The History Mystery

by Ana Maria Machado

  The silence didn’t last long. Faye soon had a different expression on her face.

  ‘It hadn’t disappeared from my own memory, though. I keep thinking about it all the time and asking myself, What kind of model do I want to be? I thought it was a breeze, something completely certain, that I’ve known my whole life, without any doubt. But suddenly I’ve started to realise I’m not so sure what the answer is any more. A model could be so many different things, things I’d never even thought about before.’

  9 – Camille’s Friend

  Colin began the meeting by explaining why he was interested in talking to the kids. He went back to the first message that had come to his attention, which came mixed up in a legal document, as they all knew. He read that message out loud.

  ‘At the time, I didn’t attach much importance to this. I thought it was a piece of homework belonging to one of Andrea’s younger sisters.

  ‘But a couple of things did catch my attention. One thing struck me as surprising: this girl must have done her homework really well, because a lot of thorough research had gone into it. She knew stuff that a lot of adults wouldn’t have a clue about. For instance, she knew all about how the people of Mesopotamia used reeds to write on clay tablets.’

  Here we go again, thought Sonia. Writing.

  ‘She knew that women had an important role in that society and were involved in the economic life of the people. You see, the division of labour at the time – you know what I mean? The way the work was divided up between men and women? Anyway, it involved women not only in the production of textiles but also in how businesses were set up and managed.’

  Sounded good, Sonia thought, and it did seem to fit in with that message and the list of items for sale and so on.

  ‘But these things changed gradually over the years, and in later societies women’s contribution became confined to the domestic arena,’ Colin was saying now.

  That’d be the home, Sonia thought. Why did he have to call it ‘the domestic arena’? Must be a lawyer thing.

  ‘You could say that the Mesopotamian civilisations – the Sumerians, the Akkadians, the Babylonians and the Assyrians – should have been an example to us, but in fact, they have been largely forgotten.’

  The young people around the desk looked at each other in dismay. They hadn’t bargained on a lecture on … what? Assyrians or something. But there was no stopping Colin now that he’d got into his stride.

  ‘The ancient area of Mesopotamia actually corresponds pretty well exactly to what we call Iraq today,’ Colin said, sounding depressingly like a schoolteacher.

  They were in for the long haul, they could tell.

  ‘The people of modern Iraq – whom we hear about all the time on the news, people who are victims of the terrible sufferings inflicted by war – are descended from some of the finest civilisations in the history of humankind. Their societies should be role models for us.’

  Faye shifted uneasily on her chair. A thought was buzzing in her head like an annoying fly. She was remembering the question that had been asked in the text message on her phone: ‘Model what?’ her mystery texter had asked.

  Now that Colin was using that same word ‘model’ in a different context, she began to feel uneasy. None of the others noticed.

  Colin went on speaking.

  ‘Something else that caught my attention in the message was the way in which the author referred to Hammurabi’s legal code.’

  Why did all these ancient people have to have such long names? Sonia was thinking.

  ‘This was a pioneering piece of work and a remarkable feat for such an ancient society. We can conclude from the way our mystery messager takes such pride in this achievement that he or she is a person who values justice. More than that: they value a notion of justice that was very innovative at the time and remains fundamental today.’

  Colin sounded remarkably like Mr Costa, banging on about all this ancient world stuff and how innovative people had been back then. But there was no way to interrupt him.

  ‘Hammurabi’s code says that we can’t have double standards in law. In other words, the law cannot be applied on the whim of the king or the leader of the country. The law has to be the same for everyone, and there have to be standard punishments that people know about and that you can expect to have to undergo if you commit certain crimes.’

  Yes, well, that made sense. If you could concentrate long enough to understand it.

  ‘Hammurabi adopted the motto “Justice and equity”. He was famous for being a wise king and an excellent and even-handed administrator. He was a model sovereign.’

  There it was again, that word ‘model’ which kept buzzing around in Faye’s head.

  But by this stage, they were all shifting in their chairs, changing their positions, taking sips of water or tea. It was hard to concentrate on what Colin was saying. Do all lawyers have to talk like that and for so long?

  But Colin didn’t seem to notice their discomfort and he carried on.

  ‘Anyway, I didn’t pay much heed to the first message. It was only later, when the next message turned up, that I noticed that this message also showed the same interest in justice.

  ‘And I remembered then that Andrea had said something about messages that you had been receiving, some virus maybe. So I examined the messages carefully, and I have to say I didn’t think we had a case of a virus here.’

  The friends nodded their agreement.

  ‘It just didn’t look like a virus to me, and I can imagine you people don’t really think it’s a virus either.’ He paused briefly. ‘I cannot shake off the feeling, though,’ Colin concluded, ‘that this is someone who is in need of help of some sort.’

  ‘Didn’t I say that?’ Matt cut in, very pleased with himself and his powers of deduction. ‘It’s not a criminal. It’s just someone asking for help.’

  Maybe they were right, thought Pedro.

  The young people went over everything with Colin and showed him the various messages they had kept. They discussed their list of conclusions, and, on Colin’s suggestion, they added a new item to it:

  • Concerned with justice.

  ‘There’s something else that strikes me as strange, though,’ said Colin. ‘It is very odd that his modus operandi is to remain unidentified, hiding behind what seems like a series of pranks and making contact through strange and sudden communications …’

  Nobody knew what modus operandi meant. Colin must have noticed their puzzled looks, because he said, ‘Sorry, I mean his method of operation.’

  They still looked blank.

  ‘His way of doing stuff.’ Colin finally got through to them. ‘It is odd that he or she chooses to hide behind diverse personalities from entirely different societies and epochs but always under the aegis of the written word, considering it a rare and precious accomplishment.’

  Under the aegis of? Whatever that meant! Pedro thought he’d better check if he was following all this.

  ‘Each of the messages comes from a different time and place, is that what you’re saying?’ he asked. ‘And our guy’s always all proud because he can read and write. But each time it’s different.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Colin. ‘And therein lies the mystery.’

  ‘From what my manicurist says, there’s no mystery at all,’ said Faye. ‘Apparently, it’s quite common. I had never heard of it myself, but it’s probably because we don’t know much about these things.’

  Her manicurist? They all stared at Faye. That was some abrupt change of subject!

  Faye explained that she had mentioned the text messages to the manicurist when she went to get her nails done at a beauty parlour on Saturday, and the lady said that one of her neighbours was always receiving messages like that, ‘from beyond’.

  ‘Oh, give me a break, Faye,’ Sonia snapped. ‘Here we are, trying to have a serious discussion, and all you can talk about is this “beyond” nonsense? So now the “beyond” needs computers and mobile phones?’


  ‘No, no, I’m sorry, don’t get me wrong. I just used the word “beyond” because it was an easier way to explain the idea – you know, like in the movies. It was the manicurist who said it. Everyone in the salon started talking about this sort of thing then, and they all had things to say.’

  ‘What kind of things?’ asked Matt.

  ‘One of the girls said something about past lives. I thought that sounded interesting, and the manicurist thought so too. A lot of people did.’

  Sonia threw her eyes up, but Faye took no notice of her friend’s scepticism. ‘Anyway, this girl said that nowadays there are loads of books about this kind of thing, written by doctors who use hypnosis to treat people. See, they are trying to discover what kind of things happened to their patients in their past lives, because whatever is wrong with them now might have origins in these past experiences.’

  ‘And you believed that?’ asked Sonia.

  ‘I didn’t believe it and I didn’t disbelieve it. I’ve never been hypnotised, I can’t remember any past lives, so I don’t think I believe it. Actually, I’m sure I don’t. But maybe other people do, and I respect that. Why not?’

  There was a brief silence.

  ‘Past lives?’ said Colin. ‘It’s an interesting hypothesis. Not that I believe in it myself, but …’

  ‘But why would these people from the past come to find us in particular, if we’re not hypnotised or anything?’ argued Pedro.

  ‘Maybe they are us in other times …’ said Faye. ‘Or we are them today.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Pedro cut in impatiently. ‘Let’s stop this nonsense!’

  The atmosphere was a bit awkward, filled with an uneasy silence.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Faye. ‘I just meant that, somehow, we could be some sort of continuation of these people who lived in the past. Like heirs, maybe, or some kind of descendants? Not exactly a new life of these exact people, not really. Oh, I can’t explain what I’m thinking, I can only come up with the word continuation. And they are, themselves, the continuation of each other. Those people, I mean. The ones who send us messages.’

  This was very mixed up, Sonia thought, but Matt agreed with Faye.

  ‘That’s it. That would explain why they come to us when they need help. I mean, we must have something in common with them. Same as we have things in common with each other.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Sonia. ‘We do have things in common, of course. We’re all friends, classmates, we’re the same age –’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ interrupted Pedro. ‘But not all of us. The clerk here in Colin’s office is not in our class at school, for instance.’

  ‘Still, he might have something else in common with us, but it’s just that we don’t know what,’ Faye said. ‘And also, perhaps we have something to do with the person who is sending the messages.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ agreed Sonia. ‘Perhaps that’s why they chose us. But what could it be that we have in common with them?’

  ‘Well, I know she was a model …’ continued Faye.

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘A model back in ancient Egypt? Or in an alchemist’s tower in the Middle Ages?’ joked Pedro. ‘And what did she do? She would parade on the catwalk with the latest collections of the tunic designers? Honestly, Faye, sometimes it’s like you don’t think before opening your mouth … How did you come up with that?’

  ‘She told me so herself.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Camille’s friend,’ said Faye.

  ‘Camille? Who’s Camille?’

  ‘If you would all stop interrupting me, I’ll explain.’

  Although they weren’t feeling very patient, they let Faye talk. She told them that a few days after the series of curious text messages, she got another message, this time on her computer. It was from someone who apologised for having disappeared all of a sudden. (She put that down to a technical problem.) But now here she was, back to introduce herself.

  ‘She said she was a model,’ Faye told them, ‘and a friend of this Camille person. And, since she had experience in the profession, she wanted to support me. Maybe she believed that, if she could find a way to help me, then I might also find some way to help her, sort of tit-for-tat.

  ‘Being a model was much less work than being an artist, she said, but she had to say it was very tiring work all the same. She said she was sick of it, sitting in the same position for hours, without moving – she must be a photographic model, I suppose – while the artists worked. She would have preferred to follow another path, but she was not as talented as her friend Camille, for instance, who managed to make her own way and create a place for herself in such a masculine world – she did beautiful sculptures.’

  Sculptures!

  ‘She went on to say that it was very difficult for women, even if some ladies named Berthe and Mary managed to paint … she didn’t have such talent, or such courage, and that was why she stuck to being a model.’

  The others were all gaping at Faye. This didn’t make any sense at all.

  ‘But, since she knew how to read and write …’

  They all sat up at that. This was familiar. This sounded like their Brainy Hacker – and this time, appearing as a female again.

  ‘… she ended up getting another job, in commerce,’ Faye was telling them, ‘as an assistant in a bookstore, where she could read lots of books and hear bits of conversation from interesting customers. This way, she didn’t have to sit completely still, holding the same pose for hours on end, without talking to anybody, so that a whole class could draw and sculpt. It was very tiring.’

  ‘So, she wasn’t the kind of model that goes on catwalks showing off outfits or who appears in ads,’ Colin concluded. ‘She was the kind of model who poses for artists.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Faye, suddenly getting it. ‘That’s it. That’s the kind of model she was. When one of those first text messages asked me if I wouldn’t prefer to be an artist, I thought of musicians and pop stars, that kind of thing. But of course what she meant by “artist” was a painter or a sculptor, the kind of artist she met in her work as a model. That makes more sense.’

  ‘What else did you guys talk about?’ asked Sonia, wanting to get as much information as possible.

  ‘Not much. She spent the whole time talking about that sculptor, Camille. She seemed really proud of having known this Camille and having met her teacher, Master Rodin.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Colin. ‘I get it. This Camille she was talking about is Camille Claudel.’

  Very helpful, Sonia thought sarcastically.

  ‘She was a famous artist in the nineteenth century,’ Colin explained, as if he’d overheard Sonia’s thoughts.

  The others looked at him in amazement. He knew a lot of stuff, and not only about the law.

  ‘There was an exhibition here a couple of years ago,’ he explained. ‘It showed some of her work. And they also made a movie about her life, I saw part of it on TV. She was the sister of a great French poet and she was the girlfriend of Auguste Rodin, one of the greatest sculptors in history. But she had a tragic life.’

  ‘Yeah, it must be that one,’ said Faye. ‘The model said Camille ended up crazy, locked up in a mental institution.’

  ‘Well,’ Colin said, ‘I’m not sure she really was crazy. This movie seemed to suggest it could also be that people wanted to get rid of her because they didn’t like her behaviour. She was a very determined woman, and she didn’t let obstacles stand in her way.’

  Sonia liked the sound of her. Faye too.

  ‘The society of the time did not approve of her,’ Colin said, ‘but nowadays she is widely recognised as a very talented artist. And she is also highly thought of today because she was such a passionate, rebellious, intense, hard-working woman, way ahead of her time.’

  ‘A model woman …’ said Faye pensively. ‘That’s exactly what the girl said. At least, that’s what arrived in the last text message.’

  ‘There was another one?’
Pedro was getting impatient with the way Faye told her story in dribs and drabs.

  ‘Are there any other clues?’ asked Matt. ‘Did you find out anything else from these messages, Faye?’

  ‘I think I’ve given you all the facts. She was an artist’s model and a friend of this Camille, whom she really admired. But she thought she could be more, she was proud of being able to read and write –’

  ‘Like all the authors of all the messages,’ said Sonia.

  ‘And she kept trying to convince me to do the same,’ Faye added.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Pedro. ‘Did she try to convince you to be an author of these messages that invade people’s computers? Is she looking for accomplices? Did she tell you how she’s doing this?’

  ‘No, not that. She said I should dream of something better than being a model. She told me I knew much more than how to read and write, and I could do other things that could be more useful to the world.’

  Colin and Pedro didn’t notice the brooding expression on Faye’s face as she said this. But Matt noticed all right, and he thought she looked even prettier like this, with that dreamy look in her eyes, lost in her thoughts.

  ‘I think there is something we can do,’ Colin said, as they went on discussing the whole story. ‘Though it’s not much. This hacker or joker is managing to communicate with us, right? And he or she has been pretty persistent about it.’

  That was true.

  ‘But now we know,’ Colin continued, ‘from what Faye has told us that it is also possible for us to communicate with the hacker. So this is my idea: I think we should all keep our eyes peeled, and as soon as a new message arrives, we reply immediately.’

  ‘How?’ the others wanted to know.

  ‘The same way that Faye did it. A short, immediate response, sent through the same channel as the one used by the hacker. Perhaps one of us will be lucky enough to be able to establish a dialogue in that way. But we need to be on our toes, because we’ll probably only get a moment to respond. And whoever makes contact should ask right away what it is that he or she wants and how we can help. That’s the only way, I think, by sending a very quick reply, that we will be able to make any progress on this.’