I stumbled blindly across the wooden floor. Thank heavens! It was the floor of my workshop, no longer the cold tile of whaterver place I have been to. My elbow took the brunt of the fall and was tingling.
Shaking my head, I gingerly stood up to get some water. After a few gulps, I tried to arrange my thoughts into something logical. Or illogical.
The machine worked! Finally, it did, proving that my theory of time-spheres is probable. It couldn't be just any room, it is a room from the future! You see, I have traveled extensively to European countries. I have seen opulence in the powder rooms and bed rooms of ladies who have invited me, some asking that I spent the night with them, others for shy little chit-chat that only in their dreams would have turned in confessions of love. I have been smothered with down pillows as several adventurous señoritas played with me, encouraging me to warm their beds. I know how soft are the silk sheets, and how soft a lady's skin is...by the lamplight, one young love looked like she was clad in gold and nothing more, when she traced my chin and murmured sweet nothings.
So in short I was familiar, with many, if not most of the interior of ladies' bedrooms, the daughters of aristocrats, merchants, of scholars and like. The elements in the room where I have been are familiar, like the four-poster bed-goodness how many beds like that I have caused to creak-but the air is so cold I conclude cannot be because of a ghost, and the tile was like I have never seen before, and it seemed to use Edison's invention- I have talked to the man myself and saw his light bulbs-but the light is white, not yellow.
I turned to my drafting table and drew the room as fast as I could, lest I forget the details. I could not bear such to happen. I willed my mind to show me every corner, every inch lest I forget a minutiae of detail and lose authenticity. The vanity, the bed, the windows, the lighting, the flutter of the curtains, I so hurriedly drawn. Her smooth calves and ankles (I was sure it is a she, otherwise men's calves and ankles would be large and hairy) came to my mind and my heart skipped a beat. They were so lovely, and so her toes painted with what seems to be gold, but upon trying to put it in paper I was left with massive feet that far resembled what I have seen a short while ago.
"Buenas dias, Señor Jose,", came together with a knock. I leaned my head towards the open door. It was Juanito, one of the boys who came to my escuela. I checked my watch. This boy comes before our time. He is never late. I looked again at my watch and the time is 8:30 in the morning. He said yesterday to be allowed to come at 9:00 to learn more about world history. Before I tinkered with the machine, I checked the time. It was alas ocho y quince, 8:15 in the morning. I was just sketching for five minutes, so was it possible that I spent ten minutes in the future? It felt shorter.
"Buenas dias, Juanito, come in", I beckoned to the boy. I noticed he was bringing a bayong and something seems to be wriggling inside. "Another chicken again, Juanito? How many times I have told you that a half-dozen eggs is enough for me. You might lose all your brood if you keep doing this."
"It is alright, Señor, we still have a lot if chickens at home. And besides," the boy looked down, "it is the only way I could pay for my escuela."
"Goodness, Juanito," I patted the boy's head, "You know thst my services are next to free. I am just a lonely man and teaching you and the rest of the boys is a great pleasure for me."
"But Señor, you know that I asked for more time to learn, and the half-dozen eggs you accepted might not be enough to make up for your wasted time teaching me so I brought a chicken," the boy timidly replied.
"Well then, I am going to accept your chicken for now but for the next time you come here, I would not anymore do so. Is that clear?"
"Yes, señor," he answered, and so I motioned for him to bring the chicken to the kitchen. It will make a great soup for dinner, but who knows it might be the last chicken in Juanito's family's coop. I told the boy to just tie up the chicken to a post and place a pan of grains and water nearby. I had no plans of cooking that chicken tonight.
"Wow, Señor, this is so amazing! " Juanito beamed as he saw my rough sketch of the scene in the time-sphere where I traveled to. "Where is this place, Maestro? Is this in Madrid? in Brussels? Maybe in Tokyo?"
The boy was attentive. He did remember the places I have been to as I retold them my travel experiences during our class.
"Actually, I do not know," I admitted. "I saw it in my dreams just this morning," I lied to him thereafter.