November 1937
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Until I met her the very idea of worlds hidden from each other because of the frequency they vibrated under would have greatly made me laugh. Yet now, as I looked at the paintings I thought of her world and how it lay under water whilst ours still had its geography intact.
It suddenly struck me that as we searched for solutions we might have been forgetting the very root of the problem. And suddenly there it was. As I stared at "Enchanted Isle" by Marion Wachtel, I recalled the antenna waiting for us under the sea.
*From left to right: Eucalyptus Trees, by Edgar Payne, Pasadena, by Benjamin Brown, Enchanted Isle by Marion Wachtel
But maybe I should start at the beginning.
Waiting for the salesman to gather the necessary papers, I reverently caressed the soft leather of the upholstery while remembering the little boy of 6 who, after seeing his first car, had secretly begun to stash away the few cents he could earn towards buying one... One day.
Twenty years later, that day had finally come.
A feminine voice brought me back to reality, asking where Lowe was. Seeing her, I thought that all I needed now to make my life complete would be to find Love.
She asked where the paintings were. Taken aback, I replied that to the best of my knowledge this place was a garage and nothing else.
Suddenly suspicious, she wondered who I was and what she was doing here. I was saved from this bizarre conversation by the salesman who suddenly reappeared with papers to sign.
A few minutes later, I proudly took possession of the keys and sat in awe at the wheel.
She climbed in and ordered that we go to Lowe. Elated by the roar of the engine I never thought of questioning the woman. I was so very happy that I would have driven anywhere. And if anywhere was as far away as possible, all the better.
It is nevertheless with great prudence that, shaking with apprehension at the idea of confronting the traffic, I slowly drove us out of the garage and onto the street.
Oblivious to my somewhat hesitant and cautious driving (the ink on my licence was still fresh) she talked of a transmitter which, if placed on the moon, might work with their antenna to regulate ocean tides in her part of the world and thus bring Lathgaraïth back to the surface.
For that she needed Lowe and Lowe, she said, sold paintings coming from her world. Despite my denial of knowing any Lowe she insisted, arguing that if the tracer had brought her to me, I must bring her to Lowe.
I decided to take her to my uncle. He owned a gallery which presented "famous unknown artists" as he liked to call them. My uncle would find her story amusing and might after all know of a Lowe who sold paintings.
Besides, I wanted to show him my Jaguar.
*From left to right: Geisha Love by Suzanne Logan, Renaissance Woman by Callipygian Chris , Which Fur to Wear by Callipygian Chris
No sooner had I parked in front of the gallery that she rushed out into the building. Visibly shaken, she walked from painting to painting, touching one, caressing another.... Although she looked a notch crazier than before, I was falling in love.
She suddenly stopped and gave out a small cry of longing. Staring at the picture that had provoked this reaction, I found the woman on the portrait strangely familiar looking.
On the verge of tears, she introduced me to Milo. Offering my handkerchief, I asked if Milo was a good friend of hers. She replied he had been the best dog in the world. I stared dumbfounded at both the picture and her.
"Queen and Mastiff" by Nightwind Redgrave
My uncle appeared. The joy of seeing me was soon replaced by puzzlement on seeing her, then sudden alarm. As for her, she was visibly relieved. To my greatest astonishment my uncle bowed but she cut him short saying there was no time for protocole.
I will spare you the long explanations that went on between them. Suffice to say that her Royal Island used what she called locators to communicate with people in our world and that my uncle, known to her as Lowe, had one of those.
This explained why she had come to me. I was wearing a ring that my uncle, after much begging on my part, had finally accepted to part with under the solemn promise it would never leave my finger. This ring was no other than an old disused locator.
The flood having somewhat damaged her current tracer, she had tried any old one she could find until success brought her to me.... And, indirectly, to my uncle.
"The moon is very high but why not." Had concluded my uncle sternly after she had exposed the envisaged solution. He then took us to his workshop so we could help him build the "transmitter".
Needless to say that at the time I thought my uncle very unkind to encourage this woman in her madness and annoyed that all her attention had transfered to him.
The contraption done, my uncle asked that I drive them to the Jules Verne museum. He wanted Thomason, the owner of the museum and an old friend of his, to lend some of his exhibits. To my surprise, she seemed well acquainted with Thomason too. Was I missing something?
So vexed was I that my uncle hardly noticed my Jaguar that I truly hoped for Thomason not only to laugh at them (as he no doubt would) but to also call the asylum.
Once there however, Thomason implicated himself straight away and offered to take us to the moon. I began to think I might be the one who had gone mad.
They talked of using the balloon to take us to the Prometheus which was hovering high in the sky. Then, with the Prometheus, we would fly to the moon and my uncle would plant the transmitter... And to my greatest wonder, this is exactly what we did.
As marvellous and extraordinary a journey to the moon may sound, it was rather a tedious affaire once the novelty had run down. I did learn a lot about my uncle though and about the woman who was no other than Maïlika, Queen of Lathgaraïth, the world which had drowned.
I learned that during the ten years we had thought him to be abroad, he had made a life of his own in Lathgaraïth and even become Minister of Infrastructure.
However, the death of his wife while giving birth to an unborn child, this tragedy in a world he had taken for Paradise, was the signal for him to come back to our world. Maïlika had let him go.
Knowing our world and our greater necessity to make a living, she had ordered artists to regularly provide him with paintings he could sell. He in turn would visit when necessary to advise on the building and maintenance of infrastructure. Occasionally, my uncle would call on Thomason for help as Thomason was a very imaginative engineer.
"Valbeliz by Mo Ames
Needless to say it took a while for me to digest all this and I was feeling slightly resentful at first for my uncle's lack of trust in my ability to keep such a secret. However, remembering my reaction when I first met Maïlika, I couldn't blame him.Once back at the museum and full of hope, we "naturally" took the Nautilus to check on her world.
Unfortunately Lathgaraïth was still under water. Ashen, my uncle contemplated what was left of a world he cherished deeply. Thomason was very grim too.
We put on our diving suits and I followed them to the main antenna. Before the flood it must have stood in the air all by it's own. How they had mastered gravity baffled me. My uncle and his friend opened the round green ball at the centre and checked but all was still in working order.
We then went into a building that contained even more baffling equipment. All the machines, I was later explained, had been designed together with some of the greatest artists in Lathgaraïth to combine energy and beauty. That these machines still appeared to be in working order was yet another cause for wonder.
While they checked, I wandered around and found a music box. Why the little ballerina and frail music brought tears to my eyes I could not explain. Maybe because in all this expanse of sophisticated technology that felt so alien to me, this fragile token of humanity reminded me that this was a world where love had existed.
As all the machines were in order, it was obvious that the transmitter had not been the solution.
Sadly, there was nothing left for us to do but to go back to the Nautilus and to our world in the hope of finding another solution.
And here was I at the museum a year later, having found what I believed to be the solution. The painting of Marion Wachtel together with the the sculpture I was standing now in front of would help my non-technical mind explain to them what I had in mind.
"Time Machine by Brian Oh
The painting had reminded me that the island existed for us out of water but that in Lathgaraïth it was under water. Two worlds vibrating under different frequencies on the same earth. What if we had made a mistake on the moon and installed the transmitter when on the wrong frequency? Shouldn't we install a ball on our world to act as switch between the transmitter on the moon and the green ball in Lathgaraïth?
More precious than their enthusiasm was the look of admiration Maïlika gave me. Was it my imagination or could I also detect love?
February 1938
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My theory was right. Maïlika has asked if I would join her in her Lathgaraïth. My uncle and Thomason have already migrated there. As for me, although Maïlika and I are very much in love, I am still hesitant. Recent political rumours in our world make me think that I might need to stay. Not that my contribution would count as much as it did for Lathgaraïth but who knows, my own small participation might help our world become a better place.
And so my story ends.
Photos taken at:
*Musee d'Arte Classique - Schwanson Schlegel (64, 150, 24)
*New El Haiga car and motorcycle , Brave New Beach (100, 9, 25)
*eLumenata University - Unleash y, Socrates (142, 139, 41)
*The Jules Verne Museum - Jokeys Ridge (134, 233, 23)
*eLumenata Educational Research C, Xe (145, 178, 6)
*Gallerie d'Arte Nouveau , Schwanson Schlegel (62, 67, 22)
*Bonny Cove (197, 157, 6)
*Knightsbridge (169, 160, 21)
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