Dearest Iqbal-
As a lover of revisionist history you will love what came to me in the bath tub this morning. It was written in bubbles and standing water:
The Flying Machine was not yet completed but they were both confident enough in it's eventual success that they wished to have the location chosen before hand so they could complete their test before the winter months.
On the fourth day of November they set out, the Flying Machine resting on flat bed being drawn by two horses. They avoided main roads so they would not suffer under the eyes of their neighbors.
Atop the hill the wind was blowing as they would have wanted and with enough consistency that it could be leaned on. The flipped a coin to decide who would ride in the front seat and who in the back, quite strangely for neither knew which position would be more desirable.
Their faith was distinctly bisected. They knew in their hearts that the machine would work; they could close their eyes and see it clearly. But their bodies told them differently. When they looked up and saw sparrows and hawks moving stilly through the air, they could feel in the small of their back and the tips of their fingers that this could not be. But the weight of wood and time was against this doubt and the machine was slid slowly off it's bed and placed at the crest of the hill.
They took their seats and turned on the locomotive engine. With a slight gliding off a lever, the engine became louder and the machine lurched forward. The lever was pushed harder and things no longer made sense to the small of their backs. The ground fell away beneath them, they stayed straight and even. Both Culpepper's clenched their stomachs and stared strait forward as if a loss of focus would make the ground snap up to meet them. Samuel broke his silence and looked to his left. They were indeed flying. A mild increase of locomotive intensity was applied and suddenly they were no longer strait, but indeed rising.
But then something changed. It sounded as though the locomotive propellers were pushing against the wings, not with them. The equilibrium was lost; the Flying Machine seemed unhappy. Samuel clutched himself and Edgar buried his head in his palms. They entered the water harshly. Samuel watched with one eye his brother's head slam against the panel before him and bound back like a rubber ball.
After the burn of the impact the submergence in cool water was refreshing. Samuel could see a line of red water snaking from behind the back of his brother's head. "He isn't well," thought Samuel, maintaing his mildness. Better to be mild.
Samuel reached over his brother's shoulder and unsnapped Edgar's harness and then his own. The river washed the blood and the Flying Machine away. Samuel watched as it slowly fell away from them. Samuel looked down. He was flying. Higher and higher above the Flying Machine. It got darker and faded into the black.
Samuel kicked his legs twice and brought his brother above water. They both coughed and inhaled and rested on the beach. The river kept going along, somewhere with the Flying Machine.
"It flew," said Edgar through the blood on his nose. His nose, broken severly, was now uglier than it had been before the flight.
"Yes. It flew in the sky," said Samuel.
"What river took it?"
"I don't know."
"Might you gentlemen be requiring of assistance?" a voice echoed.
Samuel turned around. Looking down upon then was a silver haired woman sitting side saddle on a silver haired horse.
"The last time a more forlorn looking package washed up beside a river it was under the rule of Pharoh."
"Yes, Ma'am. I see the connection. Where are we, Ma'am, if not Thebes?"
"My home, Thank You. I assume you boys did not intend for a swim?"
"No, Ma'am. Our Flying Machine worked and then stopped working."
"And where is this Flying Machine?"
"At the bottom of the river. Lucky we too are not there!"
"Indeed you are lucky. I will ride ahead back to the house in order to arrive firstly. I will set aside some dry clothes and instruct a supper to be laid. You walk up the hill to where I am now and you will be able to see a line of weeping willows planted by my late husband. You will follow along them, until you come see the house. I will be expecting."
The silver haired woman rode off.
"Where have we landed, Samuel?"
"Within a circle of generosity."
Up the hill they did in fact see a line of weeping willows which pointed back towards an estate house. It was certainly not as big or grand as one might have imagined or hoped, but certainly larger than the homes that the Culpepper's had been accustomed to living in.
The matriarch, who then introduced herself as Mrs. Sarah Batchworth, the widow of the Colonel Nathaniel Batchworth, esteemed cavalry commander of The Army of Northern Virginia.
The table was set with worn but white table linen and the food was wholesome though the portions were small. The matriarch seemed to have forgotten that her appeitite had declined along with her stature and those in the prime of life needed more sustenance. But the brothers were hardly to complain.
She asked the boys mild questions about their Flying Machine, seeming unwilling to take on the weight of belief or the energy of suspicion. She took their words as gospel; more than true, less than believable.
After dinner Samuel stepped out to the phone line to make a call to their home town to put at ease their mother and arrange for a passage home. The only one with a phone in town was Judge Wilcommen, to whom Samuel explained their situation. The Judge giggled and said he was happy to come pick them up straight away tomorrow morning.
Meanwhile Edgar was inside having his nose bandaged by the old woman. She was quite adept despite the quivering of her hands.
They settled in before a fire place that sparked but seemed to give off no heat, and Sarah Batchworth poured off some Brandy into dusty snifters.
"It has been a number of years since anyone has partaken of this Brandy. I hope it has held. My late husband, the Colonel, he was a great lover of mild liquors such as this. He never indulged, mind you, never had a need to, but he liked the way it felt in his mouth and the way the vapors drifted up from his mouth into his dignified nose. He would doubtless be glad after all these years to have two fine boys enjoying it quietly in his home.
"I know the house isn't as big or as grand as some others. The portico is corroding a little and between the Grecian columns there is a hint of slouch, but I have a great affection for the stead. My husband, while he did not build it or design it, not being a licensed or trained architect, was the sole artistic inspirer. He decided the elements that would be used, the feel it would have, and the tonality. He didn't decide how long each piece of wood would be cut, or the shape of every brick, but his spirit did guide it. The actual architect, I have long forgotten his name and countenance, was an underling of my husbands during the war, a Corporal or Major or something. My late husband took a liking too him, as my husband was wont to do to anyone who had much to offer but small hands to offer with.
"I'm sure you're father must have spoken well of himself in the war. Your nods suggest a mildness and modesty which I find most appealing, especially in young men like yourselves. Yes, you would have surely fit in quite a fashion with my husband's outfit. He was a military man all his life, academically trained the way few soldiers are. They tried to stick him in the infantry, as a General, but he said 'No, not for me! I'd rather be a Colonel among cavalry than a General among infantry' and then that's what they made him, just like that. He loved the cavalry. He'd fly on his horse; arms outstretched, being baptized but the wind. That's what he'd say.
He had the distinction, one that still makes me prideful -- bless my soul -- of continuing to battle the invaders after the official surrender of the Army. Even after word had spread of the end of conflict, he traveled north, forcing the Union Army to fend for their supply lines. For a number of weeks, through April and May, that glorious spring, he managed to harass and discomfort the occupiers in quite a manly fashion. And what was most manly was when the time came, he surrendered himself, best sword outstretched.
"In must be so difficult for you young boys. Born to late to have been there when it mattered. There must be a guilt. To be born after the end. There was a time where all this mattered quite a bit. But do not worry; we all know that were you there you would have spoken well for yourselves. What do you boys do?"
"We build Flying Machines," said Edgar quietly.
"Yes, but you said that yours was successful. You assured me that you flew most of the way here."
"Indeed." said Edgar.
"Well now what?"
"I do not know."
The next morning the honking of the Judge's horn roused them from bed and took them home.
-Robert de Saint-Loup
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