I’m with Astrid in Germany pursuing a vial of the elixir of life—the fifth element, or philosopher’s stone, that supposedly promises eternal youth.
Alchemists stored the elixir in clocks to amplify the effects of immortality upon the user.
So Astrid figures that a clock being auctioned today might contain a vial of the precious elixir concealed somewhere within its works.
We’re at the offices of Mullerhausen Antiquities bidding on the Oberlein family heirloom.
It’s an 18th century tall case which stands seven feet tall, but the clock face itself is detachable and can be mounted separately as a wall clock.
On the glass door of the clock case is a Latin inscription etched into the glass—Ars celare artem.
“Do you see that inscription?” she asks excitedly.
I smile. “The greatest art is to hide art—if the Comte was as clever as that proverb suggests, the vial may still be hidden in that clock.”
She leans close and whispers:
“I looked inside the glass-hinged door and there are gold-leafed characters I believe to be angels in the corners of the clock’s cavities. Angels were associated with bringing the souls of the dead to immortality. The vial could be concealed behind one of these.”
“Seems appropriate,” I reply.
The afternoon seems interminable. The clock is the last item to be auctioned off.
Astrid’s very determined, however, and despite spirited bidding by others, she purchases the heirloom for 30, 000 Euros. I hope Jerrod’s expense account can bear the amount.
We personally supervise the packing and shipping of the clock back to our adjoining rooms at the Vier Jahreszeiten. Once the movers depart, we search the clock and sure enough, behind one of the gold leafed angels we find a small glass vial.
It’s not uncommon to find preserved liquids after hundreds of years—the oldest such case is a Roman glass wine amphora from 325 A.D. with contents still intact.
So, I’m not surprised to see a few milliliters of opaque liqueur.
Astrid, on the other hand, is ecstatic.
“This is incredible, Paul. If this truly is the elixir of life, then I have in my hand the solution to all humanity’s ills.”
I’m not sure why, but I feel less enthused. I watch as she carefully packs the vial, ensuring its safe passage back to the Smithsonian and its laboratories.
It will take a few weeks until the contents can be analyzed and its properties assessed—a lull in which I’ll try to come to terms with my response to our discovery and how it affects my relationship with Astrid.
She and I are both in our early thirties. Ageing is of little concern and our youth protects and insulates us from thoughts of decline.
Some day, perhaps, our discovery might mean something to me, but for now, all I care about is the future—Astrid’s and mine.
Maybe I’m missing the greater implications—or maybe not.
I’m hoping I can convince Astrid that the real treasure we found was not in the sands of Tabriz or a glass vial containing an opaque liqueur.
The real treasure is right before us each day when we gaze into each other’s eyes.
A flick of sunshine upon a strange shore, a time to remember, a time for a sigh…
—Joseph Conrad