From the Shadows: The Complete Series

by KB Shaw

  La Grande Jatte

  “TELL ME ABOUT HIM,” said Cameron. “Tell me about Georges Seurat.”

  “I’m not an artist myself,” said Gustav Gundersen, holding up his massive mitts. “I have the hands of a stone mason! But I love art and music. That is one reason I chose to come to Paris.

  “Well, anyway, critics say that Seurat painted poetry. Seurat himself said he was only showing that art could be created with scientifically precise distribution of points of color. It is a school of thought that takes issue with those artists called ‘naturalists’ and those called ‘impressionists.’ Seurat’s style of painting is called pointillism. In effect, his images are composed of thousands of points of color, which, when viewed together, take on form and substance.”

  “How did he die?”

  “Seurat was not accepted by the government-sponsored artists’ Salon and juried competition, so he helped found the Groupe des Artistes Indépendants. This group of artists banded together to exhibit their work without judging. In 1891, Seurat exhausted himself while serving as organizer of the group’s spring exhibition. He caught a chill, developed an infection, and died on Easter Sunday. He was just 31 years old! Even more tragically, Seurat’s one-year-old son contracted the illness from his father and died less than a month later.”

  Marya was moved to tears by Gustav’s tale of Georges Seurat. “Such a waste. We must see to it that science prevents the needless loss of human life. As far as we have come in the field of medicine, I feel that we are still in the Dark Ages. There is so much more for us to learn.”

  “Well said,” replied Gustav somberly.

  The three sat quietly for several minutes before Gustav broke the silence. “So you see, my friend, your Mademoiselle Costas cannot spend a Sunday afternoon on La Grande Jatte with Georges Seurat.”

  “Perhaps she meant she was going to view the painting,” offered Marya.

  Gustav shook his head. “A Sunday Afternoon on La Grande Jatte is not on display anywhere at the moment. It is said to be in the possession of Seurat’s mother.”

  Cameron had a thought. “Gustav, do you remember when the painting was first shown to the public?”

  “I am afraid not. The spring of 1885 or 1886, perhaps?” he asked with a shrug of the shoulders.

  Marya looked out the window. “It is almost dusk. It will get even more bitterly cold when the sun goes down. I really must be on my way.” She rose and thanked Cameron for the meal and the coal.

  Gustav asked if he might escort her back to her building, and Cameron told the couple he would sit inside a while longer before he was on his way. After a firm handshake, followed by a bear hug, Gustav and Marya walked out into the gray cold of Paris. Cameron sat alone at the table, knowing he would remember and miss them both. Perhaps he could visit this simulation again.

  When he was sure that no one in the restaurant could see what he was doing, he pulled out his multiCom and found the date of the premier showing of La Grande Jatte: May 15, 1886 at the Maison Dorée, Rue Lafitte. He then paid his bill and walked outside, into the growing darkness, before setting the IHT to the correct coordinates. As he activated the transporter, he could feel the air about him warm. The atmosphere became both darker and clearer.

  The first things to come into view were the yellowish points of gaslight and the soft glow of lighted windows in a tall stone building. He was standing on a large staircase. It was a pleasant, starlit evening. Men and women in formal attire were ascending the steps and entering the large double doors with etched glass panes.

  Cameron felt atop his head and found he was wearing a top hat. Next, he looked at his coat; he was in a stylish tuxedo of the period, complete with tails and starched collar. On the ground floor of the Maison Dorée was a restaurant, but a sign by the doors at the top of the steps proclaimed “Eighth Exhibition of Painting.”

  As he climbed toward the entrance, Cameron searched his memory. Gustav had reminded him of the method of painting Seurat had perfected. He recalled that pointillist paintings were best appreciated when observers could vary the distance from which they viewed the work. Up close, a person would only see the technique of the artist—the thousands of blotches of color. From a distance, one could see the composition and form that were created when the individual points of paint united. Cameron was thrilled to be able to witness the first public showing of this great artistic masterpiece. Perhaps Seurat himself would be there.

  But would Rosa be there? If she wasn’t, and he couldn’t locate the next clue, he would have to return home and send her a multiCom message admitting defeat. For the moment, however, he would enjoy the art of Georges Seurat.

  Cameron entered the Maison Dorée and mingled with the crowd of first-night patrons. He admired the works of many fine artists that were displayed on the first floor. As he searched for Seurat’s masterpiece, he scanned the crowd for a glimpse of Rosa.

  During his wanderings, Cameron noticed a steady stream of people entering and leaving a small room to one side of the main hall. Some were shaking their heads, others were visibly laughing. Curious to see what was getting such an unlikely reaction at this exhibit of fine paintings, he made his way toward the room.

  “A disgrace!” said one man who had come from the room.

  “No wonder Renoir and Monet withdrew from the exhibition,” said his companion, “Who would want to be displayed in the same show as that!”

  Judging from the people’s comments, thought Cameron, whatever is in the room is obviously an inferior work of art. He decided not to waste his time going into the room. He had better search for La Grande Jatte and find Rosa, if indeed she was here. He turned and was about to cross the hall when he heard a woman behind him say, “Alfred, if I were Seurat, I would not have shown my face either.”

  Cameron whipped about to see a couple coming from the little room. He couldn’t believe his ears. Could they be laughing at the famed masterpiece of Georges Seurat?

  The woman’s escort laughed. “I will bring my friends here every day so we can enjoy a good laugh.”

  “Jolly good, Mr. Stevens,” said a small, round, balding man who trailed the couple closely.

  Cameron made his way into the most crowded room at the exhibit. Everyone was talking. The room was also the smallest in the hall, and Sunday on the Island of La Grande Jatte was an enormous work. It was over 6 feet tall and 10 feet wide. No one in the room could really view the painting as it was intended to be viewed. Cameron thought of the old saying, “You can’t see the forest for the trees.” The patrons could see the individual trees but could not appreciate the width and breadth of the forest.

  An older man stood next to Cameron as he viewed the painting. The man sounded weary as he remarked, “I have not the heart to laugh before this huge and detestable picture, which resembles an Egyptian fantasy.”

  A young man in a stovepipe hat and long goatee dared to disagree. “You are too rooted in the past, Monsieur Mirbeau. Do you not see the inventive technical reform this work represents? It is the light and color of poetry!”

  “If this painting is poetry, my dear Feneon, perhaps it is a child’s rhyme, but a sonnet by no means, not even a crass little limerick.” Mr. Mirbeau’s followers laughed as they followed the older man from the room.

  Feneon looked at Cameron. “And what of you, young man? What do you think of this work?”

  At first, Cameron didn’t know how to reply. He had to choose his words carefully. “I feel the people are too close to it.”

  “Yes, the style is too new for them to appreciate,” said Feneon. “Must an artist die before their genius is recognized?”

  “Perhaps that is true, but I simply meant that we’re standing much too close to the canvas to really take in the work. We’re seeing the nuts and bolts of the artist’s construction, not his overall vision.”

  The man in the stovepipe hat stared at Cameron a moment in silence, then studied the picture again. Abruptly, he wheeled about and parted the crowd beh
ind him with his walking stick. “Excuse me!” he said as he retreated the meager six or seven feet to the back of the room. He studied the painting briefly before exclaiming, “It’s an outrage! The centerpiece of the entire exhibition confined to this… this… hole in the wall! This closet!”

  At that moment, Cameron heard a familiar voice coming from the hall. Rosa!

  He turned to catch a glimpse of Rosa handing a piece of paper to a young man. She was wearing a beautiful white satin gown. “I must be going now. Please give my friend this message.”

  Just then, a group of people entered the room, obscuring Cameron’s view. He quickly picked his way through the oncoming patrons and made his way into the hall.

  Rosa was gone.

  Cameron spun about, searching frantically. She was nowhere to be found. As he scanned the room again, his eye was drawn to a tall man standing by a wall at the edge of the crowd. Like many of the IHT-generated characters, he seemed familiar. The man looked at something to his left and, for some reason, Cameron followed the line of his gaze. He noticed a flicker of white, a flash of satin. It protruded now and then from behind a column. Cameron walked briskly toward the marble pillar.

  If it was Rosa, she would be secluding herself to make her next jump. He broke into a trot. He must get her before she left.

  He could see more of the dress now. It was Rosa. He had her! Two more steps. His arm stretched toward her… His hand came down upon her shoulder…

  The room went black.

  Chapter 36:

  The Railroad

  CRICKETS!

  From deep in the blackness surrounding him, Cameron heard crickets. He could feel Rosa turning in response to his touch, but he could not see her in the darkness. Slowly his eyes adjusted. He could vaguely make out her silhouette.

  It was warm and humid. A mosquito buzzed close by his left ear. Cameron couldn’t be sure if the air was filled with simulated mosquitoes or if it was just a sound effect like the one Sam used to wake him months earlier, but it didn’t matter. Instinctively, he pulled his hand from Rosa’s shoulder and swatted at the unseen pest.

  He heard Rosa’s voice. “Cameron, is that you?”

  Another mosquito, or perhaps the same one, now buzzed his right ear. “Geez, Rosa, where did you bring us?”

  She gave Cameron a hug. “I missed you at the exhibition. It’s so good to see you! I knew you’d get me.”

  “Good to see you too, Rosa.” He swatted at another mosquito. “Now where on earth did you take us?”

  “Rochester, New York. It’s 1859.”

  Cameron tried to figure the significance of the time and place, but nothing came to mind.

  The night air was suddenly filled with the noise of horses’ hooves and wagon wheels.

  Rosa and Cameron turned toward the sound of the wagon. Cameron realized they were standing in a wooded area, and he could see lights through the trees. Then they heard voices as the driver of the wagon brought his team of horses to a halt. Rosa took Cameron’s hand and led him toward the lights.

  When they reached the tree line, they could see the back of a white, clapboard house. A barn, or stable, stood between them and the house.

  “Do you know whose house that is?”

  Cameron still couldn’t understand why they were in Rochester, New York. Only one thing came to mind. “Could Mr. Eastman live there?”

  “George Eastman? The inventor of the Kodak camera?”

  Cameron nodded.

  Rosa smiled and patted him on the cheek. “Good try, Cheese Boy, but George Eastman is just a child at this time.” The back door of the house swung open. “Look!”

  A black man with long hair came out the rear door of the house. He was nicely dressed, in a coat and bow tie. He saw the delivery wagon loaded with barrels and called out, “Moses? Moses, is that you?”

  “Yes,” answered a female voice.

  The man went back inside, then returned with a lantern. He descended from the large summer porch to greet the two people on the wagon.

  “Now do you know whose house this is?”

  Cameron was without a clue.

  “That’s Frederick Douglass!”

  The name opened a floodgate of knowledge. Cameron remembered the man from his study of the American Civil War. The pictures Cameron had seen of him were all of an old man with long white hair and a grizzled full beard.

  Frederick Douglass was an escaped slave, Cameron recalled. Largely self-taught, he was made an apprentice at a shipbuilding yard in Baltimore, Maryland. One day, he disguised himself as a sailor and escaped to New England by ship. He became famous as an antislavery speaker, giving talks about his life as a slave.

  He became such a good speaker, some people didn’t believe he was really a runaway slave. To prove that he was, he wrote an autobiography in which he told everything about his life, including the name of his former master. Then, he fled to England to avoid recapture.

  Two years after his flight, his new British friends raised the money to buy his freedom. This made it possible for Douglass to return to his home in America.

  Upon his return, he published a newspaper for blacks that championed political action to abolish slavery and advance women’s rights. He advised Abraham Lincoln during the Civil War and lobbied for the use of black troops in the Union Army.

  Douglass helped a black woman down from the wagon and motioned the man to pull the wagon over to the outbuilding. The woman was small and, even at this distance, Cameron could see that she was missing her upper front teeth. Douglass and the woman trailed the wagon to the barn. They seemed to be wary of the darkness about them.

  Rosa and Cameron gave each other a questioning look, as if to ask, “What are they afraid of?” Cameron sensed that perhaps he and Rosa should remain hidden in the trees. He knew Rosa had come to the same conclusion. Silently, they watched as the wagon halted by the barn door, not more than 50 feet from their hiding place.

  The driver stood and scanned the area cautiously. He stepped over the seat, into the bed of the wagon where there were at least 12 large oak barrels. Douglass handed the lantern up to the man on the wagon, who set it upon one of the rear barrels. His hand went to his side and he slid a broad-bladed knife from its sheath. The blade glinted in the lamplight.

  Rosa started to gasp, but Cameron quickly put a hand over her mouth. “Nothing will happen!” he whispered. “Remember? Frederick Douglass lives until 1895, when he dies a natural death.” He could feel Rosa’s body relax so he turned his attention to the strange scene unfolding by Douglass’s barn.

  “Go ahead. It’s safe,” said the woman. The man on the wagon nodded. He began using his knife to pry open a barrel in the second row from the rear. In a moment, the lid popped open. The man reached in and pulled out a small, dark bundle and laid it across his arms. When he handed the parcel down to Douglass, Cameron was amazed to discover that the bundle was a small black girl. He was even more amazed to see that she was asleep. A broad smile appeared on Douglass’s face as he handed the girl to the woman he had called Moses. The woman carried her precious cargo to the barn.

  Back on the wagon, a little boy was climbing out of the very same barrel from which the girl had been extracted. The man proceeded to pry open another barrel. One by one, the barrels were opened and their contents removed. All told, 16 black men, women, and children were freed from their tiny hiding places. Stiff and wobbly from their cramped confinement, they made their way into the barn.

  “Tomorrow they will be safe in Canada,” said Douglass. “It is a wonderful thing you’re doing, Miss Tubman.”

  “And a dangerous thing for a man in your position, Mr. Douglass.”

  “There is no risk not worth taking in the name of freedom. I will not rest until the day that no man is the master of another, and all men are masters of their own destiny!”

  A chill ran up Cameron’s spine.

  “Malik created this segment,” said Rosa. “I didn’t know what to expect.” Cameron looked
at her. A streak of moisture shone upon her cheek.

  Cameron leaned over tentatively, hesitated, then gave Rosa a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the birthday present.”

  Rosa’s eyes glistened with tears in the virtual moonlight as she reached out, took Cameron’s hand in hers, and laid the other upon the pendant hanging from the chain around her neck. She smiled, closed her eyes, and softly said, “Home.”

  Chapter 37:

  Bugs & Glitches

  THE ACADEMY had gone along smoothly all semester—too smoothly, thought some of the scientists at GundTech. But now they began to notice little errors in the simulations. Errors like the language translators didn’t always work; here and there, IHT-generated characters were being heard in whatever language was ‘native’ to their role; and in some cases, characters appeared with their clothes on backwards, or inside out, or—to the shock of Homeroom 45-East—with no clothes at all! Then there was the time an American student was almost run down by a horse-drawn carriage.

  It was the last day of the semester before a three-week holiday break. Homeroom 678-West was in the middle of a session on the works of Charles Dickens and students were about to experience A Christmas Carol from the viewpoint of Ebenezer Scrooge. For that reason, the class was convened in the front hall of a decrepit old mansion.

  Mr. S stood on a staircase, three steps above his students. “Now, in this simulation, you will each be experiencing the story alone. You will be Ebenezer Scrooge, so I hope you remember your lines.”

  He looked to each student for confirmation that they had, indeed, studied their lines. “But before we begin, I want to congratulate you on a wonderful first semester. We have achieved much in the past few months. We’ve pushed the development of IHT simulations almost faster than the technicians could handle.

  Take this nineteenth century London simulation, for instance. It’s our most detailed simulation to date. We’ve used it many times—perhaps too often. Anyway, I dare say, we have overworked the programmers with our ideas and you may have noticed little bugs and glitches recently.”