The Wizard of Menlo Park
Historical Fantasy
Everyone knew Thomas Edison wasn’t a real wizard. The papers all said he was, but that was merely an expression. Some of the more gullible members of the community acted like they thought he was a wizard, but in 1879 nobody believed in wizards. Foreigners might think that uneducated Americans in Menlo Park believed Edison was a wizard, but it was an open secret in the town that if a foreigner ever asked about Edison, one was to play dumb and talk about magical powers.
But some of the boys at school claimed they thought he was a real wizard, and one boy claimed he’d seen Edison cast a spell, although he wouldn’t say what it was or what it did. Andy made a bet with this other boy that Edison wasn’t a wizard. And when school let out for the weekend, he went off to prove it.
The trek up the hill to Edison’s strange house made Andy tired. He was only eight and they had had to run a mile in school that day. But when he reached the house, with its imposing gate and large hedges, his fatigue melted away. In its place, he felt for the first time a sense of awe and intimidation. The house was larger than he expected. Its austere windows were smoky and prevented outsiders from seeing inside. Now he began to hear in his head the stories of flashes of light and bangs in the night. He began to remember the rumors they told around town. Animals gone missing. Flying objects. That sort of thing.
But Andy mustered the courage to push on the gate, which was designed for carriages and which was unlocked. He walked inside, half expecting to be stopped, but he saw nobody. The yard was eerily quiet. Andy noticed that, while the wind had been blowing fairly hard on his way up the hill, there was no wind here inside the gate. He found that unsettling, but he figured it must be some conjurers’ trick.
He walked forward up the rest of the way to the large black door. At first, he paused at the door, as if he wasn’t sure whether to knock or not. The door opened. Andy got scared then, but he decided that someone must have seen him coming and opened the door. He walked inside.
But there was nobody there. Instead, there was an empty foyer. It was so big it seemed like it might swallow him whole. He walked deeper inside. There was a dark staircase heading up to a hall lit by gaslights.
“Come in,” called a voice. At first it startled Andy, but then he remembered Edison had invented a technology which could transmit sound. He could be sitting in a comfortable chair somewhere upstairs and still his voice would be loud and clear down here. Still, that wouldn’t explain how the door opened.
As he walked up the stairs, something flapped by his ears. It was some sort of bird. Perhaps an owl. Andy knew wizards were supposed to have owls, so Edison probably kept a few as pets to keep up with the image.
When he reached the top of the stairs, he walked down the gaslit hallway to a room at the back. The room was well lit and the door was open. He was clearly meant to go inside.
The Wizard of Menlo Park was sitting in an upholstered chair in the center of the room. There was a lamp and a journal on the little round table next to him. There was a fire burning in the fireplace.
“Andy Goldstein,” said Mr. Edison.