The Lost Book of Wonders

by Chad Brecher

  Ellie pushed the tissue back into her bag and withdrew the wooden box. She remembered what the boy had said. It is cursed.

  As she examined the box in the moonlight, it looked more beautiful than ever. She had stared at it for so many sleepless nights that she wondered if she was losing her mind. What is it? What does it mean? She was smart enough to realize that this was a fool’s errand: that there was no more meaning in this box than in Gordon’s death. What had Gordon said that day? she asked herself.

  “It is not worth your life.”

  Her fingers clenched the box. She had purposefully arrived at the museum early. This needs to be settled. Her fingers searched blindly in her bag as a stiff wind blew across Fifth Avenue. She had been given a contact by a research colleague. This man was an expert in the field, she was told. And if it was not fate, then what could it be? He had an office at the museum and was going to be at tonight’s gala. She would meet with him before the gala and settle this once and for all.

  Ellie pulled out a ragged piece of paper and unfolded it. The ink glistened in the moonlight.

  Dr. Kenneth Graham, Department of Medieval Studies.

  4

  The exhibit hall was quiet and serene. The darkened interior was lit by strategically placed lights that cast the sandstone pillars and golden statues in a wondrous yellow glow. The doors to the museum had not yet opened to the guests and Alex took this opportunity to casually stroll through the hall, periodically pausing to examine the contents of a display case or to read a blurb fastened to the wall describing an accompanied artifact. Down in the foyer, he could hear the bustle of the party staff moving tables and chairs and a call for staff to man the entranceway in anticipation of the arrival of the guests.

  The security for the evening was unusually tight for the invitation-only affair. Not only were the usual New York City Upper East Side crowd and mayor expected to attend, but the event also promised to have an international flair. The Iraqi ambassador to the United States and his American counterpart, several high-ranking members of the military, and even the Secretary-General of the United Nations were going to be present. Alex had to have security clearance to even work for the museum’s catering service.

  As Alex studied the Lady’s Head from Warka, he sensed the arrival of another person. Turning slightly, he could see a woman silently steal into the hall. The woman was beautiful with blond hair spilling out over her black evening gown. Her blue eyes were wet with the whites slightly pink as if she had been crying. She stood before a golden statue of a bull and turned her back to Alex and a security guard who was discreetly positioned in the darkened corner of the room.

  Alex had seen the woman approximately a half-an-hour before, sitting across from Kenneth Graham in his office. As he approached the office, he could hear the woman plead with Graham. “Please, Dr. Graham. Take a closer look at the box.”

  Graham’s response was typical, abrupt and condescending. “Look Miss, I’m not sure who this Arab lad was, but I suspect you’ve been had. Although well-crafted, this box is probably a tourist knickknack. The symbols on the box are a hodge-podge with no rhyme or reason. As for the business with the flames, I think you would have better luck with the pimple-faced kid behind the counter at the hardware store for an explanation. I don’t want to put you out, but I have a flight to Paris tomorrow morning, a million phone calls to make, and I have to chit-chat with a bunch of one-hundred-and-ten-year-old blue haired women from the museum’s support committee tonight at this gala. I suggest you do as I intend to do — find the nearest waiter and drink yourself silly.”

  When Alex left the exhibit hall, the woman had not moved, continuing to stare at the statue with a look tinged with sadness and familiarity.

  Alex felt uncomfortable in the tuxedo as he navigated through the foyer of the museum. The spacious room that greeted the everyday tourist had been transformed into a wonderland of silver and gold. Elegantly dressed patrons milled about, picking off flutes of champagne from his tray as he wandered around the room. In the corner, a string quartet entertained the guests as they gathered around elaborately decorated tables filled with a wide assortment of food from caviar to oysters.

  Dr. Graham, dressed in a crisp tuxedo and dark-rimmed glasses, appeared to float across the floor, periodically stopping for a handshake or kiss on the cheek. Upon spotting Alex, he stopped, grinned broadly, and swaggered over to where Alex stood.

  “Why am I not surprised you found your way into this party. Catering? I could have gotten you a ticket for Pete’s sake. People will talk, say we don’t pay you enough,” Graham said with a chuckle. He reached forward and removed the last of Alex’s champagne flutes from his tray. “Now Alex, I’m off to the South of France tomorrow. I’ll be co-hosting the conference on medieval studies in Cannes.”

  “When will you be back?” Alex asked, relieved to be suddenly free of his mentor.

  “Probably three weeks or so. A little business and pleasure. I trust you can manage on your own. There’s the crucifix exhibit…” Graham put his index finger to his chin and tapped it as if in thought. “…and I have to give a talk to the undergraduates when I get back on the Black Death. It would be great if you can whip up something. There are slides on my desk…” Graham’s voice trailed off as he made eye contact with an elderly, gray-haired woman across the room. He nodded to her with a smile before turning quickly back to Alex. “And Alex, try to get out. Have some fun. It’s New York City, for Pete’s sake. Enjoy yourself. Cheerio.”

  Before Alex could respond, Graham trotted off in pursuit of the gray-haired lady, calling out, “Sonia, Sonia…it’s so good to see you again.”

  Alex fought the urge to whip his empty tray at Graham like a frisbee, imagining it whizzing over the heads of the patrons and hitting the back of his head with a ding. Alex smirked and made his way to the bar.

  As Alex refilled his tray with long-stemmed glasses of champagne and returned to the foyer, he could see the director of the museum, Constantine DeFillipo, standing at a podium. The crowd quieted in anticipation.

  “As you know, this is a very exciting day for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In 1870, the museum received its first acquisition, entitled “70.1”, denoting the year and identifying acquisition number. The item was a magnificent Roman sarcophagus from Tarsus created in the third century of the Common Era. Since then, the museum has relocated from its humble origin to this magnificent edifice and in the process expanded its collections to become one of the most comprehensive museums in the world. We have prided ourselves as being the protector of artifacts and works of art from around the globe and throughout history.

  “Currently, there are hundreds of conflicts across the globe that threaten ancient artifacts, archeological excavation sites, and museum collections. The war in Iraq has not only been devastating from a personal and financial perspective, but has put some of the most incredible and important artifacts at risk of obliteration. When it became clear that these rich cultural treasures were in danger of being lost forever, I know I felt a mix of indignation and despair. Some said it was hopeless. Indeed, I believe many of us never envisioned this night would be possible. I am pleased to announce the opening of the exhibit ‘Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained: The Recovery of Mesopotamian Antiquities.’”

  A wave of applause swept through the crowd. As Alex watched the director lift his hands and begin to clap, the blond woman from the exhibit hall stumbled into Alex, nearly causing his tray to launch from his hands. He balanced the tray with one hand and attempted to steady the obviously drunk woman. She smiled giddily at Alex, bringing her face close to his. When she spoke, the volume of her voice was far too loud, leading several other guests to cast over looks of displeasure.

  The woman glared back at the guests. “What are you looking at, you bunch of cows?” she blurted out, causing two women to look at each other in horror and turn away with a “did you ever?” The blond-haired woman turned back to Alex and reached forward in an uncoordinated
fashion, depositing an empty glass on his tray upside down. She grabbed a new flute of champagne.

  Alex steadied the woman and asked, “Are you O.K.?”

  The woman smiled back at Alex. “You’re sweet. Actually, no, these bloody heels are killing me. Do have any idea how hard it is to walk in these buggers?” She extended her arm, gripped Alex’s shoulder, lifted her legs one after the other, and removed her shoes, holding them by the straps. She was instantly reduced in height. In front of them, Alex could hear the director ramble on.

  “Many agencies came together to make this night possible. I want to thank the State Department, the Iraqi government, and the generous donations from the private and public sector. I would specifically like to recognize the generous contributions made possible by Clay Pharmaceuticals and its Antiquity Recovery grant.” Another round of applause spread through the room.

  “Although this is a celebration, the acquisition of these items was not without loss. We are also here to pay tribute to a great archeologist and friend of the museum, a light in the field of antiquities…the late Dr. Gordon Russell, who lost his life attempting to save these very precious items. I have asked Dr. Eleanor Griffin to say a few words about her colleague and friend. Dr. Griffin?”

  The director looked around the room with confusion. The woman next to Alex put the flute of champagne down on his tray. “That’s me,” she slurred and made an awkward move towards the podium, but stopped suddenly and swung around. “Maybe you should hold onto these,” she muttered and deposited her shoes on Alex’s tray, nearly knocking a glass over the side in the process.

  Alex watched with concern as Ellie stumbled forward, not so delicately parting the crowd. The patrons glanced over their shoulders with looks of amusement and bewilderment. The museum director smiled upon spotting Ellie emerging from the crowd and motioned for her to join him by the podium.

  Director DeFillipo leaned into the microphone. “First a few words about Dr. Griffin.” Ellie tried to shoo away the museum director. “Dr. Eleanor Griffin graduated from Cambridge University with honors and completed her graduate studies in antiquities at Oxford University. If that was not enough, she was the recipient of the prestigious Middleton Fellowship for Oriental Studies and has published widely in the field of Biblical and pre-Biblical archeology. Most recently she has been a part of the Mesopotamian Antiquity Recovery Team responsible for the acquisition of many of the artifacts collected in the exhibit hall above. We are delighted to see that her period of convalescence has been swift. Without further ado…Dr. Griffin.” The director gave her a paternalistic pat on the back and brought the palms of his hands together to spark another round of applause.

  “Dr. Eleanor Griffin,” Alex muttered to himself. He wondered if she was related to Harold Griffin, the Egyptologist. He made a mental note to look it up after the gala.

  Ellie gripped the edges of the podium, her right hand finding the microphone and pulling it down to her height. Ear-splitting feedback echoed through the foyer.

  “Whoo! I think that woke everyone up! I know it woke me up. Thank you, Director DeFillipo. I doubt that many of you had the opportunity to know Gordon Russell, that is, really know Gordon Russell. For that matter, I suspect many of you know more about caviar than Mesopotamian archeology.”

  Several of the audience members sniggered. A crooked smile formed on the museum director’s face, uncertain as to the benignity of the comment. Alex brought a flute of champagne to his lips when no one was looking and took a quick sip. This is going to be interesting, Alex thought, staring briefly at the high heel shoes resting on his serving tray.

  “Where does one start? Gordon Russell was a brilliant man. He was a scholar whose works on Mesopotamia have revolutionized the field and whose teachings have helped create a new generation of young archeologists. He was committed to preserving the past for humanity and insuring that ancient artifacts would be protected.”

  Alex watched as the director, who had clearly taken a whiff of the alcohol on Ellie’s breath, lowered his shoulders slightly with relief, hoping that Ellie would continue with a short and lucid speech.

  “There are three things that I am certain of. The first is that I could really use another drink. The second is that I would like very much to use the loo.” Ellie smiled and leaned to her right. Her elbow nearly slipped off the podium, threatening to send her hurtling to the floor. She managed to catch the microphone with her outstretched left hand. A screech erupted from the speakers. Director DeFillipo’s eyes opened widely and several of the older guests’ hearing aides responded with piercing echoes. In front of Alex, a white-haired gentleman leaned to his wife and whispered, “I think this woman is completely sloshed or out of her mind, or both.”

  “The third is that the world was a better place with Gordon in it. As I see all you elegant gents and ladies wander through the exhibit hall, I cannot help wonder if you get more excited browsing through the museum gift shop than seeing these artifacts. There was a soldier in Iraq who was frankly a pain in the ass. He asked me an insightful question. He wondered if saving these precious pieces of pottery and gold was worth getting killed for, I believe it went something like, to save ‘Queen Who-Gives-Two-Shits’ or something like that’s ‘clay dildo.’”

  The room grew suddenly silent. The director DeFillipo looked mortified and several older women raised their hands to their mouths.

  “Now, I assure you that we did not recover a clay dildo, but you get the point. I wish this pain-in-the-ass soldier were here to correct me, but unfortunately I had the pleasure of watching him burn to death. I can still smell it, the smell of roasting flesh.”

  Alex could see there was an impending breaking point fast approaching. He was drawn towards the podium, fixated on the seeming self-destruction of a tortured soul. Her eyes began to fill with tears. The museum director sprung forward. Ellie grabbed the microphone a final time and blurted, “I just wish that Gordon were here giving this eulogy about me. I’m sorry.”

  The room descended into complete silence, except for the clanging of silverware by the serving staff immune to the drama at hand. Alex watched as Ellie drifted back away from the podium and the director maneuvered forward to snatch away the microphone. Ellie melted into the crowd, her head bowed as if in defeat. Alex followed her through the throng, weaving with his tray held aloft above the heads of the guests. Director DeFillipo, having assumed the podium, stood tensely with a slight quiver at the corner of his lips and began to recite this month’s upcoming lecture series as if Ellie’s speech had never occurred. As Ellie pushed through the crowd towards the coat check, several guests peered at her with looks of horror.

  Alex found an empty stand in the corner, deposited his serving tray on it, and grasped the straps of the woman’s shoes awkwardly in his hand.

  Ellie recovered her jacket from the woman at the coat check, silently handing over her claim ticket before dropping a dollar into a woven basket. After slipping on the gossamer covering, she quickly made for the exit. She instinctively reached into her bag, her fingers exploring the inside until they found the edges of the wooden box. Ellie grasped it, pulled it out of the bag, and clutched it tightly against her breast. Unable to catch her breath, she pushed open the door and darted out of the museum into the night. The cool air felt refreshing and she found herself slowly able to regulate her breathing. Covered in only thin stockings, her toes curled as they touched the cold stone staircase. She sprinted down the stairs towards the street and a line of waiting taxicabs.

  As she neared the first cab, she could hear a labored voice exclaim, “Wait!” Pivoting around, Ellie spotted the waiter she had bumped into earlier running down the stairs with her shoes dangling from his fingers. The surreal image caused Ellie to hesitate momentarily. Her left hand blindly explored the cab’s door until her fingers found the handle. The waiter stood in front of her, panting. In another life, this Cinderella moment would have brought a smile to my face, but not tonight, Ellie thought. She reache
d out suddenly and snatched the shoes away with boiling anger, sadness, and disgust at her behavior. As she turned back to the cab, the wooden box slipped from her grip and tumbled to the ground.

  “Are you going to be alright?” Alex asked as he bent down to retrieve the box from the pavement.

  “I don’t know,” Ellie responded with a heartfelt honesty that made her head swirl. She stared with intensity at the box in Alex’s hands for a moment before jumping into the backseat of the taxicab. She gripped the door’s handle and pulled the door towards her. Alex sprung forward, catching the edge of the door before it snapped shut.

  “Wait, your box!” Alex exclaimed, struggling to keep the passenger door open.

  “It was never mine to own. Please, keep it,” the woman moaned through the window, tears returning to her eyes. “It’s nothing.” The despair in Ellie’s voice caused Alex to release the door and retreat a step backwards. The door slammed shut and Alex watched through the cloudy window as Ellie muttered something to the driver. The cab pulled away from the curb.

  Alex watched the taxi cab drive down Fifth Avenue, turn, and disappear behind a building. His fingers ran across the box’s surface. Looking down, the box was exquisite in the moonlight.