Then why couldn’t we have worn our regular clothes?”

  “Because there’s no need to frighten anyone or cause unnecessary danger.” Father’s voice is stern.

  Sensing I’m reaching the end of his patience, I bite my tongue. After another look at Balthazar, my accusatory tone shifts to one of wonder. “They look so real. Like I could reach out and touch them.”

  “Yes, I suppose silhouettes look and feel like real people, but we must remember that they aren’t really the magi. These are past versions of them. Remnants of the past. Which is why we must be careful...”

  “Not to leave a Daily Reminder.” My shoulders round forward. But they look so real.

  Father steadies his eyeglasses and takes a breath. “Even if there were no TSTA rules against changing the past, I consider it a prudent practice not to meddle with time. Observing is fine and well. But changing the past affects the future, and that alone should not be allowed.”

  “I understand,” I say, probably too quickly given the way Father looks at me. He must know I’m not capable of anything vicious, and he’s the last person on earth who would discourage my curiosity. Yet, something in his eyes makes me falter. It’s as if he knows what I’m thinking, which is strange because I have not fully grasped the ideas fluttering through my own brain.

  I try not to stare at Balthazar as I ask my next question. “Daily Reminders aside, how would one communicate with silhouettes who speak, and likely also write, a foreign language?”

  Father smiles. “In addition to obtaining the robes and learning to ride a camel, I’ve prepared for this journey by studying several of the ancient languages.” />
  Well, that would figure. “But that’s not fair,” I say. “You’re the one who kept this trip secret, preventing Mother and me from being equally prepared.”

  Placing a hand on my shoulder, he responds in a voice much lower and sterner than usual, “I meant it to be a surprise, not a secret. Embrace the opportunity as it is. A great deal of the vocabulary I’ve learned relates to astronomical instruments. We are here to research and observe, Shirlyn. While we may interact with the silhouettes, our purpose is not to develop personal relationships.”

  I drag a foot through the sand.

  Mother frowns in my direction, but her eyes are soft and sparkling.

  Chapter 6

  Father waits until the magi dismount their camels before bowing to them in greeting. The men return his bow before acknowledging Mother and me. Balthazar’s lips pull up into a grin as he lowers his gaze from mine.

  I stand there, still and uncertain, partially due to Father’s instructions, but also because I find myself incapable of speech. Even if I were able to speak to the magi, I wouldn’t know what to say. The sounds escaping Father’s lips are harsh, like they originate from deep inside his throat.

  Each of the magi opens their eyes wide, exchanging baffled glances. Soon, they and Father are in a lively discussion, pointing to each other and the star. I wait patiently while Melchior pulls a scroll from a pile of wrappings on his camel. He unrolls it and holds it up to Father, who nods, seemingly delighted.

  Sighing, I look over at Mother whose hands are lightly pressed together. I can’t tell whether she’s enjoying herself or stunned by the strangeness of it all. Personally, I’m having trouble keeping myself from scratching an itch that spreads through my nose. That wouldn’t look well in front of present company.

  Melchior leaves for his camel again, this time returning with what looks like a flat, round Christmas ornament with hands like a compass.