Chapter Eleven
The Cold Garret
"Is it much further?" Cameron glanced at his IHT — it was seven minutes before noon.
The young men walked briskly down the cold, windswept rue, or street. "Not much further at all, my friend." Gustav lifted his hand and pointed toward a building about 100 meters away. "That is the building in which Marya Sklodovska lives."
Cameron could not wait to enter the warm structure. He was chilled clear through to the bone. His fingers were almost numb. He checked the street carefully before he and Gustav crossed to the other side. At least the sleet had stopped so he could see clearly down the street in both directions. As Gustav led the way up the steps and into the main entrance of the tall building, Cameron prepared himself for the welcome blast of warm as they opened the door. He was sorely disappointed when he found there was no rush of heat to greet him. In fact, the inside of the build was only slightly less cold than outside. Well, Cameron told himself, at least there was no wind to penetrate his layers of clothing.
They walked down a short hall to a central stairwell, and Gustav looked up the shaft through balcony railings and stairs. "Your body will warm itself now, Cameron Rush. We must climb six flights to reach Mademoiselle Sklodovska's garret!"
The building was filled with the smells and sounds of many different cultures. Paris, and particularly this section, known as The Latin Quarter, was home to people from the far corners of the world. Cameron could hear the cries of babies, the unique music of a balalaika, the familiar smell of pasta sauce, and the pungent aroma of sauerkraut.
Upwards they climbed. Cameron followed Gustav's example by unbuttoning his coat to prevent overheating and sweating. He knew that if he was to perspire under his clothes as he was climbing, the trapped moisture would make him even colder once he stopped exerting himself. It was almost noon when they finally stood before the door to Marya Sklodovska's rooms. From his pocket Cameron pulled the note Dr. Conan Doyle had given to him. He checked it again to assure himself he was where and when he was supposed to be. He had done it! He had gotten to the garret of Marie Curie by noon on the winter solstice of 1893, as specified by Rosa Costas.
Cameron knocked firmly. "One moment, please," came a woman's voice from within. The two men could hear a clunk as a piece of furniture fell over inside the room. The woman called out again, this time in an apologetic tone, "One moment, please." In a few seconds, the door opened wide enough to reveal a young woman whose features were all but hidden by layer upon layer of clothing. "Yes, may I help you?"
"Are you Marya Sklodovska?" asked Gustav.
"I am she."
"My name is Gustav, and this is my friend Cameron…"
Marya's eyes widened in surprise, "…Rush. Mr. Cameron Rush!" She opened the door wider, inviting them in, "Yes. Your friend, Mademoiselle Costas, and I were expecting you yesterday. We had a nice visit as…"
Cameron was stunned. "Yesterday? But she said noon on the winter solstice!"
Gustav didn't know whether to laugh or feel badly for Cameron. "I fear you have made a mistake of some sort, Cameron. Yesterday, December the twenty-first, was the winter solstice. You are, indeed, a day late."
What had gone wrong? He was sure that the multiCom had told him that the solstice was on December 22nd. Yes, he was positive. It said December 22… of what year? He hadn't told it what year, so the multiCom would have used the current year in its internal clock — the year from which Cameron had come, not the year to which he was going! Again, he had not been thorough. Now that he gave it more thought, he remembered that the winter solstice fell either on the 21st or the 22nd of December. He was crestfallen.
"I would offer you a glass of water," said Marie as she walked over to the bed and righted a chair that had tipped over, "but I'm afraid it is frozen solid."
Cameron forgot his small problem when he looked about him. The garret was spacious, with bare wood floors, and a large window that must have let in beautiful sunlight in the spring and summer. But now it only let in the bitter cold even though a threadbare carpet, which must have usually lain upon the floor, was tacked up over it in a futile attempt to keep the chill out.
"Please forgive my appearance, but my shoes fell apart, and I had no money planned in my budget for a new pair. You can't go barefoot in Paris in December, so I had to choose between food or warmth this month." She tried to straighten the mess upon her bed. "It was so cold last night that I had to put on every piece of clothing I could. I was still not warm, so I piled the rest of my clothes over me in the bed, then dragged the chair up onto the bed and laid it across me. At least this incredible pile gave me the illusion of warmth!" She laughed and Gustav shared in her laughter as only one who new such poverty could. They laughed at their harsh life. They did not complain and were not bitter.
Cameron had never known hardship like this. For the first time in his life, he realized how protected, how safe, his life was. He was experiencing more of what it meant to be alive through this simulation than he ever had in his own life. He then thought of the greatness that this half-frozen young woman would achieve in her lifetime in spite of, or perhaps because of, all the hardship she endured. Could he do great things without experiencing life? And what of that bear of a man, Gustav Gundersen? He did show up in the history books? Was he based on a real person of the time? If he was, how many lives had been touched, or even saved, by those strong hands when he became a doctor? Perhaps it was the harshness of their lives that made them strong.
Cameron fished deep into his pants pocket. The IHT always provided a small amount of the proper money that might be needed during an adventure. Cameron pulled out a few bills of paper money in a currency called francs then turned to Gustav. "I don't know much about French money," he said, "Could this help buy some coal for Mademoiselle Sklodovska?"
Gustav smiled broadly as he took the money and counted it. "This would buy enough for a few weeks."
"Good. When we are done here, would you do me the favor of arranging for the coal to be delivered?"
"No, I cannot accept this," said the young lady.
Cameron insisted, and Gustav promised that Marya would have coal by nightfall.
Cameron showed his friend the remaining bills. "And tell me, Gustav, do I have enough money left to buy us all a good hot meal?"
"You have enough left to buy us all a very good hot meal." Gustav grinned. "And, if you will allow me, I can suggest an exquisite little Italian restaurant — you do like Italian, Mademoiselle?"
Marya nodded.
"Then it's settled," said Cameron, "We will go have some dinner. Then you can tell me about Rosa."
Gustav asked Marya if she knew where the restaurant was that he had suggested. She assured him that she did, so he excused himself to go buy the coal. He assured Cameron he would meet them at the restaurant.
By the time Marya had gotten ready to go, the sky had cleared and the low light of the winter sun glistened off the icy pavement. "Now that the clouds are gone, tonight will be even colder than last. I thank you for your kindness. The coal will be a Godsend."
The three young people had an enjoyable meal and discussed many things over the next two hours. Marya was interested in medicine also, and Gustav could not find out enough about life in Poland.
At dinner, Cameron and Gustav learned that Marya's father was a teacher, and her mother had been a musician who ran a respected private school. She returned to Warsaw after receiving her degree in physics, then was awarded a Polish national scholarship to come back and study Chemistry at the Sorbonne. She planned to go back to Poland and teach like her father, although she confessed that she really liked doing laboratory research. She had recently read a paper by a young man named Pierre Curie, which had fascinated her. "Perhaps I can do some research back home. Only, the equipment there is so very crude compared to what we have here!"
Cameron would have loved to tell her what she would accomplish in her life, but he knew he could not. Instead, he finally turned the conversation back to Rosa, "It's too bad that I missed Rosa. Did she leave a message of some kind or tell you where she was off to?"
"She only said that she was going to spend Sunday afternoon on the island of La Grande Jatte with a man by the name of George."
Gustav looked puzzled. "Seurat, the painter?"
Marya shrugged. "I do not know. She did not say."
"Why do you ask?" asked Cameron.
Gustav looked him in the eye. "Because George Seurat, the man who painted Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grand Jatte, died two years ago!"
– End Chapter Eleven –
