Introduction

The young heart of Katharine McMahon is restless, it craves adventures, enjoyment, spark. Her marriage to Robert Underwood Johnson gives her stability, but something is missing. From another world comes a scientist that paints her life in colors she never knew existed. Her restless heart sees Nikola Tesla as the only cure. Katharine’s journal is delicately weaved with devotion, longing, rediscovery of self, and what it is to be a woman, a mother, a lover. Ana Atanaskovic opened the door to the industrious New York at the turn of the century when wizards walked the earth.

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Excerpt

Fire

FEBRUARY

1893

Sherry's Hotel became a new mundane place. His restaurant can compete with Delmonico’s, they are now rivals. Stany is glowing with joy.

I love the quadrille, I feel solemn when I dance. Robert is getting on well too.

MARCH

New York has the best hotel in the world – the Waldorf Hotel. William Waldorf Astor opened his 13-floor hotel today, built at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 33rd Street, after having his late father's house torn down.

APRIL

Robert is on his way to Chicago to the Columbian Expo. It will be the greatest world fair of wonders. Stany fulfilled all the commentators' wish to remove Diana's statue – it is now at the top of the Expo's building.

MAY

I do not like it when I do not take part in an event, I want to see and hear everything he sees and hears. I am jealous! I am thirsty!

I want a miracle for myself.

I am 37 and I am observing my hand on my chest when I am laying down. It is thin and smooth in dim light. When I stretch

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my fingers completely and take a better look, the top of my palm wrinkles a bit, as if it gets flaky. I put it back on my chest and feel its distant smoothness. Am I moving forward or backward? I am mature and ready. Or am I a child that already has children who are also grown up? Am I starting my story or just finishing it? What can I start doing?

I can do anything.

JULY

We are all in Maine, Ellen is here too. Self-loving waves talk of unusual things too, their rustling sensuality makes me want to cry. It seems to me I do not know when I am lonelier, when he is around or when he is not, so when I look at my thoughts in a real way, it seems to me I am crazy and ungrateful.

SEPTEMBER

Owen founded a literary magazine called The Lit in Lawrenceville and is its editor-in-chief. He is only fifteen! My enterprising and creative child, he has taken all the best from us.

DECEMBER

A famous Australian diva, the soprano singer Nellie Melba performed in the Metropolitan Opera. She sang Lucia of Lammermoor. She was at a reception at the Guilders and we met her. She has a strong look and an unforgiving character. She behaves like a diva... maybe even too much, but it suits her.

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Robert was excited when he came back from the editorial office. He was intrigued by something. He is trying not to show the change on his face, as if everything needs to be perfect all the time. I like the fact that he is curious, wise, and often awake, but I would love for him to present his inspiration: I do not like it when he is silent, when I am waiting for him to write, I would like for him to tell me what he feels immediately. That is why I use the fondling method.

Why is he not more like me? Why is he keeping his exciting thoughts? Why does he not want to tell them to me right away? When will I change him?

I started fondling and cooing without asking immediately what the matter is; I was patient and meek, which was really hard for me to do, and I almost got crazy and bombarded him with different questions. It is hard for me to play games and not be the feisty me, but it was worth it – he finally told me the whole story, and I must admit it is interesting.

Namely, today Commerford described him as a wizard who arrived from a strange region in Europe, I cannot remember exactly its name – nevertheless, it is a part of Austria-Hungary. That wizard is, according to Commerford, in fact an aspiring scientist, and he is pleading for him very much since he is enchanted by his personality. Commerford said that scientist sees better and further than us all, and he is even better than Edison.

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How intriguing. I noticed Robert was all melting. The description was so attractive that he told Commerford to bring that man for dinner to our place.

Bravo, Robert. What is a home if there are no guests to entertain? That wizard must be the most unusual creature we have ever seen, he must look different, behave strangely, he must wear funny clothes, like some strange being from a fairy tale.

I have never seen a wizard before. Had Robert not highlighted he is a man of our age, I would have expected a grey, old man speaking in codes.

Commerford is going to bring him over to us so he can talk to Robert about an article that scientists could write for The Century. Robert is trying to make the magazine modern and progressive, and if it turns out Commerford was right (and I know that is exactly what will happen), both the magazine and the young scientist are going to prosper as well.

He took a nap in my lap, and I cuddled his hair while he was telling me about their encounter. I still need to melt him down: after all these years living together, he still wraps his thoughts into wrapping paper.

Why is he not more like me? If I were him, I would start shouting from our doorstep about that wizard, so everyone could hear and gather before me, I would tweet, without further questions, I would blurb everything in one breath, and....

§ 57

I slowly recall my memories of yesterday, and it seems it all happened much earlier. Is it possible only two days have passed?

I slowly introduce and lure the images that appear one after another, they listen to me and do not meddle at all. I have met the wizard. His name is Nikola Tesla, and he entered our home with Commerford. He is incredibly tall, has royal standing, refined elegance, and is poised and calm. He was taking his white buckskin gloves with two black buttons off so slowly I could not stand it, as well as his perfectly tailored black coat and a fine long tailcoat with a satin passepied. He made me feel so impatient and calm at the same time. His face was long and puzzled, a true gentleman's face, but of a wise elf as well. He is quiet and pale, at first glance, and I would say a bit aloof, but he does not let his first impression to last long, because he breaks it with his grey-blue eyes, bursting unattainably with strangeness, so that impression turns into its opposite.

His walk is silent and abrupt. The wizard is, as it seems, capable of staying in one position for hours, taming bloody fire burning his chest and fingers. The fire in that man, intrigued me the most, but it is not the same as mine – witty, orange, made of grumpy, short tongues – no, it is snake-like, hungry, coming from the heart of the Earth. It is set in the finest porcelain shell. I have never seen such a man who is so tender and powerful at the same time.

He was so gentle with Agnes and Owen, and they clicked instantly, as if they sang a song they started themselves, completely naturally and easily.

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Robert was enchanted as well, his face was glowing with smiles while Nikola Tesla, the wizard, was telling us about Europe. I was expecting a person who would be more foreign, but this man speaks English perfectly, his manners are silky, and his voice manly.

What about me? I was stunned, but nobody hardly noticed anything.

We sat around the table, and it seemed as if he was around forever, as if he was a part of our family, which was quite confusing. But all that confusion was lost when Nikola Tesla started talking to us more directly. Frankly, this was the first thing that confused me: I thought this dignified and unusual man would keep his distance, but he talked openly about his tiredness and exhaustion, and that all his life is subordinated to his experiments. He firmly believes in his own work. Oh, how decisive he is.

We were sitting there, eating dinner, chatting, all so cheerful, our home was so warm, I felt as if a web of golden flakes was falling all over us and remained in our hair. I was lulled and ablaze. Now, when I can see the scene again, I notice we were all looking at him only, listening to him all enchanted, but he did not try to bewitch us, he simply behaved as he usually would, but then again in such as particular manner. His fingers are long and beautiful, his hair neat and smooth, his mustache clearly prompted decorating his face, and his eyes are penetrating.

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It was quite logical and expected, so, without thinking things through, I spontaneously invited him to spend Christmas with us, as if it was a usual thing for me to do. The kids were thrilled with my suggestion and Robert gave me only one mild look to show I was reading his mind.

So we all sat like that, seemingly reddish and alive, besides him, who kept being pale, despite the wine. I can still see that web of golden flakes' patina all over us. And in one hand move, Nikola Tesla rips it and takes it off. He was speaking with much excitement at that moment: he invited us to his laboratory for dessert, as if he was calling us to a mysterious cave full of diamonds. Since both Robert and I said yes immediately, he seemed to have gotten his wings: his eyes had flashed as if he suddenly found a way through a thousand labyrinths, so he jumped up (easily, ably, quickly, flexibly) and invited us to the coach.

And then there was real magic! Warm tears started pouring from my face in the coach, they rolled down from all the unfamiliar excitement, we were silent, taken aback by his strong energy that led us firmly through the city, along Gramercy Park and Washington Square all the way to Fifth Avenue. There were more people in the streets that night than usual, or so it seemed. I wanted the ride to last longer, but also to get to the wizard's lab as soon as possible. I cannot tell what was more beautiful – to ride with him in sparkly silence, to hold my hand on my belly that hurt from hope and expectation or being in the lab itself. At one point, while we were still sitting in the carriage, it seemed he looked at me

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differently, with curiosity, although that very moment that look faded away, and I realized I was probably exaggerating, since he was probably only enjoying himself, in advance, for showing us his kingdom.

Although, that moment, that look keeps possessing me.

His laboratory was full of strange devices. Perfectly clean and neat. Heavy and fresh fragrances were mixing in semi- darkness. I am unable to describe it with veracity. You could feel metal and rainy fragrances. Stale and moist, sort of. Long cables and dark devices, one could barely see them, vanished completely when the scientist drew the black curtains. And then one could only hear our breath. Robert and I were as if in another world, and Mr. Tesla was still moving around silently, preparing the spectacle, warming our curiosity and excitement up. Time was speeding up, as well as my heartbeats, to the point I could not bear it anymore.

I felt he was moving, but I could not hear him. Robert took me by the hand one second before innumerable flash lines and shapes flew by our heads. I have never seen such a thing in my life! Rustling, golden, orange, and blue clouds, fast and playful, seemingly without a goal, flew all over the place without colliding, and my eyes seemed to have been filling with some sort of... light, the sun? I do not know.

I was trembling in fear and pleasure. Mr. Tesla stood mute, as if his body had elongated, he seemed to be as tall as a giant, and his hands were even bigger holding a big light bulb shining with warm light. He was happy, it was a right, calm,

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inner happiness, unconditional, godly. He was safe. A majestic giant, a king of light, a beautiful magician, a true wizard, but what is Mr. Tesla?

He finally managed to draw relief, joy, and wonder from us. Then he lifted us up even more by showing us what the world is intrigued by – the motor he invented, with a light flash, above his forehead in a park in Budapest. It is a motor with a lava core.

He stayed in his lab when Robert and I went home. Who knows when he will go to his room in the Gerlach Hotel on W 27th Street? We stayed outside for a few moments, silent, listening to the rustling and buzzing sounds that crept into us.

I was alive in a new way, as if someone woke me up all of a sudden, which is why I was disoriented, but I know I was smiling, and so did Robert, we were looking at each other and our eyes were sparkling.

§

I keep thinking about Mr. Tesla. He is transparent. Weak and strong. How can he be both transparent as a ripe petal and impenetrable as granite? He moves without making a sound. He is slipping through the air. He seems dignified. His face often appears to be made of stone. He is often absent, his spirit is not present. His movements are as soft as lace. He has long bony silky fingers and a sinewy palm with plump mounts. His hands can dig canals and emit the light. How can this be?

§ 62

He talks of electromagnetic waves. I do not know what kind of waves I feel, but there are waves between humans too, in any of our interactions. I am overwhelmed by his waves. Those are invisible powerful circles traveling from him towards me. They spread from him, like when you throw a stone in the water and see how wrinkles reverberate on its surface. They meet in me. Like rosebuds.

§

I cannot sleep again. Robert is sleeping like a baby, so I snuck out of the bed, and am now sitting in the salon. I feel hot all the time. It is cold outside, but I feel hot. Everything is tiresome, my every movement, I keep sweating from every little move, my armpits are wet, and that sweat is somewhat heavy, and I am not inclined to it. Is it because of my age? I am already... Am I changing? Am I losing my womanhood? Am I getting heat waves? Am I getting older?

I must be beautiful, more beautiful than ever!

How can I think of such a thing? I can. How can I? And Robert, if only he knew!

I am still young and beautiful! I have just looked at myself in the mirror, my contours are unclear under such weak light, I am all alone in our salon, writing in convulsion, in dim light. A watery and unclear Kate was reflected in the mirror, but she was pretty, her hair was thick, eyes big and her skin young.

I do not know where this heavy sweat is coming from. This is not me. Or, maybe, those are some poisons I got free from,

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some sort of nausea I threw up? Maybe I am me, and something of mine which was unfamiliar to me got out on the surface? What is going on?

§

Robert found me in the salon early this morning. I fell asleep there. I must admit he was confused and in wonder, although, in fact, my dear Robert was worried as ever. There was no reprimand in his voice, and God knows there should have been.

I dreamt of Mr. Tesla. I have never had such a dream before. It was real! I turned my back away from the mirror and saw him sitting still, but it was as if he enclosed a small space and air around himself, and was its sovereign emperor, and the rest of the salon was trembling, and the colors were overflowing. He crossed his legs and looked at me. He looked the same as he was at dinner, only his eyes were black. It was a great, mirk black color. In fact, his eyes were turning into two pulsating black holes. As if he was calling me: I could not hear anything, he did not say anything, but he somehow managed to communicate with me, and I had to start walking towards him. I was grunting, pausing my breath for longer and longer. I wanted to touch his face, but simultaneously I was afraid. Wanting and fearing. Can the two emotions go alongside one another? "Katherine," he said without moving his lips. His eyes were getting blacker and blacker, and widening.

Then Robert woke me up. He told me I was screaming.

§ 64

I bought damask napkins for our Christmas dinner. I want everything to be perfect. Energy and elegance gushes keep blowing like the wind in the fall. Everything seems to be like it is our first time. Agnes and Owen are excited because Mr. Tesla is going to spend Christmas Eve with us. Robert is excited, too. I am more clumsy than usual, I keep dropping things. I know everything needs to be ideally clean and sterilized for him. Tablecloths, cutlery, everything. He washes his hands several times a day, in restaurants he inspects if the dishes are clean enough, and he additionally rubs his cutlery with napkins.

§

Holiday candles were illuminating us differently than usual. Mr. Tesla was sitting modestly and unobtrusively, maybe it was a bit uncomfortable for him. As if he was trying to tell us he is a foreigner after all, that he is not a part of our little world. One could notice he felt uneasy, and it was as if he wanted to say it, but his cheeks finally turned red due to such closeness. His body language was showing something opposite to his thoughts. He liked us.

That man is a lighthouse. He is standing alone on a rocky coast, he can see everything, he illuminates everything. But he is also a cup, a silver cup waiting to be filled with wine, warm blood, kisses, tenderness – even though he does not want to admit it.

He was chatting with the children, telling them of his childhood adventures, how he was petting a tomcat and a field of shimmering sparks appeared above it. Then he asked them if they knew who pets the nature. The children were listening

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to him attentively. They laughed together. He was decently joking with the kids. He is not an offensive prankster. That is good. Some people hide their own evil by mocking others. There is zero evil in Mr. Tesla.

"Dinner was splendid, Mrs. Johnson." I knew that, I paid attention to every minute detail. He was telling us about his father and mother, his sisters, his home, and how he snuck out in the night to read even though his father forbade it because he was reading too much. He merely mentioned his older brother, and a shadow marked his face. A blink of a lighthouse. Eyes shut.

He is incredible. A boy, a man, a ruler.

He was telling us how he conquered the deep breathing technique. I tried to do it all night long, but I gave up. I cannot do it: I was breathing too fast and clumsily.

Robert went to the library to bring a collection of Whitman's poetry to read. I was observing Mr. Tesla's lips that moved slowly, as if he knew the lyrics by heart. They were juicy, free, fresh, and sensual. Robert was reading, the words flew into the Christmas night, and each and every word was like a vow. Or was this my wishful thinking – that Mr. Tesla would become a part of us?

Can he lift his dreamy eyelids and keep looking at us with devotion? Can he give himself to us completely? Would he ever want that?

We were all enjoying the food. Roast turkey was just right, cranberry sauce was smooth, goose pate never better, peas 66

incredibly green, and the Parisian salad was gone within moments. The punch was perfect.

He stayed until morning. The day was red. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

When Katharine McMahon Johnson meets the aspiring scientist at the dawn of his career, her moderate, eventful life is suddenly disrupted. Nikola Tesla immediately becomes a dear friend to the family, an object of admiration and reverence for both Katharine and her husband. In your opinion, was Katherine successful in hiding her obsession with Tesla, from her husband Richard?

What would happen to Katharine and Nikola in today's world?

In her bold story of love and commitment, Ana Atanaskovi? rediscovers an unknown side of the Serbian scientist, while prodding at the unattainable nature of the wild woman’s heart. Why do scientists choose solitude over family life? Do you think they need to be fully devoted to science in order to invent things?

When Katherine McMahon Johnson meets Nikola Tesla, her life is transformed. She finds comfort in his presence and friendship but soon realizes his heart will forever belong to another – the Serbian wizard is a man of science. Despite all her efforts, her love remained platonic and unrequited. However, she pours her soul into her journal. She never feared her husband or her kids would find her journal. Why is that?

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