Grantville Gazette Volume 93

by Bjorn Hasseler

  "Its what?"

  He snickered. "Its . . . appeal."

  "What are we going to do first?" Domenico asked.

  Antonio opened the curtains and looked out toward the up-time town of Grantville. It was late afternoon. The sun was setting. Perhaps his idea of going immediately to the library was not wise. He shook his head. "I don't know. It's getting late. What do you think we should do?"

  The question seemed to catch Domenico by surprise. The boy paused, then said, "Let's take a walk. Let's go out and see Grantville." He paused, as if he were reluctant to say the next out loud. "Maybe we could even go and see that baseball game?"

  "Baseball? I don't know, Domenico, that was pretty far away, and it is never wise to wander too far afield without knowing where you are going." Antonio shook his head. "No, that is not a good idea. But I do like your idea of taking a walk. Yes, that would be nice. Let us get out and shake the road from our stiff limbs. Then, we'll find a place to eat. I'm near starving, as I'm sure you are as well."

  Antonio stepped closer to the window. He peered out at Grantville. He marveled at how different it all looked, how wonderful and terrifying at the same time. An event, a miracle, like the Ring of Fire occurs once in a lifetime, like the fall of the Roman Empire or the resurrection of Jesus Christ. No corner of the world would be untouched by what this up-time town had brought into the past. And little Domenico would be ready for it. I will not be here to see the full result of the miracle myself. But Domenico will . . . and he must be ready.

  "I am thinking chicken," Antonio said as he looked out the window at the people walking past on the sidewalks below. Normal people in strange clothing. "What would you like, Domenico? Domenico?"

  The boy was fast asleep. His eyes were closed, his little mouth was open, and he breathed deeply but calmly. Antonio smiled, shook his head. He reached down and rubbed the boy's head. He leaned over and gave him a small kiss on the forehead.

  "Sleep," Antonio whispered, "sleep, my boy. Sleep all the night through if you wish. For tomorrow, your future begins."

  ****

  July 4, Day of Departure . . .

  Antonio burst through their hotel room door, and called "Domenico! Domenico!" But the boy was not there, had not returned after his outburst in the hotel dining room. Their baggage lay packed and ready. The beds were still disheveled, but otherwise, it was cool and quiet. No one.

  Antonio cursed and threw his felt hat onto the bed. "Damn you, boy! Where have you gotten off to?" The walls gave no answer, and Antonio was loath to ask again for fear that he might curse even harder and then be ashamed of himself for doing so. Domenico's chastisement had hurt a little, Antonio had to admit, and the looks on the stunned faces of those in the dining hall had embarrassed him. He had calmly removed his napkin, put on his hat, placed a few coins on the table, and left without further word, the eyes of the patrons burning into his back, accusing him of being a bad father, a bad, bad man for upsetting a child so. He was not the boy's father, not officially, and who were they to judge? But Antonio had felt their judgment, could see it in their eyes, feel it on his back. Perhaps I am a bad fath . . .

  No. No, this was Domenico's fault. The boy was being foolish, difficult, unfocused. And maybe we should never have come to Grantville. These unwieldy up-timers, with their casual ways, have filled my son—my ward—with all sorts of foolish notions. I should have known better.

  He opened the curtains and stared out the window. There, across the street, Domenico stood, pacing back and forth, wiping his eyes. Antonio opened the window as far as it could go, which wasn't very. Antonio crouched in front of the gap, stuck his face through it, and shouted, "Domenico! Domenico, you come back here right now. End your foolishness and attend to me."

  The boy stopped his pacing, turned toward the hotel and looked up at their window. He said nothing. He only shook his head, and then gave his uncle what the up-timers called "the finger."

  "Vergognoso!" Antonio said, his mouth wide open in shock. "Che ragazzo vergognoso!"

  Domenico turned, ducked behind a building, and out of Antonio's sight.

  He called to the boy several times, but he never showed his face again.

  Now Antonio was angry. Not only had the boy disrespected him in front of people, he had done so a second time, using an up-time curse no less.

  He slammed the window shut and stormed out of the room, ignoring the bags that they had packed for their trip home. "I'll get you, boy," Antonio muttered to himself, his agitation rising. "I'll get you, and when I do, you better appeal to God's mercy!"

  ****

  Grantville Public Library

  June 28

  They had found a couple of portraits of Giovanni as a young man. One was in color; the other, black and white. The two were similar. Both impressed Uncle Antonio.

  "You're going to be a very handsome man, Domenico," his uncle said, nodding his approval. "What do you think?"

  Giovanni liked the color portrait the most. In both, he was turned away from the painter, but was looking back, as if he had been startled or surprised. His curly hair was brown and reached his shoulders, like his mother's hair might do. His face was smooth, and he still possessed that prominent nose he had always been a little self-conscious about. He was clothed fully in a reddish robe with a white scarf covering his neck, so he could not see if he had gotten fat; it did not appear so, thankfully. He was gesturing to some kind of engineered device outside a window. In his hand, he held a spyglass, or was that a scroll case of some kind? Right behind him stood a globe of a round earth.

  "I look fine," Giovanni said. "My hair gets very long, though."

  "Well," Antonio said, pushing the book aside and drawing another close. "You moved to France. They all wear their hair that way in France."

  And most other places as well, except here in Grantville. Many of the up-time men wore their hair so short they looked bald. Some wore hats to try to hide that fact; others didn't care at all. Most of the ladies wore their hair longer, but in general, their hair was short as well and fixed in all manner of styles, from simple to elaborate. Giovanni shook his head. Their time in Grantville so far had been nothing but a chaotic blast of visual stimuli. It was hard keeping it sorted out in his mind.

  The library didn't have a lot about Giovanni Domenico Cassini, but it had just enough to confirm Uncle Antonio's suspicions: his little Domenico had grown up to become a world famous astronomer.

  The up-time record showed that Giovanni had attended the Jesuit College in Genoa, and that later on in his life, he had moved to France, wherein he received the most accolades for his work in the field of astronomy. He received a sizable grant from the French King Louis XIV which helped him financially to build the Paris Observatory. Later in his life, he became the king's personal astronomer and astrologer. The librarian who had introduced herself to them on their arrival here at the library had rolled her eyes at the mention of Giovanni's work in astrology. Apparently, up-timers did not believe in such "gobbledegook," as she described it. But she seemed genuinely impressed that she was in the presence of the man—the boy—who had done so much for the cause of astronomy.

  Giovanni Domenico Cassini was noted for a few important scientific concepts. He was, of course, credited with finding that aforementioned division between Saturn's rings. He had also established a set of laws which governed the rotational constant of the moon around the Earth. Any orbital body obeying these laws was said to be in a "Cassini state." He was also credited with discovering some of Saturn's moons. One of the most important achievements was his creation of a much improved sundial meridian line at the San Petronio Basilica, which ultimately allowed him to confirm Johannes Kepler's heliocentric theory that the Earth was moving around the sun and not the other way around as the Ptolemaic system suggested. That achievement felt like a real one to little Giovanni. One that most undoubtedly changed the world—or, at least, how the Earth traveled among the stars of the heavens.

  But the most int
eresting one to Giovanni was the spaceship.

  Just a few years before the Ring of Fire, the up-timers had sent a machine to Saturn called the Cassini spacecraft, or the Cassini probe as some of the up-time scientific journals called it. It was so beautiful, all shining gold and white, and taller than four men. Its mission was to study Saturn and its rings. Unfortunately, the Ring of Fire had occurred, and so, the librarian could not tell them what had become of the probe, or whether it had been successful in its mission. But that didn't really matter to Giovanni. The question he had was how could anyone, how could just normal people like these up-timers, build such a thing? When he asked Uncle Antonio how it could be accomplished, he simply pointed to the pyramids in Egypt, the Mausoleum in Halicarnassus, the Coliseum of Rome. Yes, yes, that was all true. Great structures had been built by mortal men since the beginning of time. But how could such a structure be thrust into the heavens to visit an entirely different planet? And to name it after him, little Giovanni Domenico Cassini, just a child from Perinaldo, who didn't really understand any of it. How could I have meant so much?

  "I must find a . . . bathroom," Uncle Antonio said, using the up-time term for a place to relieve oneself. "You keep searching. I'll return momentarily."

  Uncle Antonio stepped away, and Giovanni turned his attention to a group of young boys on the other side of the library.

  They had come in a few moments ago, wearing their baseball caps and uniforms. Three of them. Their mothers were with them, shushing them to keep them quiet as they assaulted the section of the library where children's books were displayed. Giovanni had gravitated toward that section himself when he and Uncle Antonio had arrived. Very colorful books with scores and scores of pictures. Seemed like the perfect place for children to be, and Giovanni watched them in envy.

  They were whispering in a mixture of English and German. Giovanni had no idea what they were saying, but their body language was all he needed to see. They were friends. That was clear. They pushed and prodded each other, gave each other little punches on the shoulder. They were giggling and making their mothers' lives difficult as they tried again to keep their children quiet. But the boys were excited. Their clothing was discolored with grass and brown dirt stains. They must have just been playing baseball.

  Giovanni found himself standing at their table before he realized he had moved. The boys stopped their giggling and looked at him.

  "Hi," one of them said.

  "Ciao," he said back, knowing that the boy had greeted him in English.

  Then the boy said things he did not understand. Giovanni shook his head. "Non capisco."

  Before they had a chance to say anything else, Giovanni pointed to the hat on the boy's head. "Posso vederlo?"

  "Baseball cap," the boy said. He took it off and handed it to Giovanni.

  It was a little wet from the boy's sweat. He turned it over and over, looking at every inch of it. It was green with some kind of image on the front of it; like trees with a mountain behind them. It was perfectly formed to fit the boy's head. Some kind of rigid strap in the back served as a buckle that pulled the cap tight for a form fit.

  The boy smiled and motioned Giovanni to try it on. He put it on slowly and looked up into the window nearby. He caught a partial image of himself. He smiled. I look good.

  He gave the cap back humbly with a short bow. "Grazie," he said, then he pointed to the cards that lay in front of the boys. They were a little worn and old, but colorful, and had images of up-time men in baseball uniforms. The boy who had offered him the cap picked up a few and handed them over.

  Giovanni looked at each one and held them with care as if they were precious jewels. Each one was a different man, with a different uniform, with English up-time names like Frank Thomas, Sammy Sosa, Randy Johnson, and Pedro Martinez. All adults. All baseball players. All tough and confident in their stances, like a soldier posing for a portrait, or a king.

  "Posso assistere a una partita?" he asked with great excitement, then realized that they had no idea what he had just asked.

  Uncle Antonio's voice was quiet, but stern behind him. "Domenico . . . come to me now."

  Giovanni nodded and handed the cards back over. He gave a little wave. They waved back and said ‘Goodbye.'.

  "He let me try on his cap, Uncle," Giovanni said as Uncle Antonio gathered up a few of the books to check out and take back to the hotel. "And they have these cards that had grown men on them in baseball uniforms. Grown men, Uncle, just like you. And some of them were African. Can we see a game? Please?"

  Uncle Antonio gave his famous sigh and said, "We'll see."

  Giovanni knew what that meant. No, they would not see a game. He would never bring the matter up again, and if Giovanni did, Uncle Antonio would simply say "We'll see" once more until there was no time left in their visit.

  He accepted one of the books from his uncle and followed him out of the library. As they left, he looked back to the boys in their baseball caps, playing with their cards, and thought to himself, sadly, I wish I were them.

  ****

  Grantville High School

  July 2

  Antonio had secured a visit to the Grantville High School so that Domenico could see some up-time scientific laboratories. Regular classes were out for the summer, so there would be no students there conducting biology or chemistry experiments, but he thought it valuable nonetheless. The principal, Victor Saluzzo, offered to give them a tour personally. His interest in the matter was piqued considerably when he learned that he would be giving the tour to Cassini.

  "Jean-Dominique Cassini is in Grantville?" Victor had asked, using the boy's naturalized French name.

  Antonio had nodded with a broad smile. "The one and only."

  The tour was scheduled for the afternoon. Antonio and Giovanni met Principal Saluzzo at the front door. With him was a lady named Lori Peterson, who was apparently a biology teacher in the high school. Everyone concerned greeted each other politely at the door, and then the tour began.

  The language barrier was difficult to overcome. Luckily, Principal Saluzzo understood enough Italian, and Antonio understood enough English, for them to muddle through.

  They were given a tour of the entire building. It was a small campus and very constant in its composition, with long hallways and doors after doors that led into several classrooms. They did not bother going into every room. Some of the doors were locked anyway, but Principal Saluzzo stopped on occasion to explain this or that. He seemed most interested in trying to convince Antonio that the Grantville school system was a good place for a young boy like Domenico to study.

  "I assure you, Signore Saluzzo, I have no intention of enrolling Domenico into any school here in Grantville," Antonio said. "We are here strictly for research purposes. We will be returning to Perinaldo within the week, as I have promised his parents."

  "I see. Well, let's continue the tour then."

  Domenico and Signora Peterson walked on ahead. It was apparent that the lady did not understand Italian very well, but that didn't seem to deter her or Domenico. They were coping just fine, with animated hand gestures to this or that along the way. The boy was being attentive and joyous, and Antonio wondered if perhaps he were missing his mother, Giulia Crovesi. She was a lovely woman, Antonio humbly admitted, but she was ill-equipped for motherhood. Having one such as Signora Peterson show him so much attention must be exciting and overwhelming at the same time.

  They entered the chemistry lab, and Signore Saluzzo turned on the lights. It was barren for the most part. There were some desks for students to sit, with their chairs turned upside down and placed on top. There were three large tables assembled in a row in the center of the room, and each table had a sink and spigot, a number of electrical "outlets," a so-called heating mantle, a couple Bunsen burners each, a volumetric flask, and a couple rulers and measuring spoons. Signora Peterson opened the cabinet beneath one of the center tables and pulled out protective gloves and eyewear. Both he and Donemico
were given the opportunity to try on the "goggles." She also brought out various other items, such as a mortar and pestle (which they recognized immediately), pipettes and droppers, and a couple beakers. They were all most impressive. But the most fascinating item was on the wall in the back of the room.

  Nothing like the periodic table of all the elements existed down-time. Signora Peterson said that a man by the name of Dmitri Mendeleev invented it in the nineteenth century. The one displayed on the lab wall represented the most current set of elements up to roughly the mid-1990s. "But who knows what might have been discovered and added to the chart after the Ring of Fire," she said with a big grin and animated gestures. "Science is ever-evolving and discovering."

  Her enthusiasm brought a smile to Domenico's face. That pleased Antonio greatly. It was good to see the boy being so enthusiastic about science, asking questions, and feeling and touching up-time scientific equipment. Antonio knew that that tactile experience would go a long way in solidifying Domenico's interest in the sciences and set him on the right path.

  The biology lab was next. There were fewer things to see and to touch, although there was some impressive dissection equipment to look at and charts of the taxonomic rankings of many of the flora and fauna of the Earth. Those charts were almost as impressive as the periodic table of elements, but Antonio could see that the boy's enthusiasm about those matters was less than what he had expressed in the chemistry lab. Once Signora Peterson began discussing how man had evolved from primates, Antonio quickly ended their tour of the "bio-lab" and suggested they all go to lunch, as planned. They had not come to Grantville to learn the blasphemy of up-time evolution.

  As they were leaving the school for lunch, they met a man named Patrick Flannery, who was wearing a green cap and carrying a fishnet bag with what appeared to be bats and gloves from that infernal game of baseball.

  He greeted Saluzzo and Peterson with warm hand-shakes. Then he was introduced to little Domenico and Antonio.