Free The Left Behinds and the iPhone That Saved George Washington by David Potter Page A

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 thevideo 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!”

TWENTY-SEVEN
    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