Boomtown

by Nowen N. Particular

  “Better and better!” exclaimed Janice, glancing in my direction.

  “Hey, don’t look at me!” I said. “We have to keep doing things the old-fashioned way.”

  Sarah wanted to stay and clean the room again, but there was still too much to see. We headed back to the elevator. The doors closed, and we descended two more levels to the main floor.

  “What next?”

  “We have two more things to see,” Samora said. “First, the conservatory.”

  She led us down a hall and around a corner to the back of the house.

  “You may want to put on one of those rain slickers hanging on the hooks or grab an umbrella from the stand. It gets pretty wet in here.”

  We put on the bright yellow coats, and I held an umbrella for Janice and Holly. In front of us were two solid oak doors intricately carved with snakes and lizards and birds and lions and trees. Samora pushed them open and took us into a small lobby. We crowded inside; she closed the first doors and then opened two more.

  What we saw on the other side is hard to describe. We were hit with a blast of warm, moist air. Then our senses were assaulted with sights and sounds and smells. It was almost like that scene from The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy steps out of her black-and- white world into a full-color tropical paradise. I half-expected to see Munchkins popping up out of the bushes.

  The glass roof soared ninety feet over our heads and was big enough to enclose at least an acre. Ahead of us, paths wound their way through the forest of palms, banana plants, lemon trees, limes, oranges, date palms, coconuts, and lychee nut trees. There were mangos, ylang-ylang, plumeria, orchids, and tulips. There were banyan, bamboo, and baobab trees tangled in vines and ferns and flowers and fragrances. Exotic birds nested in the branches. Spider monkeys and lemurs played tag in the trees. Butterflies of every color and description flitted through the air and bees sipped on the nectar of every flower. The temperature was a humid eighty-five degrees, and a steady drip-drip-drip of misty rainwater fell from the ceiling and from every limb and leaf. We could hear the rush of a river from around the bend over the chirping of the parrots and peacocks and finches and flamingos.

  “Can we go see, Dad?” asked Jonny.

  “Is it okay?” I asked our guide.

  She smiled and waved her hand. “Go on. See what you can find. Have fun!”

  The three older kids ran off down the path while Janice, Holly, and I took a seat on a nearby bench tucked under-neath a canopy of broad palm leaves. Janice retrieved a bottle of formula from her purse and began to feed Holly, who soon fell asleep. I took off my coat and leaned back to enjoy the perfect weather. I could hear the laughter and yells of the kids in the distance.

  “How did all of this get here?” I asked Samora.

  “Among other things, my great-grandfather was interested in horticulture and zoology,” she explained. “His collection started with a small greenhouse with orchids and roses, but his wife, my great-grandmother, missed the flowers from her native land of South Africa. So he had bulbs and cuttings shipped here from the Cape, anything and every-thing she wanted. He built a bigger greenhouse and cultivated agapanthus, antholyza, and belladonna lilies. Then came the Cape Town honeysuckle, gladiolus, grenadilla, and hibiscus, iris, pelargonium, and plumbago. Once he got started, he couldn’t stop. He added birds and monkeys and snakes and frogs and fish. The collection became so large he finally had to build this conservatory to hold all the plants and animals.”

  We sat for a while longer until Samora stood up and said, “Come along. Let’s go see what your children have discovered.”

  Janice cradled Holly while we walked along under the umbrella. We passed through a thick grove of bamboo, and then we could see the large pond with a waterfall cascading down the side of rocks piled high and covered in moss and flowers and vines. The pool was filled with bright fish of every type and description. Up above, on the rocks, we saw Ruth and Sarah laughing and pointing. With a whoop, Jonny flew over our heads and up, out, and over the pond. He was sitting in a chair that was suspended from a cable hooked to the ceiling. It looked a little like one of those swinging chairs at a carnival.

  “Look at me! Woohoo!” Jonny yelled as he swung wide over the pond.

  “What is he doing?” I said, worried.

  “Don’t worry,” Samora assured us. “The entire system is tested and safe. I used to swing on it when I was a girl. Come down the path over here, and we’ll go up and see.”

  The path wandered around to the left, across a small bridge, and up the far side of the rocky cliff. We climbed the steps until we reached a flat, cement platform with guardrails to keep people away from the swing as it came and went. In the middle of the open space was a launcher. It consisted of an open-ended receiving unit that captured the swing by its “tail” and a steel ball on a tether that hung down from the base of the seat. We got there just as Sarah came swinging around. The tethered ball was neatly caught in the receiver.

  “You see,” said Samora, “the tail has a steel ball on the end that is caught as the swing comes around. As soon as it enters the unit, the brakes are applied and the rider is pulled to a gentle stop. Once it’s in the station, the swing is anchored in place. It’s all perfectly safe.”

  We watched as Jonny unhooked the seatbelt and climbed down. Then Ruth took her turn in the swing.

  Jonny waited until she was ready. “You pull on this launcher knob and blast her! Watch this, Dad!”

  He yanked on the knob. The system retracted a few feet, and with a blast of steam, Ruth and the swing were launched over the pond in a wide arc out and around and back to the platform.

  “The system adjusts for the weight of the rider and com-pensates to bring the swing back to this exact point,” Samora explained. “If you look up there at the center point of the roof, you can see where the cable is connected. That’s the guidance system. It works every time.”

  Ruth came swinging onto the platform. “Dad! You’ve got to try this!”

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Janice said, handing me the baby.

  “It’s my turn!”

  I was perfectly content to stand back and watch Janice as she was launched like a rocket over the pond. She screamed and laughed as she circled around and was caught by the launcher.

  “Pull it again, Jonny!” and off she went a second time.

  They continued to take turns over and over again. They kept urging me to try it—but after all, someone had to hold the baby. Pretty soon, I felt my stomach grumbling. I looked at my watch and realized we’d already been in the museum for more than three hours. Lunch had come and gone. We had been having too much fun to notice.

  “Look at the time. The kids are probably starving. We should probably go.”

  But Samora said, “You can’t go yet. You haven’t seen the best part—the great room. Please stay. We can have the kitchen make some lunch for us.”

  “Please, Dad? Please, please, please?” Sarah urged.

  Janice agreed and we went down the stairs, along the path, out through another set of doors, and into the kitchen. We enjoyed watching our soup and sandwiches travel down the conveyer. Janice and I had iced tea. The kids had lemonade. Holly finished her bottle and fell asleep again.

  Then Samora said, “Wait until you see what’s next.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The Great Room

  From the kitchen, we heard excited voices in the hallway. Since we’d just finished our lunch, we stood up and went out to see. It was a group of about ten children, ages eight to ten years old, carrying instrument cases—violins, cellos, French horns, and so forth. Another graceful woman, almost Samora’s twin, led them along the passage.

  “My sister, Palesa,” Samora said, “taking her class to the music room. My great-grandfather was an accomplished musician—did I mention that? He taught all of his children and grandchildren. We’ve maintained the tradition and hold regular music classes here in the museum. These children are here to practice for the Sprin
g Fever Festival coming up after the winter thaw. Do any of you play instruments?”

  “I can play the flute,” Sarah said.

  “I play the kazoo,” Jonny added.

  “I toot a little on the harmonica,” I offered.

  “That’s excellent. You could all play with the Flute Kazoo Harmonica Band in the Fourth of July parade. They’re always looking for new people.”

  After the group moved on, Samora took us down the hall, back through the main entry area, and toward the center of the house. We stopped in front of a large pair of glass doors. The words Great Room were etched in careful scrollwork lettering in the glass, surrounded by drawings of prehistoric animals and birds, fossils, hieroglyphs, gears, motors, flying machines, and more.

  Samora said, “Through these doors are displayed some of Mfana’s greatest inventions—and, to be perfectly hon-est, some of his worst—along with collections of historical documents, books, city records and archives, photographs, paintings, and drawings. The most unusual is probably the exhibit dedicated to fossils and dinosaurs. And we also have a surprise for the kids.”

  “A surprise? What is it? Can I see it now?” Sarah insisted, pulling on Samora’s sleeve.

  “If I show it to you now, it won’t be a surprise,” Samora chuckled. “You’ll see, soon enough. Come on inside.”

  Samora unlocked the door with a silver key and we walked into an empty, windowless room. It was cavernous, as large as a gymnasium and two stories high. The floor was a highly polished oak hardwood. The walls were painted soft beige. Four impressive crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Otherwise, the room was bare from corner to corner.

  “There’s nothing in here!” Jonny complained.

  Samora pointed to a control panel much like the others we’d seen around the house.

  “You think so? Four knobs to choose from. Pick which-ever you like.”

  The knobs were labeled DINOSAURS, INVENTIONS, HALL OF RECORDS, and the fourth was blank. There was no discussion. All three reached for the knob that said DINOSAURS.

  We gasped when the smooth wooden floor erupted. Like a garden in fast-motion, display cases and exhibit platforms grew up out of the floor. Panels slid open in the walls to reveal maps and photographs and drawings and diagrams. The empty room transformed into a complete museum full of fossils and dinosaur skeletons and ancient pottery and artifacts. There was even a miniature landscape map showing the locations of rivers and mountains and lakes and the sites of various archeological digs.

  “The dinosaur exhibit is stored in Basement Level One,” Samora explained. “When the actuator is pulled, steam drives the hydraulic lifts and the displays are pushed up into the room. Pull it again and they’ll be lowered back down into their designated storage areas. Through a coordinated system of shuffling and positioning, exhibits from each of the four levels can occupy this same space here in the great room. The same goes for the displays in the walls and ceiling.”

  Dominating the center of the room had to be the strangest-looking dinosaur skeleton I’d ever seen. It stood at least ten feet high and about twenty feet long. It had a long neck and tail, a squat body, and a narrow head full of short, rounded teeth. The strangest thing of all were the three legs—two on the sides and one at the front. The brass plaque on the railing said TRIPODOSAURUS.

  “A tripodosaurus?” I said. “There’s no such thing.”

  “Of course there is. It’s standing right there in front of us.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I mean there’s no such thing as a three-legged dinosaur.”

  “This is the only one ever found, as far as I know. It was Chang who discovered this particular specimen accidentally during one of his mining digs. After he found the skeleton, Chang turned it over to my great-grandfather, and he and his team of paleontologists spent years uncovering what became one of the most important finds in recent history.

  “The entire western Washington plain used to be home to millions of ancient creatures, including the tripodosaurus, the only dinosaur on record with three legs.”

  “But how did it walk?”

  “My great-grandfather and his fellow scientists believed it used its head as a fourth leg. Notice the flat forehead bone and the long neck. The tripodosaurus would bend its neck down and shuffle forward using its head.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Not ridiculous—just impractical. With only three legs, the tripodosaurus couldn’t move very fast. It would have been a natural target for predators. Not too many of them could have existed. Probably why this is the only one ever found.”

  “Is it possible Dr. Losotu made a mistake? Maybe he couldn’t find the fourth leg when he dug up the skeleton.”

  “Don’t be silly,” was Samora’s answer. “Who ever heard of a four-legged Tripodosaurus?”

  Sarah thought that was very funny. While she laughed, we moved along to a glass display case showing various insects and small animals embedded in blobs of amber. There were leaves and beetle-like creatures and other fairly common samples, but then we saw something very unusual.

  Ruth asked, “What’s that? It looks like a grasshopper, except for the horn sticking out of its head that looks like a screw.”

  “That’s another animal you probably won’t see anyplace else. My great-grandfather gave it the Latin name torqueo orthoptera. In English, it’s called the screwhopper. The perfect name for it, if Mfana was right.

  “He believed the screwhopper fed on the water and nutrients found in the stalks of sap-producing plants. It would hop over to a plant, grab hold of the stalk with its strong front claws and then use its hard, screw horn to gouge a hole in the stalk. Then it would eat the sap as it oozed through the hole. Of course it’s only an educated guess, since this is the only one of its kind ever found.”

  We stopped to look at the three-dimensional map. It had little stickpin flags showing where some of the more important dinosaurs and fossils had been found. One of the flags was red—that’s where the tripodosaurus had been discovered. One of the flags was blue with a yellow star on it.

  “What was found there?”

  “Come over here and I’ll show you.” Samora guided us to a glass case that hung on the wall. Inside was the skeleton of what looked like a kite. In the center of the delicate wing structure was the small skeleton that looked almost batlike in its appearance. Next to this was an artist’s conceptual drawing of what the “bird” might have looked like. The stretched skin of the wings looked like a dragon’s. When they were fully extended, the creature looked like a kite made out of greenish-gray leather.

  “This is the milvus vespertilionid, or, in English, the batkite. The only three complete skeletons found in the entire world are owned by this museum. The other two are on loan to the Harvard Museum of Natural History and the University of Oslo in Norway.

  Sarah said, “It looks just like a kite—without the string.”

  “That’s right. When the wings are folded in, the bat-kite looks like a closed umbrella, with its small body at the top and the wings extended down toward the back. But in a strong wind, the batkite would rotate its ‘arms’ forward. The wind would snatch it up into the air like a kite. It sailed back and forth and caught flying insects for food. When the wind stopped blowing, it would land on the ground or in a tree.”

  After we finished looking at the dinosaur exhibit, Jonny was allowed to pull the INVENTIONS knob. The displays and cabinets descended into the floor and disappeared into the walls only to be replaced with more displays and cabinets. With a whir and a hum and hiss, we watched the inventions exhibit ascend into place. This time some of the ceiling panels retracted, and several flying machines dropped into the room from above.

  Samora pointed up. “You know that the Wright Brothers accomplished the first manned flight on December 17, 1903, at Kitty Hawk. That was more than forty years ago. What few people know is that my great-grandfather was experimenting with flight here in Boomtown as early as 1895. He wasn’t qu
ite as successful as the Wrights.”

  “That one looks like a bathtub with wings,” Jonny said, looking up.

  “It is a bathtub—the wooden one from the old bath-house here on the property. My great-grandfather added the wood and canvas wings. He mounted a seat inside the bathtub and then installed the gears and pedals from a bicycle and put tires on the side so it would roll. When he was finished, he built a launching ramp and drove it over the side of Rocket Ridge. His wife found him at the bottom of the cliff crashed into the top of a tree. It took four months for his broken leg and arm to heal. She was so upset that she didn’t talk to him for a month.

  “That didn’t stop him, though. He tried a few more designs, but none of them worked. His last attempt is hanging up over there.”

  She indicated a T-shaped frame with puffy wings on the sides and a propeller in the back. It looked like the pilot would lie down in the middle with his face forward. From that position, he controlled the flaps on the wings and tail and pedaled the mechanism that turned the propeller.

  “Mfana thought his earlier designs were too heavy, so he came up with this new idea. You see the baggy balloons in the wings? Those were filled with helium. It was supposed to make the entire airplane lighter than air.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was lighter all right! The airplane went up, but it didn’t come down! Not for a whole week anyway. He nearly starved before enough of the helium finally escaped. He landed about three hundred miles southeast from here—in Horseshoe Bend, Idaho. He’s considered a bit of a folk hero down there. But when he got back home, my great-grandmother made him sleep out in the barn. He promised to stop after that.”