The next few days I undertook my usual tasks, including trips to purchase twine and paint brushes. I also assisted Ulysses and the others in rigging the bigger balloons Professor Lowe was putting on his boat, or “aircraft carrier” as Mr. Edward called it, which would soon venture down the Potomac. Every chance I could I reread the letter from Jonathan, struggling not to drift off into a daydream and end up injuring myself with a snapped cable or dropped tool. Mr. Edward continued his preparations, but a hour before mess, he asked me to take dictation for a brief letter, with the quill and ink, to his former professor at the Lawrence Scientific School, Dr. Joseph Lovering, about possible study in Berlin. To stop thinking about Philadelphia and the letter and my family, I engaged in my count-ups and downs, and even convinced Mr. Edward to play several rounds of Takeaway using twigs, he winning three games and I two. It was a relief that night that Nimrod joined Ulysses and me for supper, even staying over almost till next morning’s bugle call. A few nights later, on the eve of the next early morning observation, I could barely fall asleep at first and tossed fitfully, hearing what sounded like thunder though I reckoned it was in my dream, but it wasn’t exactly a dream, nor a nightmare, I couldn’t see anything and attempted to speak it, describe it, to myself, but I couldn’t, my mouth wouldn’t open, there was a hand or hands over it, on me, holding me, heavy as an ironclad, down, I was sinking down into the earth and I fought whoever it was holding me hard as I could, I fought them off and leapt up, yawning, no one was there, Ulysses was still curled under the blanket, snoring. I kept yawning as I scrubbed myself in the cold October morning air before I headed to where Mr. Edward slept. I fished out my letter, reread it, at the same time wondering where Dandy was, somewhere here in Washington, in Baltimore, had he gone there? back in Philadelphia, had he ended up in Buffalo or Boston, wondering how I could see him again, send him a note.
I collected Mr. Edward and his bag, heavy with various items, and walked with him to the balloon. No one else was there. The sky was as gray as gneiss and the balloon, inflated the night before, was twisting about at the neck in the chilly wind whipping around us. I considered asking whether he would be ascending today, but he preempted me with, “Ah well, Professor Lowe hasn’t arrived yet,” and then “the wind is blowing north-east, north-north east, or maybe it’s southeasterly,” and then “I need to check the altimeter, which should be perfectly calibrated, and also just ensure the telegraph wires are still connected.” He handed me his notebook but did not move. He remained where he was, staring at his bandaged right hand, patting his pockets, lifting his left hand to his face, and said: “Theodore, do you have my pipe and glasses?” I shook my head then felt around in the full bag I had brought from his room. He and I both had packed a great deal, but neither the pipe nor glasses were in there. “Mr. Edward, Sir, I can go back and look for them,” I said, and proceeded to head to his tent, but he stopped me with his good hand and said, “You’ve never been in the balloon before, when you drop my bag in there, why don’t you make sure the altimeter is lashed, the main valve is tight, and the telegraph wires are connected.” I stood there looking at him, since what he said made no sense, I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere near the baskets, but he continued, “You know exactly how they are supposed to look.” Of course I had wanted many times to climb in the balloon basket, had even thought of hiding in there the first time Mr. Edward was to go up, but on the other hand, I knew my doing so was forbidden. Most of the white men could not set foot in that basket, and certainly neither Ulysses nor I had permission.
I had never defied him, but I said, “Mr. Edward, Sir, I don’t think I’m supposed to get near that basket, Professor Lowe especially might get very cross. I’ll gladly go get your pipe and glasses.” He assured me, “Neddy—and Professor Lowe won’t mind your being in there for a second or two. Really, Theodore, I’ll be right back, I think I know where I left them.” I nodded, but nevertheless hesitated and began to say, “Mr. Edward, we can wait till you come back,” but instead, watching him walk back to his tent I took slow but steady steps toward the basket, and climbed in. I set his bag down, reviewed the altimeter, which was securely knotted, and the valve, tight as a balled fist, but when I bent to inspect the telegraph wire I tripped and fell against the edge of the basket—
— While out of the corner of my eye I see someone, a white man, darting from behind a shed toward where the rest of the balloons are lying in assembly, and I experience this strange sensation like the ground is moving, like time is slowing and I see Mr. Edward, bespectacled, pipe in his mouth, advancing toward me, running but not running, yet simultaneously moving farther away as he’s crying out, “Oh my heavens, no, Theodore,” and my first impulse, after realizing I don’t understand what is happening, is to scream as the basket hooks upward to my left, then my right, my jaws snapping open, my eyes beading on the pale pattern and elaborate housing of the vast silk globe above me, I want to scream back at him, at anyone who’s nearby that I’m up the air, I’m flying, I want to holler even if just to myself about how it’s not at all like I had imagined, how my weight is dwindling to nothing, how gravity is flipping upside down, time stalling to a standstill, how my stomach is twisting itself into tiny knots catapulting themselves into my throat, and Mr. Edward, I can hear him clearly now, is screaming, “Who cut the cables? Oh stars, somebody cut the cables, Theodore—”
— And I feel something jerking on one of the cables, and peer over the edge to see him trying to hold on with his bad hand, and here come Professor Lowe and Ulysses and Mr. Steiner and Mr. Starkweather and Patrick, almost all the others, they are jumping and reaching for the ropes and Ulysses is hollering, “Jump, Red, I’ll catch you, little brother, jump,” and Mr. Edward is crying out, “No, Theodore, tie yourself to the inside of the basket, and don’t stand too close to the edge.” I’m thinking to myself this really is flying, I’m flying, the wind humming against the balloon’s surface and the basket, and I notice for the first time beside me a metal flask, which may or may not be empty, two white flags, attached to metal poles the length of my forearm, bound by knotted waxed cording, as well as the rope descending from the valve over the balloon’s closed hole, and I hold onto one of the coils of additional rope and wire ringing the rest of the basket walls and remember to tie myself to the hook in the floor, and I also remember to check the altimeter and telegraph transmitter, and from the bag grab Mr. Edward’s notebook, though I remember pretty much everything he has been saying about aeronautics and balloons and flying since we got here—
— While all around me the sky is churning between silver and mother-of-pearl, and below the rigid grid of the federal capital, circling it on all sides verdant countryside, the hills and meadows, the farms and homesteads, the bends of the ochre river, some of it Virginia and some of it Maryland, one direction straight to Pennsylvania and the other to the Carolinas, one to the Atlantic Ocean and the other to the Bull Run and Blue Ridge Mountains, I can barely hear Mr. Edward, Ulysses, and the others calling out to me, their voices growing ever more distant, “Theodore, Theodore,” and I sit in the center of the basket as it grows colder, knowing now that I am tethered to nothing at all, the basket and me now in a free float, a drift, a soar—
— And I stand and remember, can see out there all the forts and encampments and troops massed like tumors along the river banks, the ramparts and howitzers armoring the hills, the works teething at the edge of the foliage, the terrible danger snaking through the vast green and brown rolling land, and I feel something not quite fear and not quite elation, I can’t put a name to it, I try to utter it but cannot, I place my hand on the valve string, then reach over and check that the sandbags are in place, pat my winter coat, feeling not only the weight of my papers and my pocketwatch but my heart, when my throat finally relaxes as if something, sound, will issue from it, to say Mama, and Jonathan, and Horatio, and Neddy, and Ulysses, and Nimrod, andDaddy Zenobia Zephira Lucius Professor Lowe President Lincoln, Hansome, somebody HELP ME, but only the gas hisses in assent as I pull on the string, as I open my mouth even wider and remember to—