A Mystery

    It just sits there, twinkling in its glass cage like a star fallen out of the heavens. The hot light pouring down on it, a poor imitation of the sun, make its facets stand out more than they would have in normal light. It has an ethereal glow to it, almost white but with a blue tint. It beckons to the eye as if begging it to take more than one look.

     They say it is worth millions, if it can be authenticated. The rumor is enough to draw crowds of the elite of the society to the humble rented house for its showing. They stand around it with their gaudy clothes flashing and their expensive perfumes filling the air with a funk that would be hard to clear out of the room for months. They talk about it. Everyone has bid on it by ballot, a method that would be binding if the gem was authentic and worthless if not. They devise plans on how they would use it if they become the new owner. They speculate on who will be the proud owner of it, but they don’t notice the shadow patiently waiting for the right time to make her entrance. She listens to their conversations. She stores away the information they freely disperse.

    She has been watching the people for several nights now. It has been an education she had never wanted. She watches as couples walk in together only to leave with new partners, even though they wear matching bands on their left hands. She sees money exchange hands as little packets are slipped into convenient pockets and their new owners sneak away quickly to “freshen up”. They return with glassy eyes and movements slack with the loose grace that accompanies the fresh entrance to ecstasy soon to be followed by the bumbling movements of total high. She follows the movement of the guards as they patrol the room with bored expressions on their faces and notes every time their attention is pulled away from the pattern of the flooring. There would never be another opportunity.

    The excitement in the room fills the air with an electricity that flushes her skin with goose flesh and raises the fine hair on her arms. The chatter is becoming more animated, striking her ears with discordance as the minutes continue to pass. The air, heating with the crush of bodies in the small room, was barely breathable as the clash of heated perfumes rivals the smell of a skunk.

    She moves along the wall toward a window. She opens it, allowing the jasmine scented night air trickle into the room. Looking out at the starlit sky, she drinks the fresh air in drafts. Several people walk by and one brushes up against her, but they don’t even notice her. Turning away from the window, she checks the clock on the wall. It is time to begin her new life.

    Peeling herself away from the wall, she walks into the thickest part of the crowd. A black gowned butterfly flitting among the colorful hothouse flowers of the upper echelons of society. She walks up to a group of men that are laughing about the intricacies of women and science and stands at the circles periphery. A man joins the group and drapes his arm across the shoulders of the closest man and pulls her close to his side. The man smiles politely and they shake hands. No one in the room would do anything to make this man upset with them.

    Alexander Biari, as everyone who wants to stay in favor calls him, is known as a cunningly politic host. This night he stands up to his reputation. He thanks the hapless man and has him to make introductions to the first members of his game. Biari indicates that the checks and bid papers were to be handed to the woman. The men hand over the documents without the slightest reserve. The woman carefully places them in the pouch with a polite smile that is not reflected in her eyes and accepts the moist kisses they press to her knuckles without a word.

    The group breaks into small talk following Biari’s lead in every topic introduced. She walks off to another group and Biari follows and repeats the procedure until they have been introduced to the major players in his game. She hands the pouch to Alexander as she glances at the clock. It has been three minutes. She walks up to the case and opens it. She picks up the crystal and holds it above her head.

    “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Biari calls getting the attention of those who had not noticed her movements. “This is a gem of Atlantis. It is said that a large one just like it would power their entire city and this would light their dwellings. I have brought an electrometer to measure the amount of energy the crystal holds. After we have measured it, I would ask those closest to the lights to turn them out for a brief demonstration of its solar energy.” Alexander motions to her and the electrometer is brought to her by the custodian of the building.

    Making sure to stay out of the direct path of the light, she lays the crystal back on its bed of velvet. She chooses one of the men she just met to hold the electrometer in place. The machine goes wild and the crowd gasps. Whispers race around the room informing those who could not see the reading exactly what it was.

    “Turn out the lights.” Biari says loudly to be heard over the growing din.

    The lights are turned out, but the room remains illuminated as if by the sun veiled by thin clouds. No one notices the dark spots on the crystal where the man’s fingers had blocked the light temporarily. They only notice that the room remains lit as if by electricity. The lights are turned back on before the crystal begins to lose its luminescence.

    She leaves the middle of the room and returns to her place by the wall. Biari calls for the gemologist, another co-conspirator to their plot. As he walks up to the case with the self-important swagger of a man who knows his place in the world, she leaves her post. She has one minute left before Biari would begin to look for her. She walks out of the room and claims her cloak from the footman. Smiling at the doorman, she walks out into the clear night air. Tucking her hand into her pocket and touches the heavy pouch of gems and money. Smiling again, she lightly runs down the stairs and waves down a cab.


    Three months later…

    She sits on the veranda sipping her cocoa and reading the headlines. Biari is in jail and is still fighting the charges. The uproar from the scientific community is still being commented about in the news programs every night. She looks down the hallway and at the beautiful chandelier gracing her main salon. The crystal sparkles like it has a life of its own and beckons to the eye to take a second glance.

A Mystery

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