The Beaded Tapestry

Dear Victoria,

I convey this written account from our old quarters on the top floor of mother and father’s home. We have just returned from the ethereal pageant conducted in the old Globe Theater.  The entire production was choreographed to the music found in the lost transcripts of Leonardo Da Vinci.  Although I regret my inability to narrate this incredible experience in the style it deserves, I have attempted to do my utmost best to define the encounter.

-The stage is obscured as we take our seats.  We are positioned only a few rows back from the edge of the orchestra box. Mother is wearing one of her more elaborate creations, putting the rest of the clientele to shame.  Bronze satin cascades around her seated position, covering the floor beneath her feet in a shimmering pool, giving the illusion she is encircled by a lake of liquid metal.  I also sit adorned, choosing the dark blue waterfall adaption she produced years ago for one of my awards ceremonies. Father sits between us, debonair as always, in his dark tuxedo.

It is not a long wait before the house lights dim, announcing the imminent start of the production.  A hypnotic melody flows from the back of the domain just as the thin veil of curtains slowly retreats to reveal the stage.  A single figure sits on a levitating cumulus, holding a lyre tightly to its form. The music originates from his seated form, a lone human carrying the history of the world. The haunting melody increases in complexity as more figures slowly makes their appearance encircling the lone player.  Planetary bodies from our own solar system float above the stage surface, each accompanied by an allegorical figure suspended below. They sway to the music, creating a hypnotic dance across the eyes of the audience. 

Deep in the background, other celestial bodies begin to appear.  Constellations and galactic representations of distant neighbors frolic in the distance, hinting at the vastness of the cosmos.  Orion and the zodiacs light up the background, as though they are choruses accompanying the main players. The orchestra slowly joins the solitary lyrist, building the combinations of frequencies as each galactic body is introduced. There were furies and demons, elves and centaurs, each more elaborately adorned as they were added to the onstage entourage. It was done artistically, never once distracting from the incredible music, but complementing and emphasizing the intricacies’ flowing from the musicians.

Watching the incredible culmination of Da Vinci’s imagination, prancing about in front of this modern audience, I was temporarily transported back to 18th century Florence. I had once read a narrative of the production Da Vinci produced called The Masque of the Planets.  The interpretation of that moment in time was so perfectly depicted in front of my eyes it was hard to imagine I was anywhere but there. With great difficulty I brought myself back to the present, focusing my attention on the moment, once again in the 24th century.  

I had to remind myself more than once that these frolicking characters had been adorned by our mother.  Her talent has grown exponentially since the last production I experience from her.  I could see her glancing at me as each new character was introduced, trying to determine my reaction.  I do not believe she was disappointed since my delight was evident throughout the performance.

The only thing missing was you.  I caught myself multiple times reaching for your hand as some new wonder entered my sight,  but I came up empty handed.  I have always compared your genius to Leonardo’s.  Your ability to combine the artistic arts with scientific study and utilization was so like the description of Da Vinci’s genius. The performance solidifies my vision of your work with the Anomaly.  By using the process of combining the ethereal nature of the creature with your own scientific utility, will allow you to bring its influence to Earth. As a scientist I was drawn to the performance tonight as I never thought possible. The music called to my inner self, watching the melding of science and the artistic to create a vision both real and otherworldly.

We left the theater in a daze several hours later, feeling as if only a moment had passed, or maybe a lifetime. I only hope I have done justice to the experience.

My love to you,

Annalis

The dawn horizon is a deep magenta, foretelling of a damp day to come.  The desert is hushed with anticipation.  Holding its proverbial breath as it waits for the rising of the sun.  The aroma of coffee fills the camp, drifting in waves past my silent silhouetted form, as I stand at the edge of civilization gazing out at the arrival of a new day.  The anticipation of discovering new wonders fills my thoughts and I cradle my cup of energy, impatient to begin.

The sun pops its head above the Earths rim and the temperature begins to rise exponentially.  Removing the protective covers from the equipment to be utilized for the chosen tasks, the work for the day begins.

Hours of measurements and adjustments follow, blocking out any thought outside the scope of my work.  A distant rumble jolts me out of my isolation and I pull my gaze upwards away from my readings to study the sky above.  Another deep rumble echoes down the arroyo, sending shivers down my spine.  A flash of lightening exposes the scene, revealing a wall of water barreling down the once dry creek bed toward my solitary figure. The approach is quick and hits before there is time to escape to higher ground. The deluge engulfs me, carrying my helpless form as it moves through the once orderly camp. The remains of my work surround me, buffeting my limbs left and right as pieces of heavy equipment and implements of my research travel he deluge as it travels its course.   There is a new sound above the roar of the water.  I struggle to raise my head above the water level, just making out figures outlined along the upper bank shouting at my passing form.  Up ahead a new group appears as I speed forward, tossing an object directly into my unalterable path. I feel my body catch on something and I scramble to find any type of hold achievable. My hands recognize the texture of fishing net as my grip improves and the material becomes taut as the rescuers begin the arduous task of pulling me to safety.  The progress is slow as they cautiously direct my rescue without dislodging my precarious hold.  I am within a meter from the edge of the water when a piece of the flotsam traveling past me collides with my left side. Excruciating pain travels through every nerve of my body, sending my brain into overload.  My only functioning limb releases the life line and there is only pain.  Pain and then dark oblivion.

Dear Victoria,

Slowly the narrative of my accident is unfolding.  I have found it easier to relate it as an outsider looking in.  It somehow keeps the experience from enveloping me and sending my emotions back to that day. The state of my subconscious has improved so much over the last few months that I am being cautious in my recollections of that day, attempting to record the events, but not to immerse myself too deeply in the trauma. So it helps to look at it as writing a drama instead of something that almost took my life. I had forgotten my visions of the figures on the banks of the canyon. I cannot recall their faces, but the voices of my rescuers are etched into my memory.  

This is but a piece of the total recollection, but it is enough to give you an idea of how the re-creation is going. This is also allowing me to give a timeline to match the scanned documentation. It still amazes me that I survived, but even more that part of the equipment was salvaged.  I received a written message with one of the units shipped back.  It was from one of the rescuers.  It stated, “We made a great effort to recover your surviving equipment.  Since the only words we could get from you after your rescue was, ‘Where is my spectrometer? Where is my equipment?’ We determined that these pieces were of great importance to you.  We hope they are repairable and will once again server you purpose.”  It is strange how perceptive this group was.  Anomaly influence or pure coincidence?  It matters not! I have spent a great deal of time rebuilding the mostly intact pieces and I now have a mirror lab complete at the college.  There is still the tailoring to be done for the new geographic location, but this will be the bulk of my task in the coming months. I do not know if this would have been accomplished without the salvaged units and the recovered data the New Zealanders made possible.  I would have had to start from scratch and there is now not time for that before my departure for the Phycodurus.  I will always be grateful to my rescuers for what to them seemed a minor task compared to my survival.

Now that the lab is assembled I have decided that now is a good instance in my preparations to take a short break and visit our parents.  The travel restrictions have been lifted by my medical team and the next steps of the project will take me through the remainder of my time on Earth. Thus I will leave Oxford tomorrow and take the train south to our childhood home in London.  Our mother has been to Oxford a few times during my convalescence, but I have not seen father since your departure. He was never one for dealing well when one of us was sick as children and my accident was no exception.  Since my limb is now almost indistinguishable from my other arm, he should be more at ease in my presence. 

Mother has arranged an unsurpassable experience during my visit.  Because of her extensive contribution to the costumes used in the production, she has acquired opening night tickets to the exquisite performance of Da Vinci’s lost music. The pageant will be performed at the old Globe theatre on the backs of the Thames.  The only thing missing from this joyous occasion is you.  We both were ecstatic when these lost transcripts were discovered after being lost for centuries.  It was thought that Mr. Da Vinci never transcribed any of his scores.  The historians thought his music was lost forever.  Then we read last year of recovered notes and a single notebook hidden in a monastery in Milan, frequented by the artist.  Such a find! It has taken almost a year for the preparation of their unveiling to be completed.  The content of these manuscripts has been a closely guarded secret until this planned unveiling in London. In just a few days an incredible Passion play extravaganza will be introduced to the world. They are keeping with the tradition of the huge productions that Da Vinci once worked on himself as a young man. What would he think if he could view his music scores transformed into an epic production?

I will give you a full account of my visit in my next letter.  It will be impossible to give a suitable account of the experience, but I will try my best.  My only consolation for you not being able to experience this with me is the hope that on New London there will be a chance to experience something as phenomenal. I hope you are able to have a similar experience on New London during your time there.  That is my only consolation for your absence during this incredible occurrence.

Love always,

Annalis