The Left Behinds and the iPhone That Saved George Washington (9 page)

“Dr. Franklin,” I say. “We’ve come to you for help. This device?” I hold up the phone. “It requires electricity, which you invented. We’re hoping that there’s some way you can provide it for us.”

Dr. Franklin glances at Daniel and Elizabeth. “Is this so?” he asks them.

“It is,” says Daniel. “Our only hope rests with you.”

“Please listen to him, Dr. Franklin,” says Elizabeth. “We have no other choice.”

“Well,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I wouldn’t say I
invented
electricity, exactly. It’s been around since the dawn of earth, naturally, in the form of lightning, and many a court jester has been able to generate a charge of static electricity by the use of a long glass pipe, rubbed back and forth just so. But, to give myself what I hope is not undue credit, I would say that I was among the first to try to discern some of the physical properties of electricity. To properly understand what exactly its essence consists of, as it were. And I’m no theorist, mind you. A Sir Isaac Newton, with his formulas and equations, and his extraordinary explanations, in Latin, no less—well, suffice it to say, a Newton I am not. I am a practical man, an exceedingly practical man, if I say so myself, and therefore my interest in electricity is, and was, primarily to find a practical
purpose
for it. What could electricity be made to do? And, most important, could we find some feasible way … to
channel
its power … so its use could be for the betterment of mankind?”

We stare at him and say not a word.

“Ah,” he says. “I see why you look at me so questioningly. Have I missed the essential point? It would not be for the first time, my dears. Because you, young man, are asking me for something. You are asking me to
provide
you electricity, not explain its properties. Forgive my digression.
But what does this … this thing … have to do with the … killing of General Washington? I am having trouble indeed with this news you bring me. Firstly, I barely believe it, and require confirmation before I allow myself to plunge into the pits of despair. Secondly, you ask me to provide you electricity? At a time such as this? Whatever for?”

I can only think of one way to answer him. I turn on my phone and take a picture. Of Dr. Ben. Because, if you think about it, no one has ever taken this man’s picture … ever.

Then I show him.

“By Jupiter,” he says. “That is most amazing, young man. An astonishing trick. Tell me, how is it done? Is it a painting? An etching, perhaps? Have you had it prepared prior to your coming to see me?”

“It’s not an etching or a painting, Dr. Franklin. It’s what we call a
photograph
. Which is sort of … well, I guess you can call it an instant reproduction of something. And, among other things, this”—I hold up the iPhone—“can take thousands of them. Also, video, which is like a photograph, only moving.” Then I point it at Dr. Franklin, at Elizabeth, and at Daniel, and shoot a little scene. Ten seconds.

Then I show them.

I’m down to four percent power, but it’s now or never, I figure.

Daniel and Elizabeth are properly astonished at the
video clip. Dr. Franklin, alas, is not. Perhaps he doesn’t like what he saw, or doesn’t realize just how … old … and
stout
he really is.

“Young man,” he says. “I demand that you give me that … that … whatever it is … this … object … immediately.”

“I cannot, sir. Not until you agree to help us.”

“Help you? I should say not. First you tell me General Washington is dead, then you ask me for electricity?”

“I haven’t explained everything to you yet. You don’t understand.”

“Understand what? That you have some kind of clever … device … that you use in a wholly unjustified manner with no other purpose in mind than to horrify an old man?”

“I’m not trying to horrify you, Dr. Franklin. Like I said, we’ve come to you for help. Because something has gone terribly wrong.”

“Yes, you told me. About General Washington. And that you yourself are from—from where did you say? The twenty-first century? How have I allowed myself to listen to such rank nonsense—and from
children
! I don’t believe a word of it. Not a single word. I now must ask you to leave my premises. Immediately! And take that infernal device of yours with you! I wish to never see it for the rest of my days!”

A
PICTURE, SO THEY SAY
, is worth a thousand words. There’s really nothing else for me to do, then, except turn the phone around, and show Dr. Franklin my Camera Roll.

I show him the pictures I took of Daniel and Elizabeth.

Then my other shots. From yesterday morning, in the van on the way over. A shot of Brandon with an inadvertent piece of cream cheese on his nose, from a bagel he had just wolfed down.

A shot of the crowd gathered at Washington Crossing State Park to watch the festivities. There’s usually a fife and drum band, a speech by a politician or two, and then the ritual reenactment of Washington and his army crossing the Delaware in longboats.

Then I scroll around. I have a picture of my dad, and one of my mom. Not together, of course. They haven’t been together since the divorce, and for quite some time before that as well.

Dr. Franklin coughs. A polite cough. To let me know something.

Which is, I’ve been staring at the picture of my mom.

And the whole point of this was to share, wasn’t it?

“May I see?” Dr. Franklin asks, not unkindly. He holds his hand out.

I place the iPhone in his palm. He can see for himself how my mom is dressed. He begins to nod, as if something is starting to make sense. Daniel and Elizabeth gather behind Dr. Franklin, and, since I’ve showed them how my iPhone works, they take on the instructor’s job.

“Press that,” Daniel says. “It’s called the home button.” Dr. Franklin presses it with a very stubby forefinger.

My home screen. Messages, Calendar, App Store, Clock.

“Quite ingenious,” says Dr. Franklin. “What is this device called again?”

“An iPhone,” Elizabeth says quite proudly. It’s almost as if she owns it herself.

“And its primary purpose?”

“It’s a combination of things,” I say, “but first and foremost, I guess, is that it’s a phone.”

“A phone?”

“A telephone. You can talk to someone else who has one. Anywhere in the world.”

“Do you mean to say that I could … converse with someone … who is not in the same room as I?”

“Sure. You could have a live conversation with someone in a different city if you wanted, or even a different country.”

“Hmmm. I am not so certain that is a good thing. You say ‘live conversation,’ which implies there is an opposite, namely, ‘dead’ conversation. Is your device capable of communicating with those no longer among us? I have heard of such things from those with a more mystical mind than mine.”

“No. You can’t talk to dead people with an iPhone. That would be crazy.”

“I see,” he says. “What provides its … its … energy?”

“A battery.”

“A battery?”

“Yes. Built in.”

“Remarkable. I daresay I did invent the battery, if not electricity. Most remarkable, young man. And how is it that … one can talk to another? Through what mechanism?”

“Um. I’m not quite sure of that. Sound waves? Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone, but to tell you the truth I’m not sure how they work. This is wireless, though. Back in the old days, there was no such thing as wireless. Every phone had to have a cord to it. Which attached to the whole network, I guess.”

“Network? What kind of network?”

“Well, again, I don’t really know, exactly. I think a
network is where they keep all the cords and wires and stuff. And the routers, I think that has something to do with it. My dad put a router in at our house, but it never works right.”

“A router? What is its purpose?” Then Dr. Franklin nods at Elizabeth, and points to a piece of paper and a pen he has nearby. Elizabeth brings him not only the pen, but an inkwell. As soon as the paper is in his hands he places a book in his lap and the paper upon it, and starts taking notes.

“Um … well, that’s a good question.”

“But you don’t really know,” he says, peering at me over his half-spectacles. I’m glad that he isn’t my teacher, because if he were I’d be heading for an F.

“No. Not really. I just use it.”

“Fair enough, young man. Let’s return to these ‘sound waves’ you spoke of. What are they? Or do you not know?”

“Well, I do know something about that. Sounds are carried along, you see. On waves.” I use my hand to show just how a wave goes. He follows my hand for a second before glancing at Daniel and Elizabeth and rolling his eyes.

“They are?”

“Yes.”

“What sort of waves? Like in the ocean?”

“No. Invisible ones.”

“Invisible waves?” says Elizabeth. “That surely must be quite impossible!”

“Well, it isn’t. I learned about it in science class.”

“Hmmm. A most interesting theory. Waves, you say? As in, the sound itself—say a clap of my hands—travels via an ‘invisible wave’ from source to ear?”

“Yes. Something like that.”

“And this battery—you say it’s ‘built in’? Built into what—this device itself?”

“Yep.”

“How could that be? It would have to be incredibly small.”

“It is incredibly small. They figure out ways to make ’em that way.
Miniaturization
is what they call it.”

“Miniaturization?”

“Yes.”

“May I see it? This battery?”

“Well, no, you can’t. Not with iPhones. Unless you unscrew it and mess things up.”

“So what happens when the battery is drained of its charge? Is the device then useless?”

“No, because you can recharge the battery. I recharge mine every night, but if you use it a lot, you might lose power, which kind of stinks. As a matter of fact, I’m down to about three percent power right now. And I know we’re going to need this phone. So problem number one is, do you think you could figure out a way to get some juice into this thing?”

He peers at me again, over the rim of his half-spectacles. “Juice,” he says, frowning. “I shall take an intuitive leap,
young man. You are not talking about the liquid that one can extract from a lemon, or a lime, or an apple. You are using this word ‘juice’ as a synonym, are you not? For electricity, yes?”

“Exactly,” I say. He’s an old dude, but he’s one fast learner.

I’m not surprised. It’s why we came to Philadelphia. He may not know it yet, but I am one hundred percent positive he’s going to be able to help us. He’s only Benjamin Franklin, after all, who happens to be the smartest guy in the world. He’ll figure something out.

Won’t he?

H
E HANDS THE PHONE
back. “Young man,” he says. “I can’t tell you how intrigued I am. I have a thousand questions more—two thousand. The most important of which is, of course, whatever has this … device … to do with General Washington? I am glad I have chosen not to believe what you have told me about his demise, for if I did—if it were true—I would be quite unable … quite unable to function, I fear. Do you know how we came to select Washington to lead us? It was mere months ago … perhaps a year … at the Second Continental Congress. A most deliberative body. Which is to say, there was very little all could agree on most of the time. But we had finally come to a decision: we should have ourselves an army. We cast our eyes about for someone to lead it, and
who should walk into our ken but none other than the tallest man in the room, a man dressed—almost as if he were auditioning for the part—in full military regalia. A bit tight, to be sure, about the stomach and shoulders, but then I found out later the uniform was a relic from our good Virginian’s youth. I turned at once to John Adams and said, ‘There, sir, is our man.’ And thus George Washington became General Washington.”

Elizabeth gives me a nudge. “Get on with it,” she says. “I suspect we haven’t much time.”

“Dr. Franklin,” I say. “We really need your help. I mean, like right
now
, we do. The problem is, this device? If we don’t do something soon, it will be totally useless.”

“If you have come to me … with any expectation,” Dr. Franklin says in a grave voice, “that I would be able to provide you some sort of practical assistance … such as regenerating this battery you speak of … then I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I can provide you no help. To do what you ask, we would need to repair to my proper living quarters, or to one of my former businesses, where I at least have the necessary means and tools to examine the situation in a more efficacious manner. Here”—he gestures to the sitting room, the entire house we’re in—“I am, quite unfortunately, utterly helpless. And here, also quite unfortunately, I must remain. I am in hiding, if you must know. I am officially incognito. Unofficially, I believe all of Philadelphia to know where I am and why I have delayed, but all of us must, for appearance’s sake, play the game.”

“You’re in hiding from the British?”

“Oh good Lord, no. I am in hiding from my fellow countrymen, and, most particularly, my fellow revolutionaries. I have agreed, you see, to be our congress’s representative to the king of France. And there I should be now, in the court of Louis the Sixteenth himself, had I sailed on the ship that was to bring me. It—the ship—sadly left without me, nearly a month ago now. I was detained at the time of the sailing. Unavoidably detained. I shall sail as soon as I am able and as soon as there is passage on an outbound ship, which I expect to occur within days. So here I am. And here shall I stay. And no help may I give you of a practical nature.”

There’s a silence as we all process what has just been said, and then a voice, from another room.

“Father,” we hear. “Who are these children? And why …” She nods at us, sees that something about me isn’t right. “And why are they here?”

A woman—thirty, maybe forty—enters our room via a doorway in the back. She is wearing a long dress. An apron. She has a bonnet, of sorts, a white frilly bonnet, on her head.

“We have come to save the revolution,” Elizabeth says. “And only Dr. Franklin can help.”