The Diothas, or, A Far Look Ahead/Chapter 7
Utis reconducted me to my sleeping apartment, and turned on the electric light. Going forward, he drew my attention to a magnetic needle suspended below the ceiling, and over the hammock already mentioned. It might, perhaps, be more correctly designated as a suspended bed. I had supposed the material to be silk; but it was, in reality, derived from a certain vegetable fibre that emulated silk in many of its properties. The whole was suspended from a circular metallic plate resting on supports in the ceiling that allowed of its being adjusted in any direction. The friction of the points of suspension was reduced to a minimum by ingenious mechanical devices. By pressing on a small knob, placed within convenient reach, the occupant of the hammock could cause a gentle swing to be communicated to his couch, which motion, moreover, could be made to continue for a regulated time. A sort of punka, set in motion and controlled in the same manner, could be made to gently fan the sleeping occupant of the hammock. On warm nights I found this highly acceptable. Another knob, also within easy reach, enabled me at will to control the electric light, so as to flood the room with a light rivalling that of day, or produce total darkness.
"This hammock," said Utis, after he had explained the use of the different knobs, "is suspended, as you see, in the line of the magnetic meridian. This is for physiological reasons that I will explain some other time. Let us take another look into your trunk," he added, leading the way to the other room. "It seems to me that I noticed something resembling a diary among your other effects."
By this time he had approached the one trunk that had been opened. At his suggestion I raised the lid; and there, sure enough, lay a large morocco-covered volume, with heavy clasp and lock.
"You may find much to interest you in that volume," said Utis. "But do not sit up too late. I will call you early."
Having thus said, he wished me pleasant slumbers, and left me to my meditations. Fatigued as I was with the crowd of novel ideas that had thronged upon me in such rapid succession, I could not refrain from a cursory examination of the diary of Ismar Thiusen, as was signified on the cover. Surely I had before seen a volume not unlike this. The contents, too, had a vaguely familiar air, like that of the long-forgotten story read again for the first time since childhood. Interspersed with numerous notes on favorite archeological subjects were observations suggested by visits to the great cities of the island-continent now known as Australia. My travels, or, rather, Ismar's, had apparently not extended beyond that archipelago. But these regions were vast enough for a very extensive course of travel. They seemed, indeed, to contain as many great cities as are now contained in the whole world.
Frequent references to another volume caused me to search for it. This volume, bound to match the other, proved to be a sort of album containing excellent views of picturesque or otherwise interesting localities, as well as of many cities visited by the artist. By dates and annotations on the margin, the views were shown to be the work of the owner of the diary. From the character of the work, the views were evidently the result of some kind of photographic process. What filled me with admiration. was, the minute care and fidelity to nature with which the views were colored. But, as I subsequently learned, all was the work of the sun. The photographer had long since mastered the problem of taking pictures as faithful in color as in form and shading.
One inference I was enabled to reach from a study of these views. Costume and architecture, making due allowance for differences of climate, were much the same throughout the Southern Hemisphere as in the city and country I had seen with such interest that day. I was especially interested in the views of the city of Olim and its environs.
On the maps of the present, the centre of Australia is represented as a waterless, untrodden waste. In this album were views of a great city occupying almost the centre of that region. Its streets were as stately as those I had seen in Nuiore:[1] many of its edifices, especially those of its famous university, showed signs of a venerable antiquity. All the surrounding region was in a state of high cultivation, and seemed to be the seat of a numerous population.
Musing on the strange mutations produced by time, I had almost fallen asleep. I raised my eyes to examine the dial placed above the door between sitting and bed Of the dial I could make little. It was divided into twelve spaces, indeed, as at present; but these, instead of into five, were subdivided into twelve smaller spaces. That the hands were moving, I could see. But it could not possibly be only eight o'clock. I judged it to be more nearly eleven. Too tired to dwell long on the subject, I retired to my hammock, where I soon slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion.
- ↑ The later equivalent of New York.