“This is a list of names of the book’s previous proprietors. As you can see, there have been many. The most recent one reads
While Eureka shook her head, Cat sat up straight. “You can read it.”
Blavatsky ignored Cat. “I can inscribe your name at the end of the list, seeing as the tome is now yours. No extra charge.”
“Yes,” Eureka said softly. “Please. It’s—”
“Eureka.” Madame Blavatsky smiled, picking up a felt-tipped pen and scrawling a few strange symbols onto the page. Eureka stared at her name in the mystifying language. “How did you—”
“This is similar to the old Magdalenian script,” Blavatsky said, “though there are differences. Vowels are absent. The spellings are quite absurd!”
“Magdalenian?” Cat looked at Eureka, who had never heard of it, either.
“
“I’m listening,” Cat said.
“It’s very rare to find such a text.” Madame Blavatsky scratched a thin eyebrow, affecting a weary air. “It will not be easy to translate.”
Heat tingled the back of Eureka’s neck. She didn’t know if she was happy or afraid, only that this woman was the key to something she needed to understand.
“It might be dangerous,” Blavatsky continued. “Knowledge is power; power corrupts. Corruption brings shame and ruin. Ignorance may not be bliss, but it is perhaps preferable to a life lived in shame. Do you agree?”
“I’m not sure.” Eureka sensed Diana would have liked Madame Blavatsky. She would have trusted this translator. “I think I’d rather know the truth, regardless of the consequences.”
“So you shall.” Blavatsky offered a mysterious smile.
Cat leaned forward in her chair, clasped the edge of the woman’s desk. “We want your best price. No funny business.”
“I see you’ve brought your business manager.” Blavatsky cackled, then inhaled and contemplated Cat’s request. “For something of this magnitude and intricacy … It’s going to be very taxing for an old woman.”
Cat held up her hand. Eureka hoped she wouldn’t tell Madame Blavatsky to talk to it. “Cut to the chase, lady.”
“Ten dollars a page.”
“We’ll give you five,” Eureka said.
“Eight.” Blavatsky pinched another cigarette between her bright red lips, clearly enjoying this ritual.
“Seven-fifty”—Cat snapped her fingers—“and you throw in the chemicals to fix that water damage.”
“You won’t find anyone else who can do what I can do. I could ask for a hundred dollars a page!” Blavatsky dabbed her eyes with a faded handkerchief, measured Eureka. “But you look so very beaten down, even though you have more help than you know. Know that.” She paused. “Seven-fifty is a fair price. You have a deal.”
“What happens now?” Eureka asked. Her ear was ringing. When she rubbed it, for a moment she thought she heard the chatter of the birds’ song coming clearly through her left ear. Impossible. She shook her head and noticed Madame Blavatsky notice.
The woman nodded at the birds. “They tell me he’s been watching you for a very long time.”
“Who?” Cat looked around the room.
“She knows.” Madame Blavatsky smiled at Eureka.
Eureka whispered, “Ander?”
“Shhh,” Madame Blavatsky cooed. “My lovebirds’ song is brave and auspicious, Eureka. Do not be troubled by the things you cannot yet understand.” Suddenly she swiveled in her chair to face her computer. “I will send the translated pages in batches via email, along with a link to my Square account for payment.”
“Thanks.” Eureka scrawled her email address, slid the paper to Cat to add hers.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Cat handed Madame Blavatsky the paper with their information. “Emailing a translation of something so ancient?”
Madame Blavatsky rolled her watery eyes. “What you think is advanced would embarrass any of the masters of the old. Their capabilities vastly surpassed ours. We are a thousand years behind what they achieved.” Blavatsky opened a drawer and pulled out a sack of baby carrots, breaking one in half to split it between the two turtles awakening from their nap on her desk. “There, Gilda,” she sang. “There, Brunhilda. My darlings.” She leaned toward the girls. “This book will tell of far more exciting innovations than cyberspace.” She slid her glasses back up on her nose and gestured at the door. “Well, good night. Don’t let the turtles bite you on your way out.”
Eureka rose shakily from the couch as Cat gathered their things. Eureka paused, looking at the book on the desk. She thought of what her mother would do. Diana had lived her life trusting her instincts. If Eureka wanted to know what her inheritance meant, she had to trust Madame Blavatsky. She had to leave the book behind. It wasn’t easy.
“Eureka?” Madame Blavatsky raised a pointer finger. “You know what they told Creon, of course?”
Eureka shook her head. “Creon?”
“ ‘Suffering is wisdom’s schoolteacher.’ Think about it.” She drew in her breath. “My, what a path you are on.”
“I’m on a path?” Eureka said.
“We look forward to your translation,” Cat said in a much steadier voice.
“I may start right away; I may not. But don’t hassle me. I work here”—she pointed at her desk—“I live upstairs”—she jerked her thumb toward the ceiling. “And I protect my privacy. Translation requires time and positive vibrations.” She looked out the window. “That would be a good tweet. I should tweet that.”
“Madame Blavatsky,” Eureka said before she stepped through the atelier door. “Does my book have a title?”
Madame Blavatsky seemed far away. Without looking at Eureka, she said very softly, “It is called
From:
To:
Cc:
Date:
Sunday, October 6, 2013, 1:31 a.m.
Subject:
first salvo
Dear Eureka,
By dint of many hours of focused concentration, I have translated the following. I have tried not to take liberties with the prose, only to make the content as clear as water for your reading ease. I hope this meets your expectations.…
.
.
