A Kiss in Time (10 page)

Open it. I do. Now hold it to your ear and say yo. I hold it to my ear. Yo? Sup, Talia?
Will you tell Jack he owes me big-time? This I repeat to Jack, although I have no idea
what it means. He shrugs and checks his watch. We should go. Say good-bye to Travis.

Good-bye. Now, close it up. Jack finds me a place in some trees. He buries my jew-

els under some leaves, in case of robbers. It must be very dangerous in Jacks time, if a
young princess cannot go out safely in her gown and jewels. He leaves the telephone. Dont
answer if anyone else calls.

How shall I know?

Jack begins to explain some new, difficult concept that, apparently, even a buffoon like
Travis has mastered in Jacks time. My eyes glaze over, as they do when Lady Brooke reads
to me from the Reverend Phelpss Sermons for Young Ladies. Jack must see it, for he says,
Forget it. No ones going to call, anyway.

And then he leaves.

With no book or other form of entertainment, I while the time away by listening to the
calls of birds. When I was little, Father taught me to pick out the tune of a spar- row, the morning song of a
lark. I miss Father and Mother. Still, as I watch the sun journey higher up on the
horizon, I appreciate that, for only the second time in my entire life, I am alone,
blessedly alone, with no one to tell me what to do or what to wear, no one to have to be
polite to. Nothing.

But I do not wish to be alone, not entirely. Now that I am finally alone, it feels . . .
lonely.

Soon, the larks song ceases. Hyperion continues his journey across the sky, and I become
aware of other sounds, not merely birds, but a cacophony of something like metal clanking
together. It is like nothing I have ever heard in Euphrasia. Suddenly, I realize I am
afraid to know what it is.

Never have I been afraid before. I miss home. I even miss Lady Brooke.

I could return.

The castle is waking, noticing that I am not there. Soon, they will send out search
parties. There will be panic, accu- sations made, rewards offered for the safe return of
their much-beloved princess. It is like something in a book.

And if I creep back through the bushes and am found, scraped and battered after many hours
absence, Father may be too relieved to be angry. All will be forgiven.

And I shall spend the remainder of my days under the constant supervision reserved for
little children and the feeble-minded. No. I can never go back, only forward. I must go to Florida, to my destiny.

I stare at the horizon once again, and my vision blurs. I have been up all night, rescuing
Jack, fighting the brambles. Perhaps it would not be a terrible idea to close my eyes a
spell. . . .

I am awakened by vibrations. At first, I jump, believ- ing someone has found me. Then I
remember. The telephone. Do not throw it. I pick it up, open it. I see a word. Amber.
Amber? What is Amber? A jewel? I press the button.

Hello? Who is this? a female voice demands. It is surely not Jack. What am I to do? Hello?
the voice repeats. I recover myself. Yes? Who is this? Talia, I say, leaving out the
princess part. Wheres Jack? I do not know, exactly. He went to purchase clothing for me, you see, and He went to buy you clothes? Yes. What time is it there? Has this
angry young lady called Jacks telephone strictly to ascertain the time? Have you no clock? Listen. The voice is extremely loud, and I am
forced to hold the telephone away from my ear. I dont know who you are, or why you have Jacks phone, but he is my boyfriend, and Boyfriend? What is a boyfriend? Perhaps it is something like a beau. Is he engaged to you,
then? I hope not.

What? No. Of course not.

Oh, what a relief. He is my true love, and you do not sound very nice.

What? Listen, you . . . And then, strangely enough, she calls me a female dog. She
continues talking. She is vile and coarse. And then I realize that Jack told me not to speak with anyone else, and here I am, speaking.

I beg your pardon, what did you say your name was? I didnt. Its Amber. Amber, I cannot go
on being insulted by you. Jack may be trying to call. Why would he do that? We have run away together. I must go. I close the
phone as Jack taught me. A moment later, it begins to vibrate again. This time,

however, I see the name Amber and know not to answer it. I am quite proud of myself for
having learned this.

It is close to noon now. I cannot go back to sleep, and the sun is blazing. Why do we wear
so many clothes?

Jack has not called.

Perhaps he has abandoned me to be eaten by wolves or whatever is making that noise.

Perhaps I should leave. Perhaps I should go into the city and find a bus whatever that may beand sell my jewels
myself and live on my own.

Perhaps I Hey. It is him. Oh, thank goodness! I thought you had left me to die! I wouldnt do that. He hands me a small sack of some sort, made of a smooth blue material. It has writing on it which I do not understand.
GAP
.

What is this? Your clothes. They fit in there? It is more horrible than I imagined. Jack
laughs. Girls dont wear ball gowns anymore,

Princessnot even to balls. I open the sack. The horror continues. Mens trousers, a green piece of fabric, and two objects which might be some sort of tools. How am I to make
Jack fall in love with me when I shall be dressed in such ugly clothing?

I will be disguised as a man, then? I ask, holding up the trousers. Jack glances at my
bosom and shakes his head.

Theyre womens clothes. Try them on. Youll look hot.

With so little fabric, I shall more likely be cold. But I hate to hurt his feelings, so I
say, Very well. Where is my dressing room? He gestures toward the trees. Ill turn around. See that you do. It is very difficult to
dress without a ladys maid. There are so many buttons to unbutton, stays to unlace, and of course I cannot ask Jack for
assistance. When I am finally done, I am quite winded. I put on the little shirt (at least
it is green), then the trousers. Finally, I add the tools, which are apparently meant as
shoes.

I stand a moment, allowing the breeze to touch my naked arms. I would be quite
comfortable, were I not wor- ried that Jack has dressed me up as a hedge whore.

Are you quite certain this is all? I ask. Can I see? I sigh. I suppose. He turns. Wow, you
look great. Most girls would wear aahbra with that, but they didnt have them at the Gap.

What is a bra?

Its for your . . . ah . . . He blushes red and gestures toward his chest. Um . . .

Never mind. I understand. I remember my manners. I need to be nice to this boy, so he
might fall in love with me. I . . . I thank you for the clothes.

He nods. We should get going. He starts to walk, not looking at me again.

The shoes are even worse than my old slippers. They slap against my foot with each step
and pinch my toes. I am still carrying my jewelry box and now my old clothes, too, as Jack did not wish anyone to find them abandoned. But soon we reach a clearing.

Princess Talia, welcome to the world.

The world proves to be a rather loud and very foul- smelling conveyance called a bus. We
are in what was known as the Spanish Netherlands in my time, but Jack tells me it is now
called Belgium. There are many people on the bus peasants, no doubt, on their way to
market. They are all dressed as I am or worse. No waistcoats! No dresses! Not a single
corset! I see four women whose bosoms are revealed to a degree more suited to the ballroom
than to daylight.

Although my own attire is modest by comparison, everyone stares at me.

Why are they looking at me? I whisper to Jack. Duh. Because youre so beautiful, he
whispers back. At least he noticed that I am beautiful. There are no seats available on
the bus, and no gentle-

man (and I use the term loosely) offers to surrender his. One man does, however, pat his
lap and say, Sit with me, angel.

I look at Jack to ascertain if this is now an established custom. I am relieved when he
shakes his head and says, No, thanks. Well just stand.

Once started, the bus is faster than the fastest carriage, wilder than the wildest horse.
I resist the urge to shriek, but it is difficult. I try to see the streets and houses and
people, but it all goes by much faster than I can take it in. There is writing everywhere. Most of the peasantry in Euphrasia cannot even write their names.
Can all the people in Jacks time read?

I ask Jack. Sure, he says. But how can they all be taught? And why would they all need to read, if they are just going to be field workers and such?

Well, thats why you have to learn to readso you wont get stuck being a field worker.

But what if they wish to be field workers?

Why would anyone want backbreaking labor and low pay?

But the peasants in Euphrasia always seemed so merry. Did you spend much time with the
peasants, then? No, but I saw them at festivals and such. I stop. Of course they were happy at festivals. For then, they were not working in the fields. Why
would they wish to be field workers? I was led to believe that the workers in Euphra- sia
were happy, but in all probability, the field workers in Euphrasia were born to be field
workers and sentenced to their lot in life, just as I was born to be a princess and sen-
tenced to mine.

Put into this perspective, being a princess does not seem bad at all.

Amazing, I say to Jack. I look around the bus with new respect. It is quite impressive to
think that each and every one of the peasants here can read. The bus makes many stops and people get on and off. Finally, it is our turn to get out in
a gray sort of place, gray streets, gray buildings, gray people.

Where is the grass? I ask Jack.

Someplace else, he says, laughing. He nudges the sack that says
GAP
, into which he has placed my jewel case. Whats the smallest thing you have in there?

None of my jewels are small. A ring, maybe? I start to take out the box, but Jack stops
me. Not here. He rushes me behind a pillar and blocks me from sight as I extract the smallest
bauble, a tanzanite ring given to me for my twelfth birthday.

Thats the smallest? The stones as big as my eyeball.

A slight exaggeration. I am no more thrilled to part with it than Jack is to have to sell
it. Still, I hand it to him, and he leads me into a store with all manner of things guns,
jewelry (nothing near as lovely as my ring), and other objects I cannot identify, although
I do see something which resembles Jacks music maker.

Jack approaches the shopkeeper, a hairy and rather frightening sort of person, and holds
up my ring. We need to sell this. Her mothers, um, sick and needs medicine.

The bear-turned-man stares at us rather strangely, then asks, Parlez-vous Fran�ais? Jack
does not respond. Ah! He thinks he is so smart, but the fool speaks no French!

Oui. Je parle Fran�ais, I say. I turn to Jack. Tell me what I am to say. Okay, but dont agree to his first offer.

I nod, then turn to the man and say in French, We need to sell this.

Fifty Euros, he says before I can even get out the part about my mother needing
medication. This I add.

I dont care if you need it to buy drugs, the man snarls. Fifty.

I repeat this to Jack. Are you kidding? he says. This is worth thousands.

The man must understand because he tells me, I cant sell fancy stuff like that. This isnt
an antique store.

I am about to tell him that my ring is no antique. Then, I realize it is. Indeed, I am an
antique.

Ask him if he can do any better, Jack says. I do, and he says, Two hundred. Thats it. I
give him my sweetest look, the one that almost always persuaded Father to do my bidding, and I say, Please, sir. If you could make it four
hundred Euros for my poor, dear mother. And when I think of Mother, Mother whom I may
never see again, whom I have disappointed, my eyes begin to tear up. You know you are
getting a bargain.

Three fifty, the man growls. Now, if you were for sale, for that I would pay a thousand.

Are all women for sale now? In my current attire, I can certainly see how one might think
I was such a woman. But I say, I will take three hundred seventy-five Euros, monsieur.

The man opens a cash box under the counter, hands me a wad of money, which he does not bother to count, then whisks away my precious ring
before I have time to bid it good-bye. I note that he is chuckling, pleased with his bar-
gain. I bite my lip and resist the urge to sob.

Hey, you werent a total disaster in there, Jack says, counting out the money as we leave.

I understand this is a compliment, and I manage a smile, accepting it.

Our next stop is a door with peeling green paint. Jack knocks upon it, and a man who might
be the twin brother of the last man answers.

What do you want? he asks in French. I look at Jack. Jolie sent us, he says in English.
The man nods and allows us to pass. You have money? he says in English. How much for a
passport? he asks. For her? The man gives a price, which is almost all we have, then says, Lets see it. I am quite sorry, sir, but we only have one hundred fifty, I tell him. He nods. If you were to only have two hundred fifty, I might be able to do it. Can you find that? I rather enjoyed bargaining with the last
gentleman. It made me feel like Father negotiating treaties, so I say, I can find two hundred.

Very well, the man says. I look at Jack. He nods and hands him the money, tak- ing care not to show all we have.

The man takes it with dirty hands. What is your name?

My name? My name is Her Royal Highness, Princess Talia Aurora Augusta Ludwiga Wilhelmina
Agnes Marie Rose of Euphrasia.

Its Talia . . . Jack interrupts. Talia . . . um . . . I grasp his meaning. Brooke. Talia
Brooke. Is that your final decision? the man growls. Of course, I say. It is my name. The
other name was in jest. I laugh. Ha, ha! Stand here. He pushes me toward a paper board hang-

ing from the wall. When I stand before it, he takes out a small, square object, rather
resembling Jacks telephone.