What could explain the paradox? I
turned to my guide and again tossed the fragment of cloth upward, and
again it settled at my feet. He smiled, and answered my silent inquiry.
"There is a protecting sheet before us, radiating, fan-like, from the
bow of our boat as if a large pane of glass were resting on edge, thus
shedding the force of the wind. This diaphragm catches the attenuated
atmosphere and protects us from its friction."
"But I see no such protecting object," I answered.
"No; it is invisible. You can not see the obstructing power, for it is
really a gyrating section of force, and is colorless. That spray of
metal on the brow of our boat is the developer of this protecting
medium. Imagine a transverse section of an eddy of water on edge before
us, and you can form a comparison. Throw the bit of garment as far as
you can beyond the side of the boat."
I did so, and saw it flutter slowly away to a considerable distance
parallel with our position in the boat as though in a perfect calm, and
then it disappeared. It seemed to have been dissolved. I gazed at my
guide in amazement.
"Try again," said he.
[Illustration: "THE BIT OF GARMENT FLUTTERED LISTLESSLY AWAY TO THE SAME
DISTANCE, AND THEN--VACANCY."]
I tore another and a larger fragment from my coat sleeve. I fixed my
eyes closely upon it, and cast it from me. The bit of garment fluttered
listlessly away to the same distance, and then--vacancy. Wonders of
wonderland, mysteries of the mysterious! What would be the end of this
marvelous journey? Suspicion again possessed me, and distrust arose.
Could not my self-existence be blotted out in like manner? I thought
again of my New York home, and the recollection of upper earth, and
those broken family ties brought to my heart a flood of bitter emotions.
I inwardly cursed the writer of that alchemistic letter, and cursed
myself for heeding the contents. The tears gushed from my eyes and
trickled through my fingers as I covered my face with my hands and
groaned aloud. Then, with a gentle touch, my guide's hand rested on my
shoulder.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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