Dust by Arthur G. Slade

yet here she stood, sipping lemonade. He decided it was best not to point that out to her, lest she change her mind.
    "It's a good gesture." Robert's dad chomped down the last of his cookie and wiped the crumbs from his bottom lip. "People need a break, if only for an afternoon."
    They followed the crowd into the theatre, passing two mummy tombs on the way. A skeleton hand reached out of one, frozen in mid-grab. He'd seen them before when he'd sneaked into the Royal Theatre with his Uncle Alden. They weren't real, but he longed to peek inside. Paintings of pharaohs with scarab amulets decorated the walls. "Old Man Spooky"—his real last name was Spokes—had built this place, then lost it to the bank after something called "the big stock market crash." He'd also lost his wife to consumption. Now all Spooky did was drink, and sleep on the bench outside the hotel.
    Standing in the aisle, Robert couldn't see past his dad. He had a great view of people's backs, arms, and legs. He worried that he might be missing some action on the screen. The room was packed. Kids laughed and ate as many cookies as they could get their hands on. Most everyone was in their church clothes, lending an air of a special outing. This was wonderful fun, a party. They were make believing that the sun wasn't outside, that a drought wasn't waiting for them. This was a new world, a safe place.
    Robert's father cut a path to three velvet parlor seats. Robert took the one closest to the wall and thought: Sit down everyone. You're all blocking my view! He wished he had a voice as loud as a trumpet and the gumption to use it.
    They all continued chatting and laughing. A chandelier dangled high above, like an electrified web, pale lights flickering in the cool air. Robert glimpsed a flash of silver and gold at the front. He squirmed in his seat, trying different angles, but couldn't see anything else.
    He sat back, shivering, partly from the excitement. He cocked his head, and this time he saw the projection screen. His eyes widened. It looked like a giant mirror. The townspeople's reflections were long or fat, like in a carnival fun house. Snakes in gold twisted and writhed along its edges. And dead center, at the top, was a large gold scarab, its eyes two emeralds. Robert had read that pharaohs wore such amulets as a symbol of immortality. So this mirror had to be from Egypt.
    Colors shimmered in the mirror like rippling water. It's amazing! he thought, absolutely amazing! It looked as though he could walk right through the mirror into a rainbow world. When he gazed directly at the surface it appeared close enough to touch, but when he looked to the side, the mirror was where it was supposed to be—half a room away.
    Several red clay jars were stacked below it. They seemed to have writing on their sides. They reminded him of the broken jar he'd touched in the sandhills. He squinted at them, then a flash drew his attention. Two glass batteries, half the size of apple boxes, were wired to the mirror. Tiny bolts of captured lightning sparked inside. There was just too much to look at.
    The lights dimmed, then brightened. Abram appeared at the center of the stage, seemingly out of nowhere. A young woman shrieked, then covered her mouth and giggled. "Oh, sorry, I'm so sorry," she said. Men around her laughed, and Abram grinned. He waited until everyone took their seats, rubbing his gloved hands together. Soon there was only the squeaking of springs and scraping of feet.
    Abram gestured dramatically toward the large mirror. "The Mirror of All Things. This bit of metal and glass is as ancient as our civilization, as old as the Ark of the Covenant. Maybe older. It will show you whatever you want to see."
    "What's this about?" Robert asked. "I thought it was going to be an Egyptian show." Neither of his parents took their eyes off the mirror to answer.
    Abram pointed, and the emeralds on the golden scarab glowed brightly. "Oh, Mirror of All Things, show us what we