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This is my first shot at science fiction in a long time, and probably my first time writing in the first person. If you like it, don't like it, have a comment, spot a typo (I did write it in a hurry!), or have a constructive piece of feedback, I'm all ears. Do leave a comment or a +1 below!
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At His Old Man's Side by Hrishikesh Diwan is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
If you enjoy this story, consider reading my book, The Tale of the Dark Warrior - available now on Kindle!
1
It had been a glorious evening after a long day at work, and all I really wanted was one last glass of wine and to snuggle up with Smriti in front of the TV. Maybe we could half-watch one of those crappy soaps she liked, and talk. There was a lot to talk about.
I had heard the best news today. The kind of news that makes you feel like a clear vision of your future is stretched out before you and you can’t wait to live it. It was also the kind of news that made you question if you were up for it, whether you were good enough. I wondered how my father had reacted when he first learned I was about to-
“Oy! Boss, hello!?” the cabbie reached out and touched me on the shoulder as I struggled with the keys in the laptop bag with my free hand. I had a bouquet of flowers in the other hand, and was balancing the bag on the other shoulder. I stood in front of the door to our new home - not more than a week old. “I said do you live here?”
I turned and gave him a blank stare - Smriti was giggling where she stood on the kerb, slightly away from the three steps that led to the door of our apartment building. She knew I was dazed, and seemed to enjoy it. I gave up struggling with the keys and just tossed them to her. Her abysmal catching ability meant that quickly wiped the grin from her face. Damn it - I knew better than having that last martini! Maybe skip the wine later?
“Yes, yes I - we - live here. Who are you?”
“I was calling you-”
“Yeah sorry I didn’t realize you were calling out to me.”
“No problem boss. I think I have your father in the car.”
That sobered me up right quick!
“What? You - what?”
The cabbie handed me a chit with a hastily written address on it. It looked as though a child had scribbled it. The paper felt weird - oily somehow. “This is the only thing he gave me. He hasn’t spoken a word and he doesn’t have any money on him either; I checked.”
“OK this is my - our - address, but my father died some years ago. There’s some mistake…”
“Huh” said the cabbie, stroking his chin absent-mindedly “I could’ve sworn I saw a resemblance. You mind taking a look at him? Maybe you know him from somewhere - an uncle maybe? I was at the airport queue when this guy walks up and hands me that chit. We get all types, so I figure it is his first time in the city. I’ve had a few like that who don’t talk but just give you an address. He gave me yours.”
“OK, well we just moved in here, so maybe this is someone who knew the earlier tenant. Let’s see.” I nodded to Smriti asking her to go on up,
“Don’t be long” she said, squeezing my shoulder as she walked by.
I walked the short distance from the steps to the curb, and shook my head. The street was still busy for this time of night - I checked my watch - it was half past eleven. A car would drive by every few seconds anyway. Crazy city!
I was still slightly tipsy - but then this evening had called for a celebration! Walking over to the cab where it stood a few feet past our door, I noticed there was an old man in the rear. I leaned to look in through the open passenger window just as the cabbie said,
“He’s not right in the head. Just stares when you talk to him, and won’t say a word. We got here a half hour ago, and he won’t get out of the car. I was going to call the police when I saw you walk up to that door.”
“Hi” I said to the man in the back, who I didn’t recognize. He turned to look at me, and in the glare of a passing headlight I got my first good look at his face.
He looked Asian, like me, and must be quite tall because the top of his head wasn’t very far from the car roof. He had not more than a wisp or two of hair. His whole head - the pate, face, neck - was wrinkled and looked dry. His features were indescribable really; he was just a mass of wrinkles! He had a hooked nose, no teeth or dentures, and looked to be wearing some sort of rough winter coat in the middle of April! As another pair of headlights passed, I noticed his eyes. Though he had turned at my voice, he wasn’t really looking at me. The eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing just like the cabbie said.
“Hi!” I repeated, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you - what’s your name?” Getting no answer, I turned to the cabbie, shrugged, and said “I’m afraid I don’t know him.”
“Aw damn it!” said the cabbie “I don’t know why this shit keeps happening to me! At the end of my shift too - he was my last fare you know. I waited a good hour in line at the airport, and this…” He sighed. “Anyway, thanks boss. I’ll take it from here.”
I nodded and turned to go back to the door. Smriti had left it unlatched for me.
“All right - don’t make me get rough with you now. Just step out onto the curb and I’ll be on my way.” the cabbie was saying - not very politely.
I sighed, and turned away from the door. I really should’ve kept going. Damned conscience.
I got back to the cab just as the cabbie had stopped talking and had started to act. He was trying, mostly in vain, to drag the man out of the cab through the car door on the curb side. I rested both hands on the open door, looking over it and said,
“Hey come on, man. He’s just an old guy.”
“Yeah?” said the cabbie, “Well he can get out and be someone else’s problem.”
“Just take him to the station will you?” said I, “Let the police sort this out. I’m sure someone’s already reported him missing.”
“And let the cops hassle me for weeks to come? No thanks!”
I ran a hand through my hair and could literally feel my ideal evening melting away into nothing.
“Here let me try again.” I said, and pushed the cabbie away gently from the open door. The man inside - I couldn’t help noticing how big he was this time - had barely budged, and continued to stare vacantly through the windshield.
“Sir,” I tried to put on the stern cop voice I’d heard so often on TV “I need you to step out of the vehicle please.” I couldn’t help chuckling, and I turned and said to the cabbie “I’ve always wanted to say that…” That got a grin from the grumpy cabbie.
That was when the old man suddenly grabbed hold of my collar and pulled me close to his face. His eyes somehow seemed alert as he said, “They’re killing us. They’re killing us! I couldn’t fight. I had to run!”
A shiver ran down my spine at the sound of his voice. It was hoarse, but above all else he sounded terrified. His breath smelled like something rotten, and his grip was steel.
“Look - sir, please just let go of me, and we can talk. Just step outside and let’s talk all right? I’m not going to hurt you. OK?”
He slowly nodded “You would never hurt me.”
“That’s right.” I answered before I realized that hadn’t been a question, “Just step out of the car and let’s find someone to take you home.”
The old man slowly shuffled over to the curb-side door and stepped out. Once he was outside, I shut the door gently and turned back to take a proper look at him.
He was over six feet tall, and must’ve once been built like a tank. I realized with a start that he was naked underneath the coat! His face didn’t look as wrinkled as it had in the dark of the cab. I couldn’t tell how old he was, but he was definitely very old - his skin had this strange texture-
I was startled as the cab suddenly started and pulled away from the kerb with a sharp screech.
“Thanks boss!” shouted the cabbie and waved his farewell - already a block down the street.
“Son of a bitch!” said I, followed by a few more imprecations that earned me a foul stare from Smriti, who had been watching at the window the whole time. Mr Eloquent, that’s me. My charge had now taken to staring intently at the door to our house; the vacant look was back on his face.
Well, so there I was, standing in the street, right beside this old man. My ordeal was just starting!
2
“Look I know this is one of those situations…” I tried to say.
“No!” she said; shouted actually.
“It’s just one of those situations, where the right thing to do is really quite clear. We don’t have any other options here.”
“I said NO!”
“Smriti, I’m not just going to turn this poor old guy out on the street!”
“And I’m not just going to let this poor old naked guy sleep in my home! And certainly not in the room that we decided an hour ago was going to be a nursery!”
“Look, all I’m saying…”
“You’re doing it again.”
“What? All I’m saying is it is a question of just one night…”
“You always do this. You act all calm and try to sound very wise, and all you’re really doing is being a condescending jerk!” She actually stamped her foot. I never got why people did that!
“What do you want me to do, baby? You’re the one that said I’m too drunk to drive!” I knew this was going to be a mistake even as I said it, so I tried another tack “Look, you know I called the cops - they say to sit tight and they’ll send someone in the morning.”
“Call them back and tell them it’s an emergency. Say he’s dying or something.”
“Would you listen to yourself? I can’t lie to the police, honey! They’ll just lock me up or fine me or... something”
“Well I won’t be able to sleep at all with him in the house… and the doctor said I need my rest.”
“Come on - I can’t believe you’re using that card already!” Oh snap. I really shouldn’t have said that!
“I will have you know,” she began, her voice dangerously calm “that this is a life changing experience for me. It is a big deal sheltering a homeless hobo like this. Reasonable people don’t do this! What if he turns out to be a homicidal maniac huh? It’s not like you can take him!”
She had a point - the old guy was well built and his grip was rather strong. I ignored the agony my male ego was undergoing and was terribly conscious of my five foot something frame. Did that low blow from her get me out of politically incorrect prison? Of course not!
“So here’s what we’re going to do, Mr Good Samaritan. You can stay up all night and watch over him while I spend a restless night inside, not sleeping.”
She stomped off before I could respond. Not like I had anything pithy to say. I looked at the old man again, where we’d cajoled him to sit down in the lone armchair. I could swear there was a little grin on his face as he made short work of the bowl of porridge we’d put in his hands. Boy, could he tuck in!
We stood in one of two rooms we’d managed to furnish so far in this two bedroom house we’d just bought - and that with an assortment of knick-knacks all bought second hand. Money was tight, and it was going to get tighter now!
Smriti stomped back into the sitting room and all over that depressing line of thought right then, and threw a pillow and a sheet at me. I caught them reflexively, my mouth open. Then she stomped back out, and came back at me again - this time tossing another sheet and pillow at my already fully hands. I didn’t really move from my spot until I heard the bedroom door slam loudly shut.
I sighed, and said to our visitor, “One word about this to anyone, and I’m shipping you off to the nearest shelter.”
Apparently, ‘help, there’s a harmless nameless old guy in my house’ didn’t constitute an emergency. The police had said they’d send someone around the next morning, and the two nearby shelters that were listed in the phone book had not answered their phones. So much for paying my taxes!
The bedroom door opened again and Smriti threw something at my head a third time while it was turned away. I was trying to lay out the sheets - one for me, and one for the old man - on the carpet.
“See if that fits him” she said, not unkindly. “He can’t sleep in that horrid coat! And don’t think I haven’t noticed he’s naked underneath...”
I unbundled the oversized white kurta and pyjama pair that I’d mistakenly bought a few weeks ago. So much for assuring Smriti I knew what my size was and didn’t need to use the trial rooms when shopping like she insisted.
“Aye aye, ma’am!” I said, turning to where she stood, looking at me with a solid Amazonian glare. “I have to tell you - dressing a confused and naked old dude was not how I was thinking this evening would end.”
I gave her what I thought of as my best most ingratiating puppy dog smile - and as usual it got me a disgusted huff out of her, as she wheeled around, walked away, and slammed the bedroom door shut again a few seconds later.
“Women, huh?” I said to the old guy, who come to think of it was completely unaware of the fact that his coat had fallen open and his wares were on full display. The porridge bowl - mercifully empty - had slipped from his fingers and was resting on the carpet. I groaned. “Oh come on man… my evening’s pretty screwed already. I don’t need that view to top it off!”
After several minutes of threatening, pulling, prodding, cajoling, and mostly uselessly gesticulating at the man, I managed to get the coat off and the pyjamas on him. In the bargain, getting more than a few views I’d sooner forget. I then patted on the sheet I’d laid out for him and at least this he seemed to understand. At first he squatted down on it tentatively, then quietly lay his head down on the pillow, and finally curled up into a foetal position and closed his eyes.
I felt a pang of something, seeing him like that. I shook my head, and lay down myself. It had been a long, packed day - a Wednesday, no less. In less than six hours the routine would kick off again.
Ah, the dreaded routine. Wake up, get ready, get to work, get home, veg out a little, fall asleep. Ad nauseum, ad infinitum - conducted with metronomic regularity by this thing called ‘weekends’ - which only serve to screw us over by offering the illusion of ‘recreation’. I took a certain amount of comfort in it, truth be told; in its regularity, its predictability. There was a degree of safety and order in it, an exception to the otherwise chaotic and noisy world.
I looked at the old man again, and wondered what his story was. Where had he come from to disturb my nice little inconsequential routine? Does he have a family, or is he just another nameless, discarded person in the crowd of the world? Does he have a son? If he does, I hope my own son treats me better than this guy’s son has treated him…
I am going to be a father. The enormity of that kind of scared me still, though I hadn’t said as much to Smriti. All the sophistry, all the fuzzy feeling nonsense off of greeting cards, and at the other end all the debates about living an unburdened life, or about not adding a burden onto the planet’s resources - all of it had muted down into a dull buzz. A single pressing note of pure panic had taken hold of me when I’d found out today. The doctor had said it was normal for men to freeze up when they first heard, and of course she and Smriti had had a good laugh about my reaction.
Freeze up? Yeah, not how I’d describe it. It was more like someone had gripped my balls in a - a - well, like they were jammed anyway! Was I really up for this?!
I shook my head again. It did not do to dwell on it. One day at a time. Think about the routine. How the fuck was I going to make time tomorrow to take this old crow down to the police station?
3
I woke up at the sound of Smriti’s scream, and in a daze, stumbled over to the bedroom through the short passage connecting it to the sitting room, where I and the old man were - had been - sleeping. My heart went into overtime when I saw he was not in the room.
I entered the bedroom in full combat mode, and found Smriti cowering on one side of the bed while the old man stood at the other - ‘her’ side of the bed. She was still screaming hysterically, and the old man was looking mostly like a bewildered puppy. I rushed over to her, keeping a wary eye on the old guy, and she hugged me tight.
“Back away man!” I screamed at the old guy - who just blinked at me. I put a hand on Smriti’s head, and gently tried to make her let go of me so I could - I don’t know, deal with the guy! Instead she stopped me.
“I woke up and he was standing over me.... he was…”
“Hush, it’s OK. I’m here.”
“No I know, Kush - I’m saying he was just standing by my side. He was… I think he was trying to put his hand on my head and stroke my hair. I just over-reacted.”
My fight or flight response seemed to be dying down, and I said, “No - that’s pretty spooky actually. You were right to scream.” I bent down to kiss her on the forehead.
Looking up again, I noticed the old man had got that same knowing look in his eyes again.
“I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry. I had no choice” He said in that hoarse voice of his, and started walking toward the bedroom door. In a few swift, sure strides he was gone.
“Hey - hey!” I called and ran after him, Smriti’s protestations ignored.
I followed him into the spare bedroom where he had come to a halt. Probably took a wrong turn thinking this was the way back to the sitting room.
“It really is a wonder!” He seemed to chuckle. “I remember this room!”
“What the hell-? Who are you? Did you live here?”
He turned to me, tears shining in his eyes as he said “I am so sorry! I don’t belong here. But they’re killing us - oh dear father, they’re killing me!”
He slumped to his knees on the carpeted floor and started crying gently. I stood there, mouth agape, feeling utterly lost, Smriti stood behind me, equally aghast.
Well, damn.
4
The harried looking officer finally got off the phone. “Sorry about that. How can I help you?”
“My name’s Kush - Kushang Sen. I have a missing person to hand over to you.”
She just looked at me for a second and then raised an eyebrow.
“I mean - look, a cabbie brought this old guy to my door yesterday - last night - I mean a few hours ago.” I had no idea why I was stammering. “The thing is, he had this chit in his pocket with my address on it, and that’s it. He’s somehow wrong in the head. He won’t speak; except when he does, he says ‘they’re killing us’. I’d called earlier tonight and someone here had said they’d send someone over in the morning, but he spooked us by waking up in the middle of the night… I think he’s Christian by the way, because he seemed to curse...”
“Stop, please stop!” The officer said. “Who did you speak to when you called earlier?”
“I don’t know - whoever was on the phone around midnight?”
“That would be me.” She sighed, clearly cursing her luck. “I’m sorry sir; I’m sure I wrote this down somewhere, but can you back up and start at the beginning for me?” She took up a notepad and a pen that sat next to the phone and stared down at me over the grill she stood - or sat - behind.
Police stations are designed to make you feel puny. Everywhere they can they put grills, and noticeboards, and dingy walls painted the most depressing shade of green that look sicklier in the not bright enough lighting.
I turned to look at the old man where he sat on a bench that clearly had had no ergonomic considerations behind its design and sighed. He sat there perfectly peaceful, in his white pyjamas (yeah, not asking for those back), his coat in a neat bundle on his lap. He seemed somehow at home in the quiet of the police station at this early hour - as an occasional cop or a civilian walked past.
“So about half past eleven last night - tonight - when we got home, there was this cab standing outside my door…” I began to tell the story again.
When I was done, and she’d berated me for not noting down the license plate or tag number of the cab that dropped him off, she handed me a bunch of forms to fill. Of course she did! Because what better did I have to do at three in the morning!?
Grumpy, sleepy, and beginning to feel the beginnings of a hangover I went back to the bench and joined the old man. The forms were a pain to fill - they were bilingual, and I was always unsure if I was supposed to write above the printed lines on the form (in English) or below it (as we do in Hindi!). I chuckled at that.
“I shouldn’t be here.” The old man was lucid again.
“Officer -” I called. “He’s talking. You might want to take a statement”
“Um hmm…” was all I got out of her.
I turned to the old man, and popped the question I had kept at the ready for his next bout of sense: “Sir, I need you to tell me your name, and address now.”
“Too disruptive.” He shuddered. “Subtlety. I need to reduce exposure. I cannot interfere directly. The effects would be horrific.”
“You said they’re killing you. Who is killing you?” I was desperate - certain that his next sentence would be the last for a long while.
“They have to. There are too many of us. The pressure on resources.” His eyes teared up again, “I understand why - but I couldn’t die. When it came to it, I just couldn’t!”
A shiver ran down my spine again. His eyes had not glazed over as I had expected them to.
“Who are you?” I whispered. “You can tell me. I’ll keep you safe.”
A sardonic smile touched his lips as he said, “You will? Too safe. Too old. Too many.”
Then his face turned to a look of pure terror, as he wailed, “They’re killing us!”
That got people’s attention. The officer behind the desk was now looking at me funny, and I could tell she was thinking about stepping out from behind her glorious and powerful elevated desk and coming over. The old man had gone slack-jawed and glazed-looking again.
“He keeps saying that!” I said in a loud voice in the general direction of the onlookers. “I have no clue why!”
For a minute nothing moved; and then the station returned to that low hum of activity that pervades such places. Clearly, they got all types and this was just par for the course. I got back to filling my forms quietly.
When I was done, I took the paperwork over to the officer behind the desk again. “Here you go - if you want to have a look.”
“Thank you” she said, taking the paperwork without a glance. After a brief moment of hesitation she continued, “You know, you’ve really done a good thing here. Most people would’ve let him wander on the streets until someone mugged him or landed him in a hospital.”
“It’s nothing.” I said, a little proud of myself anyway. “You probably get this all the time?”
“No, we really don’t. Missing persons is one thing but what you’ve got is a found person, mostly whole. Not saying it doesn’t happen, but usually it’s a junkie or a drunk who will wake up and remember who they are eventually.”
“So what happens next with him?” I asked.
“We’ll put him in a shelter. Check if anyone’s reported him missing near the airport. Cabbie could’ve lied about where he picked up the fare. He would’ve if he was smart. If we have to, we’ll run his photo and prints. Someone will turn up to claim him, don’t worry.”
“Right. Maybe you can trace his coat too...”
She chuckled. “This isn’t like on TV, sir. Those things cost money and take time. I have a feeling he’s just a senile old man whose family will be along shortly. He looks well fed. He’s neither homeless nor starving. Someone probably mugged him for all his belongings and he picked up that coat on the streets, after. The cabbie bringing him to you was just a lucky break.”
“He’s not right in the head… maybe he got out of an institution?”
“Hmm, that's good thinking! We’ll check up on that angle too.”
“Right.”
I stood there for a second, unsure about what to do next.
“You’re done sir. I have all the paperwork I need. Here’s your ID back.” She’d taken my license earlier to photocopy. “Thank you for bringing him in. You can head home now.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” She smiled the smile of a person who’s not used to smiling that much. It was tentative, awkward even.
“I will just head home then.”
“You do that.”
I turned to look at where he sat - looking rather forlorn to be honest. Or was that just my imagination? I was sure he had looked peaceful earlier. I shook my head and looked at my watch. It was too goddamned late - or early, depending on how you looked at it. I had to get back to my routine in far too few hours, and I was probably going to be hung over.
I realized I was looking for excuses to not leave the old guy behind.
5
“Kush, man! What’s wrong?”
“Ray! How’s it hanging?”
“No.” There was a pause and over the line I could hear him reaching for something - a watch or a clock probably. “No no no no and NO! I mean what the fuck is wrong with you man? Its four freaking AM. No one wakes me at four freaking AM.”
“I bet you weren’t even asleep, you party animal, you!”
“Someone better be dead, dude. Or someone’s going to be.”
“Are you in bed with a hottie? Because if you’re not I need you to do me a solid.” There was no response. “Come on man, don’t zone out on me. I need a favour.” I said, fervently hoping he wasn’t high; or drunk, or both.
“Sure…” he drawled finally, resigned to being awake. “What can I do you for?”
“Open the door, I’m outside.”
“Well, fuck!” There was a click and the line went dead.
I put the cell phone back in my trouser pocket and leaned against the car as I stood outside Ray’s yard. A quick glance assured me the old man was where I’d left him - strapped into the passenger seat. He was staring fascinatedly at the A/C grille in the dash.
The door opened and Ray stepped through. The last unmarried friend in my one-time posse, his spooky resemblance to Zach Gallifiakanis went a long way in explaining why that was the case. Short and portly with a scrappy beard and general dishevelled look, he was a hirsute and filthy contrast to the passenger in my car. Probably hadn’t shaved or showered in a week, the jackass - maybe they had that in common.
He walked over through the grown over garden to the gate that was set in the desultory fence around it. False light was beginning to show in the sky as he walked up to me and fixed a grumpy not-enough-sleep glare on me.
“What the f-” he started, and then stopped as he noticed the old man. “Who’s grandpa?”
“He's your house-guest for a day or two or until the weekend if you’ll have him.” I guess I could’ve broken it to him slowly, but ours wasn’t that kind of friendship.
“Let me guess - rich relative, big inheritance?”
“Yeah, right. No such luck. Look, he’s slow; sort of senile you know? He needs help… he doesn’t understand… he’s not right in head, he...”
“Look at you!” Ray giggled. “She’s whipped the R-word out of your vocabulary now? Ha ha ha ha”
I groaned, and despite myself pinched the bridge of my nose; this only made him laugh harder.
“Look,” I finally said, “Can we at least talk about this inside?”
“Sure man. Mi casa, su casa! Come on in”
I coaxed and prodded the old man - I really should give him a temp name now - into Ray’s filthy palace of chemical pleasures and made him sit down on the ratty couch. The table next to it had what I suspected was a recently used hookah on it. I could still smell the weed!
I followed Ray into the kitchen where he had started on the coffee.
“So you read my book yet, you sorry bastard?”
“I started it” I said. In my defence, I cringed a little at that little white lie. Ray wrote science fiction - and although it wasn’t my thing, the man did sell tons of books.
“What did you think of when the spy’s wife turns out to be a killer fem-bot?”
I confess I opened my mouth to speak and then froze as I sensed the trap far too late! “Sorry!” was all I could manage.
He mouthed “bastard” back at me and poured out three steaming hot cups of coffee.
I watched him walk over from the kitchen to where the old man sat, and set the mug down gingerly on the table, next to the hookah. He hesitated a minute, and then gently took the man’s hand and put it around the mug. The old man seemed to understand, and took a hesitant sip. I relaxed - Ray had a good heart and I was sure I was doing the right thing here.
I focussed on my own mug and took a sip. As the dark, delicious brew started filling my woolly head with complete words - then sentences - I recounted the night’s events to my friend, who listened patiently.
“You softie!” he said. I shrugged as he continued “So let me get this straight - you’re too softy-soft to let the guy get sent to a shelter, your balls are in a vice at home so that’s a non-starter, and so you figured you’d dump the guy on me?”
“Vice - that's it! Thank you - that was the word I wanted.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind; Look, it’s just for a couple of days” I replied “Until the weekend, when I have some time to sort this out. I’m sure someone will come forward and claim him - if not I’ll take him to a decent shelter myself. One that isn’t - you know…”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll owe you one!” I was pretty sure the deal was done.
“I don’t have to like - clean his poop or anything do I?” He asked. “Is he litter-trained?”
“I don’t know mate - maybe you should show him where the bathroom is!” I said - then added “Look - also, he has these moments of clarity. He says stuff; weird stuff. Like shit from your stories, all right? Keep an ear tweaked when he speaks. He might say a name or give us a clue to who he is!”
“How about that?” Ray looked thoughtful. We both turned to look at the old man where he sat.
Our little mystery. It was all a bit exciting actually!
6
The coffee had worn off and I had a pounding headache, which seemed to pulse in rhythm with my phone, which was ringing.
“HeyhoneyitsKush” I blurted, as I held the phone to my ear and narrowed my eyes trying to reduce the brightness of the screen in front of me the old fashioned way.
I heard an intake of breath on the other end before she said “That bad huh? Poor baby!”
“Iamallright. It’s just a headache.” My mouth felt like it was made of wool. My head wasn’t much different. I took a sip of water.
“Just checking in - I had to leave before you got home. Did you eat breakfast? I’d left a banana and some oats on the island”
“Yeah” I lied, staring at the uneaten banana to the left of my screen. I had no idea why I’d carried it. “I did thanks! Look, I’m just going to go home I think. This is hopeless. No way can I work today. I need a nap. I’ll call you once I’m feeling more human, OK?”
“Yeah ok sweetie. You get a good rest.”
She didn’t hang up.
“What?” I asked
“About that other thing…” she sounded uncertain
“The sono is not for a few weeks right? I’m cool with that.”
“No not that; the old man.”
“Yeah, what about him?”
I could just picture her biting her lip absentmindedly, as she did when she wasn’t sure what to say next. “You sure he’s going to be OK? Do you know if the cops took him to that shelter yet?”
I sighed and said nothing.
“I mean” she continued, a bit hesitant “Is there any way we can - you know, help make sure he’s going to be OK?”
“Are you feeling guilty?” I chuckled, despite the headache.
“It’s just… I can’t shake the feeling. Something about him - I don’t know!”
“What?”
“Last night, when - you know, when he freaked me out, he was looking at me so… He looked at me like he knew me; like I knew him!”
“Yeah - why had you left the door unlocked by the way?”
“Because I thought you might sneak in later, you bozo. Four years, and you still don’t have a read on me?” There was a smile in her voice. Despite the hangover I felt warm and fuzzy.
“Right.”
“Anyway” she said, “Somehow I just… I guess I want to know he’s OK, you know?”
“Yeah, listen…” I almost - almost told her. “I’ll stop by the station on the way home to see if they’ve sorted things out. Maybe call Ray and ask if he can help, OK?”
“You’d do that? Good idea, yes – definitely do that! It is about time the king of ganja made himself useful!”
“I have to hang up now, OK? I love you!”
“Love you too!”
With a click the line went dead. I looked up to see a colleague staring at me over the cubicle wall. There was no sense of privacy with these people!
“The cops are here” she said “for you!” She actually sounded happy saying that.
I groaned and looked up to where a guy in a suit was talking to my boss. Sure enough, the boss was soon beckoning me over. As I reached them both, he said,
“The detective here has some questions for you. About some homeless person you dropped off at the station last night? Hope you’re not in trouble, Kush! Ha ha!” I managed a weak smile. “You can use my office, Detective..?”
They shook hands, but the detective never offered his name. My boss looked a bit nonplussed, but then went on his way. Before he did, he leaned in close to me and said “Good lord, man. Look at you - just go home after this OK? Call me later.”
I nodded meekly, and followed the detective into the cabin. We both took seats in a little sit down area, slightly away from the boss’ desk. Through the glass panel we could see - but mercifully not hear - the low hum that pervaded the office floor.
I really hated these ‘open plan’ offices with a passion. Too much light, too much noise, no privacy, and I actually got less done. And they were even worse when you had a hangover and hadn’t had much sleep! I missed the times when you had nice big square cubicles where you could take a nap if you needed one...
“Mr Sen,” the detective started, “Thank you for speaking with me. I just had a few routine questions, so this should not take more than a few minutes.”
“That’s okay”. I tried to focus on his face, but there were painful dancing lights in the way.
“I take it you brought in a vagrant to the station last night?”
“Yeah - I wouldn’t call him a vagrant though.”
“No?”
“I mean a cabbie brought him over. Officer thought he might have been mugged. He was probably high- drugged or senile. Wouldn’t speak…”
The detective held up a hand. “I’m sorry - he came to you in a cab? Where was he coming from?”
“Yeah, he had this chit in his pocket with…” I paused. “You know. My uh… address. Look, I put all of this in the incident report last night.”
“I’ve read it.” He said. “I just need you to go over it with me one more time to make sure all the facts are in order.”
“All the facts are in order” I said, despite myself. “He he. That’s old.”
“I’m sorry?”
“No - sorry, it is just a very clichéd thing to… never mind me. Yeah, he had a note in his pocket with my address on it so the cabbie brought him to our door.”
“Did you get the license or tag ID for the cab?”
“No - he ran off too quickly - as soon as we had the old guy out of his car in fact.”
“Not even a partial plate?”
“No, sorry; I was pretty drunk at the time. We were just getting home from a party.” I paused. “Which is also why I’m, you know, hungover right now?”
“I understand” he said, clearly not understanding at all that there was a freaking brass quintet of pain playing in my head right now. “Go on.”
“So yeah long story short, he spooked my wife and me. Or is that my wife and I? I never really understood why one is grammatically correct and...”
The detective harrumphed.
“Right, sorry” I continued, “So yeah, he spooked us and I decided, having recovered sufficiently from my drinking - after a couple of hours of sleep by the way, so I wasn’t driving under the influence or anything - to drive him over to the station.”
“Did he say anything while he was with you?”
I don’t know why, but that got my hackles up.
“Nothing I could make sense of.” I lied. “Just stupid pieces of… fragmented phrases you know - too hot, too cold, and too much something; that sort of thing.”
“I see. Are you sure he said nothing that might - give you pause?”
“No.”
“And who did you two speak to at the station”
“Two? No, I did all the talking actually. He just sat there. I spoke to the - I guess the Duty Officer, at the front desk. She was - um, I actually don’t remember her name.”
“That’s fine. Go on. Did anyone else interact with the two of you?”
“Now that’s about it actually.” I was properly suspicious now. Surely he’d fill in the name of the officer for me if he’d read the paperwork? “I filled out all the forms and she told me I could go home - the paperwork was in order.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about the man?” Wait - he didn’t know I had gone back, signed for the man’s custody, and left her my card? After haggling for a good ten minutes?
“You mean like physical description?” I said, trying hard to just answer his question and not give anything extra away.
“No - we have that. We have photos in fact. Just- was there anything else that felt off to you?”
“No - can’t think of anything.”
“I see”
“Look - Detective - what did you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t.”
“Right” I paused but he wouldn’t offer a name. “Look, you can leave a card maybe? I’m not in the best state right now. I will give you a call if I think of anything?”
“That’s fine. Just ring the station if you do.”
He started to get up, so I did too.
“Look I’m sorry - can I see your badge?” I insisted
“My badge?”
“Yeah Some ID?”
“Why?”
“Er... because I want to see it? Because it’s your freaking duty to show it to me if I ask?”
“Look, son…”
“Don’t ‘son’ me you patronising son of a-” I was angry now. “As a freaking taxpayer I demand to see some ID. Just-”
I was body slammed into the glass wall - which fortunately only cracked, and didn’t break when the man held me there. He had pinned one of my arms behind me, and had his pressed against my throat.
“Listen to me.” He whispered, “Just answer my questions and I’ll go away. I understand you’re having a very bad day. It must be hard - the last twelve hours or so have been crazy for you, I do understand. You find out you’re going to be a father, and then a hobo shows up at your doorstep. You’re drunk then you haven’t slept, and all this aggravation is getting to you. That however does not entitle you to obstruct an officer of the law in carrying out his duty. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Despite his chokehold (and I’m rather proud of this bit), I chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“In… In…” He released some pressure on my throat so I could speak. I wheezed in relief. We’d drawn a proper crowd by now, as people stood up in their (fucking open plan!) cubicles to watch the show. “In my incident report - in my conversation with the Officer last night who you couldn’t name - and in the last few minutes that we’ve known each other… At no time did I mention that we were pregnant, you fake detective bastard! Who the fu-”
That earned me a swift kick right in the sack, and before anyone could do anything, the “detective” had left the office in a hurry.
I just lay there, groaning, letting my anatomy recover on its own time, regretting the day I was born.
7
“Hello?” Ray sounded a little reedy when he picked up the phone. Was he smoking all day now?
“No names. I’m going to call you Sam.” I said.
“Huh?”
“Say it back to me. Say I am Sam.” I was fervently hoping Ray would get the reference. “This is deep shit dude. This is cloak and dagger. Mission Impossible, OK?
“Kush, you shithead, I am…” He got it then. “Oh. OK. Should I call you something else too?”
I sighed in exasperation. "Never mind. Is the package secure?” I asked. Yes, I really did.
“Is the package secure? Really? That’s the best you can manage?” Ray chuckled. “Yes the package is secure. My virginity is beyond question. Ha ha. Sam suggests you don’t get into writing spy novels OK?”
I rubbed my face. “I know, this is paranoid, and I’m sorry. I’m calling you from a public phone and I don’t want to say your name or what this call is really about. Satisfied?”
“Fine, whatever… I for one was relieved to find out that the package relieves itself on its own and does not require cleaning up after.”
“I’ll come get it later all right? This is messier than I’d thought. A fake detective tried to acquire package coordinates from me earlier.”
“A fake- what? You shitting me? Are you shitting me bro?! Is this some kind of a reality show prank thing you’ve pulled me into now Kush?”
“Sam…” I leaned against the phone booth wall, emphasizing the name, and sighed. “I’m not shitting you. This is some deep shit. I’m not paranoid.” I thought about that. “All right, maybe I’m acting a teensy bit paranoid, but it’s for a reason. I got fake cop interrogated man - right before he kicked me in the balls and ran off.”
“Ouch, brother! Stay safe and use lots of ice, if you need it!”
“Will do. Uh… bye now”
“You wanted to say over and out didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” I grinned. “Thought you’d laugh if I did.”
“Sam over and out!” He hung up on me, the bastard.
If after all this it turned out the old guy was just a homeless retard, I was going to hear about it for the rest of my life from Ray!
8
I was well and truly out of the routine now. I was commuting smack in the middle of the morning. Sure, I still had the remnants of that headache, but the half eaten sandwich riding shotgun with me, plus the two Paracetemol tabs I’d popped had helped reduce it to a dull roar, rather than the - uh - full throated roar it had been. Yeah, note to self - don’t get into writing.
The thing is - when you fall out of the routine, you leave the masses behind. Your clock is out of sync with everyone else’s clock. You can actually drive your car at the speeds it goes at in advertisements. You can stop to smell the flowers - although in my case that would involve jumping off the freeway long before I got back to suburbia, where I lived. I digress - the thing is though, when you fall out of routine, there isn’t as much traffic on the roads and you can spot when someone is tailing you.
This is why my tail was about to get pinned.
I screeched out of the lane I was in and got onto the off ramp at the last possible moment - sure enough the black sedan following me followed suit. As we got off the ramp and past the serious blind turn that I had been expecting and navigated like a boss, I pulled on the handbrake and left the rest to momentum. The car trailing me rear-ended me something awful - and although I’d been expecting it, and wearing my seatbelt like every good citizen should, it still jarred me through and through.
I stepped out of the car as soon as I could and ran over to the guy who had crashed into me. I was not surprised at all to find Mr Fake Detective in the driver’s seat, looking shocked - but mostly unhurt. Mostly - the bugger had split his nose on the steering wheel and there was blood all over him.
I opened his driver side door with some difficulty and pulled him out - and threw him by the side of the road. While he lay there - quite dazed - I patted him down for any weapons. He had none. No weapons, no ID, nothing in his pockets! So much for that badge!
I stayed with the flow, and kicked him in the stomach while he was down. That’s what you did in these situations, trust me.
“That was for my nards, you son of a bitch! I’m somewhat attached to them!” The bad joke made me pause, as the adrenaline began to wear off. I realized I was shivering, and laughing hysterically.
I squatted down beside the man and rubbed my bleary eyes. The smell of burnt things and the hiss of a split radiator and all the noises of the roadside flooded me then. I was suddenly tired, and had tears in my eyes. I sincerely hoped the car wouldn’t blow up like in the movies. Naah. They didn’t really do that. I was pretty sure.
“What the fuck man?!” I propped up the guy - who was recovering and watching me with a snarl on his face now - against a nearby mile marker. “Who the hell are you? Who is that old man?”
No reaction - he just stared at me. He looked kind of funny - blood flowing freely from his nose, eyes scrunched up in pain. OK, maybe not that funny.
“You have to talk! Look man - it’s like that Duty Officer said last night. This is not like the cop shows on TV! They’re not going to send a full-fledged Detective to investigate a dazed old man turning up! I know you’re not a cop. Who are you? Who is he?”
The man sighed and then said “For the record, I’m co-opting this man. The twenty four hour window is nearly done and I have to do damage control. The subject may be lost to us unless I do.” When he saw me looking at him quizzically, he tapped his head. “I have a recorder embedded. It’s for processing, later.”
I gaped. “You’re saying our conversation might be recorded for quality purposes?” He ignored that.
“All right, Mr Sen. You have me beat; literally, and figuratively. I can tell you some things - not everything. The man you found yesterday - is a - a - dangerous fugitive who must be apprehended in the next five hours or less. The consequences of us not doing so could be catastrophic.”
“Who is he?”
“He - and I - we are both of us from the future. We’re time travellers.”
I groaned and looked around. There had to be cameras somewhere.
“Look, hear me out. Yes, time travel is invented in the future. About three hundred years from now, give or take. It is a closely guarded secret known to only the highest levels of government. It was invented accidentally - the side effect of a technology that we hoped would be a huge breakthrough in the transplant of artificial limbs - we discovered we could teleport organic matter over very short distances - no more than 3.14 meters in fact. Then we discovered we could transport it over not three, but four dimensions.”
“This is like something from Ray’s books…” I thought, but said nothing.
“Are you with me so far?” he asked.
I nodded. I mean, what else could I do?
“Time travel is also illegal, and very highly restricted. Every time we’ve tried - every time someone with grandiose ideas tried to avert some great crime or tragedy - we have created something worse. We just can’t risk it - time travel to the past is taboo. Every little thing we do here in the past has ripple effects; the bigger the change, the more catastrophic the effects.”
“Yeah - I’ve seen ‘Back to the Future’.”
He chuckled. “Great movie; you’ll love the sequel trilogy! Look - have also seen Time-cop? That’s from just before your time, right?” I nodded. “So yeah, that’s me. I belong to a small team of people who are trained to catch renegade time travellers... such as the man you found.”
“So he’s here - what? - to stop something from happening, or to make something happen?”
“We’re not sure why he’s here - why he’s here now, to be honest. No offense, but nothing special happens here at this time. It could be that he’s just travelled without intending to. The first twenty four hours after such travel are critical…”
“Why?”
“It’s like he’s faxed himself to the past OK? He was taken apart atom by atom in the future, and then reconstructed here. About 19 hours ago, best as I can tell. The circuitry of our brains - it doesn’t like being taken apart and put back together. Consciousness takes time to reassert itself. Identity - coherence - takes longer. Typically for the first twenty four hours after travelling we are no better than vegetables! It has now been about 19 hours since he got to here and now. I have to find him before he becomes fully conscious and integrates with the timeline.”
“Integrates with the-? He’s already here isn’t he? He’s interacted with me - the cabbie-”
“Causality is all about magnitude.” He interrupted. Once a fully conscious traveller merges into the world, the future has already changed. We cannot pull them out again and take them back to their own time without seriously affecting the time-stream ourselves. Usually the disruptions are tiny - the time-stream adjusts around them easily. Most people forget the crazy person they saw down the road - unless the traveller does something exceptional to leave a mark! This is why most time-travellers who want to stay try to do something - we call it a Spectacular. If they do something world-changing as soon as they’re conscious, something so big that it cannot be ignored, something that changes the future not subtly but in a big way - well, it forces us to leave them where they are.”
“So you’re saying this has happened before…”
“How many random things happen that you can’t explain but are in the news, Kushang? Not all of them - but some - are renegades.”
“Right.” I was reeling. It somehow made sense - all of it. “You’re going to tell me JFK was killed by a time traveller aren’t you?”
He chuckled. Then he said nothing and just stared at me. I shivered a little.
“Look - my resources are limited. Once we find out they have travelled, we know to within a three meter radius where they are, but we don’t know for certain when they are. Heisenberg principle, in case you’ve heard of it.”
I shook my head.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m saying we can only send organic materials, so as you now know he was wearing a wool or cotton coat… carrying a slip of paper - it was probably handmade, out of organic materials. When I travelled, it was the same - I came here to within a month of when I thought he was going. I got out of my own daze, tried to pick up the thread in the area where I knew he would arrive - and I had to do all this without changing anything drastically in the past myself. I had to be careful.”
“Otherwise you would disappear from any Polaroid you carried with you in it.”
He chuckled again. “No - there wouldn’t be a Polaroid at-” He stopped and laughed this time. “Never mind the Polaroid! The point is I was too late. He had already arrived by the time I set up in the area, and now you are my only lead. If I don’t find him in another five hours - he is probably going to do something he’s planned - a Spectacular to establish himself in the timeline - to integrate with it. He is going to change the future irrevocably, and then we’ll just have to eat it and leave him be.”
“Why not -”
“Why not jump back again to a month ago and prepare better this time? Rules! It gets messy when two instances of an agent are running around in the same time segment. Universe ending paradoxes could ensue - it’s actually less risky to leave the renegade be. Also, if we fix a time too accurately, I could end up anywhere on the globe - and it would almost certainly take me longer than 24 hours to get to where I needed to be. Heisenberg principle’s a real bitch! This is also why teleportation never worked commercially by the way. Deliveries can either be on time or reach their destination - never both!”
I ignored all that. “Five hours, huh?”
“Maybe less; some subjects recover in less than 24 hours, some take more.”
“How do you know he’s not already integrated with the timeline?”
He blinked.
“Come on!” I said, “It’s possible. If there’s no Polaroid, how do you know the future hasn’t changed already? What if by taking him away from here you are committing the very - um - time crime you came here to prevent?”
“That is why we never allow more than 24 hours to pass before we pluck a subject back to where they belong. Once they establish a causal loop and integrate with the timeline - once they’re fully conscious - we have to let them be.”
“This is heavy, Doc” I shook my head and plopped down on the ground beside him.
He chuckled again. “Actually, I do have two doctorates - one in what you would call Physics - or maybe Chemistry, and one in Biochemistry.”
We heard the sirens before we saw the squad car and ambulance. He groaned. Wait - vehicles. If you travelled you needed vehicles. Where was his time machine?
“Say -” I started, “If all you can transport is organic matter, where’s your time machine? How do you get here?”
He smiled at me, and then tapped his head. “I told you I have a recorder in here. I also have my DeLorean in there.”
I gave him my now quite unique open jawed stare of incomprehension (patent pending).
“Who says time machines, or voice recorders aren’t tiny and organic in the future?”
“Right.”
“We haven’t much time.” I actually giggled. The clichés were getting ridiculous. He frowned, then continued, “Are you going to tell me where he is or not?”
My heart thudding audibly, I swallowed something bitter and said, “No.” I was quite sure - I don’t know why, but I just was. I wouldn’t.
He sighed and looked disappointed. “Subject lost. Aborting mission.”
Then in a sizzling sound, he disappeared, right in front of my eyes. There was an electric sort of burnt smell in my nose, and then something that sounded like a mini thunderclap. Probably the air rushing into the vacuum the time traveller had left behind, Ray would later hypothesize.
9
It took much, much longer than five hours to sort things out with the police. The car that had rammed me had been reported stolen, I had no good explanation for why two different traffic cams showed me swerving off the freeway suddenly, and of course the car thief had clearly run away from the scene.
Later, Smriti came to the station to pick me up and I finally went home that evening for some well-deserved rest.
Ah, sleep!
10
The next morning, I called work to say I would not be coming in, and the boss had no problem with that. They probably thought I was a drug dealer. I’m sure he had seen me with Ray once or twice. I’d have to do some damage control there.
I was feeling a lot better - almost human in fact after my regulation 8 hours. I looked on the bright side - The routine had no grip on me yet again!
There was nothing ‘spectacular’ on the news. Clearly the old guy hadn’t been a terrorist. No bombs had gone off, no assassinations had occurred. The biggest news on TV was a possible bout of unseasonable weather. Everything was as it should be. Huh - how about that?
Ray wouldn’t answer his phone, so after a (forced) healthy breakfast and some struggling over unfamiliar bus and train schedules (I had no idea when I’d get my car back), I finally saw off my loving, protesting wife and made my way over the his place.
Right from the gate in the fence I knew something was off. The front door was slightly ajar. Come rain, come shine, come coitus or hangover, my recluse of a friend was always for keeping doors and windows tightly shut. On most days he’d probably be arrested - or worse - if whatever he was smoking that day wafted out! My heart racing, I ran the short distance from the fence to the door and pushed it wide open… to find Ray, with duct tape over his mouth, tied firmly to his armchair. He was looking at me - eyes wide and angry and scared and somehow accusing all at once...
I quickly went through the house - there was no sign of the old man - and then came back to liberate my friend.
“What the fuck man?” Were the first auspicious words out of his mouth, “Who the fuck checks the house first and then rescues their friend?”
“What?” I bristled “What if he was hiding around the corner? What if the first thing you’d said to me when like an idiot I pulled the duct tape before checking the house had been IT’S A TRAP!”
“Oh god, please promise me you’ll never write fiction!” Ever the author, that’s Ray.
“Whatever you fat fuck. What happened?”
“I got beat up by a geriatric is what happened.” He paused at that. “Don’t tell Smriti OK? I’ll never live it down.”
“He actually beat you up?!”
“Knocked me out more like” Ray said, as I untangled him from the long electric cord that had been used to tie him down. He shook his arms and looked around. “Knocked me out with my own hookah looks like” He pointed at the apparatus where it lay on the floor, somewhat worse for the wear. “Ouch” he continued, feeling the back of his head. “I think I’ll have a concussion.”
Once I’d made sure Ray was actually OK (by his standards) I sat him down in the armchair again and gave him the orange juice I had found in his fridge. “
He robbed me man!” Ray had said when I opened the fridge. “He took away all the food he could carry! Left the orange juice because he’s probably tasted it before!”
“Did he say anything? Did he remember who he was?”
“Well, when I woke up - and when he was sure no one else was coming - I mean who wants to visit an ace author, right? - well then he did the damndest thing!” I just started at him blankly. “All righty then; clearly you’re in no mood to play 20 questions! Fine, I’ll tell you” He continued, “Once he was sure no one else was coming, and he was in no danger, he sat me down and - I kid you not - told me a story.
He kept saying stories have power. Stories, legends are spectacular enough - that was like a mantra he kept repeating. He told me a proper science fiction story about two scientists. One is a biologist who discovers he can create synthetic organs - but that’s not all, he can create pretty much any machinery he likes out of DNA and cellulose and shit. He eradicates death, man. Mind blowing!
Then there’s a physicist who discovers he can actually fax matter – but only organic matter - from one location to another. Initially thinks the experiments are failing because unbeknownst to him, his samples are travelling in time as well as in space. You fix the time, you can’t fix the place. You fix the place, you can’t fix the time. Heisenberg uncertainty principle - pretty basic plot device, but a nice twist on time travel actually. I’m sure it’s been used before…
Anyway; so one day he discovers two samples in his lab one day instead of one - because one is from the future! Time travel’s only possible to the past you see - the future is unformed. And then he talked through some pretty solid paradox stuff, something about causal loops and integration with the timelines. I didn’t get all of it.
Then he says to me there’s a story in there; in those two concepts. I just have to find it. Stories have power - stories can be spectacularly powerful, he says – or something along those lines. Then just runs out with all the food and money in the place. It was a bit anti-climactic really.”
I had my slack jawed stare of - not incomprehension this time, but awe - on. “You’re his Spectacular!”
“What?” Ray said.
“He integrated by seeding the ideas that created the tech that helped him come here. Probably did it decades earlier than they would have come through!”
“Dude - you saying he was a time traveller?”
Ray didn’t get a straight answer for me some time, because I was laughing at the sheer brilliance of the scheme.
Epilogue
48 years later
When the door to the room opened, my heart leapt.
“Avinash? Is that you?” I was surprised at how croaky my own voice sounded. I had hoped, but it wasn’t him. Maybe he wouldn’t get here in time. I knew my time was done - and my son was a continent away. My doctor walked in instead.
“Uncle it’s me - Jyoti” She brought a smile to my face anyway. “How are you feeling today?” She went over to my chart.
“Much better now that you’re here.”
Ray’s kid - who’d have thought it? - Ray’s kid was my oncologist! God, I missed Ray; almost as much as I missed Smriti. It sucks to be the last of the posse to go.
“I spoke to Avinash earlier. I’ll get a VC unit in here later, you can talk to him. He’s on his way.”
“Do I have enough time? Will he be here when I… go?”
That made her pause. She came over to me and put a hand on my forehead, gentle as ever. “I’m going to make sure he is, OK?”
“Any news from that research project? Am I in the program?”
“Uncle - I’m sorry. There are no results there yet. It’s just a dream.” She teared up despite her tough doctor exterior. “They’re not going to get results in time for you. I don’t want to give you false hope.”
I patted her hand reassuringly. “It’s Ray’s dream. It’s his tech. It will change the world! You’ll see. It’s OK if I don’t”
She smiled again, sadly. “There’s a visitor here to see you - says he’s an old friend. Are you up to meeting him?”
“But all my friends are dead.”
“I can tell him to go away if you like - visiting hours are almost over anyway”
“No, I’ll see him. Something that’s not part of the routine would be refreshing.”
The old man - I never did give him a temp name - walked into the room, and Jyoti stepped out after making introductions. He’d given her a fake name. I pretended I recalled who he was. He walked over and sat down at my bedside.
“Avinash doesn’t make it in time, does he?”
He looked startled when I said that - but he nodded. “No, he doesn’t.”
“So you came instead.”
“You know?” He seemed surprised.
“Yes, Avinash; I know.”
“It was the greatest regret of my life you know - not getting here in time. I had to come.”
“So I die tonight.”
“Yes” was the simple answer.
“This was the only time you could truly interact with me without endangering the timeline, wasn’t it; right when I was about to die? The number of things I can influence - the variables - are much more controlled now.”
“You’ve been reading up!” He chuckled.
“I have. An encounter with two time travellers on one glorious day will do that.”
“So he did find you - and you threw him off my scent?”
“It was the least I could do.” I chuckled. “Kicked him in the nards too!”
We both laughed at that.
“How old are you, son?” I whispered
“I am three hundred and forty eight years old, father,” came the reply.
“The bio-fax technology thing; it works! They really cracked it!”
He nodded. “The thing that enabled time travel also enabled immortality. People didn’t die any more. We almost abolished death - though we couldn’t quite get around aging. That is simple entropy in action. I’m working on it.”
“Are... - were... - will you... be in trouble? When you came to me? Bloody time travel. Mangles the grammar, doesn’t it just?”
He chuckled. “Words haven’t been invented to cover all its implications; but yes, yes it does. And yes, I was in trouble dad. But you saved me.”
“We knew. I don’t know how - and I’m not one for mysticism - but we just knew you were one of us. Your mother - she knew too.” I remembered talking about her - after. A long time after.
“I don’t remember that day very well. Just fragments.” He said his eyes distant. “I do remember looking at her while she was sleeping. She looked… beautiful.” He teared up. “It’s been hard dad, staying away from you for all this time. I just couldn’t risk interfering with my own timeline. I met her too you know. A couple of nights before she passed… you’d stepped away for a bit with the younger me. It wasn’t enough - but it was good, you know, to be with her for a while. It has been so hard!” He put a hand to his forehead.
“Well that’s OK. You got to beat and tie up your uncle Ray. That makes it all worthwhile. 48? Heck I’d give a hundred years to do that!”
We laughed at that. Then he got that serious look on his face again.
“This is weird, but as the older man in the room, I envy you father”
“How so?”
“You will die tonight. Take comfort in knowing it has been a good life. You were the best father I could have had. I love you, and always will. And your part in this world is done. I must go on -”
I held his hand close. “I’m afraid, son. Am I afraid of dying? Sure! But I’m afraid for you. What are you running from? How can I help?”
“You already have.” He paused, stroked my head like I used to stroke his, long ago when he had had a bad dream. “We solved one problem - we became immortal - and we created another. The Earth was already overburdened. It couldn’t take it. There were already too many of us, and we kept making more, and we kept living… So they’re killing us father. Once we reach 300, they… there are gas chambers again, operating gas chambers.” He fell silent then.
“Well,” I began, trying to sound certain when I was anything but. “You came back. You have three hundred years now to change things. You can change it all, son. Maybe you already have!”
He looked up again, after a time. We sat like that for a while, not speaking. Just us old men, being. It was true – I did not envy him his immortality.
The nurse came to tell us visiting hours were over, but we shooed her away. She did not come back. Maybe she understood.
“Your three hundred years of work can start tomorrow, son.” I whispered. “Tonight, just be with me. Just be here with your old man, one last time.”
And he was.
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At His Old Man's Side by Hrishikesh Diwan is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
If you enjoyed this story, consider reading my book, The Tale of the Dark Warrior - available now on Kindle!
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This is my first shot at science fiction in a long time, and probably my first time writing in the first person. If you like it, don't like it, have a comment, spot a typo (I did write it in a hurry!), or have a constructive piece of feedback, I'm all ears. Do leave a comment or a +1 below!
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At His Old Man’s Side
A short story by Hrishikesh Diwan
At His Old Man's Side by Hrishikesh Diwan is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
If you enjoy this story, consider reading my book, The Tale of the Dark Warrior - available now on Kindle!
1
It had been a glorious evening after a long day at work, and all I really wanted was one last glass of wine and to snuggle up with Smriti in front of the TV. Maybe we could half-watch one of those crappy soaps she liked, and talk. There was a lot to talk about.
I had heard the best news today. The kind of news that makes you feel like a clear vision of your future is stretched out before you and you can’t wait to live it. It was also the kind of news that made you question if you were up for it, whether you were good enough. I wondered how my father had reacted when he first learned I was about to-
“Oy! Boss, hello!?” the cabbie reached out and touched me on the shoulder as I struggled with the keys in the laptop bag with my free hand. I had a bouquet of flowers in the other hand, and was balancing the bag on the other shoulder. I stood in front of the door to our new home - not more than a week old. “I said do you live here?”
I turned and gave him a blank stare - Smriti was giggling where she stood on the kerb, slightly away from the three steps that led to the door of our apartment building. She knew I was dazed, and seemed to enjoy it. I gave up struggling with the keys and just tossed them to her. Her abysmal catching ability meant that quickly wiped the grin from her face. Damn it - I knew better than having that last martini! Maybe skip the wine later?
“Yes, yes I - we - live here. Who are you?”
“I was calling you-”
“Yeah sorry I didn’t realize you were calling out to me.”
“No problem boss. I think I have your father in the car.”
That sobered me up right quick!
“What? You - what?”
The cabbie handed me a chit with a hastily written address on it. It looked as though a child had scribbled it. The paper felt weird - oily somehow. “This is the only thing he gave me. He hasn’t spoken a word and he doesn’t have any money on him either; I checked.”
“OK this is my - our - address, but my father died some years ago. There’s some mistake…”
“Huh” said the cabbie, stroking his chin absent-mindedly “I could’ve sworn I saw a resemblance. You mind taking a look at him? Maybe you know him from somewhere - an uncle maybe? I was at the airport queue when this guy walks up and hands me that chit. We get all types, so I figure it is his first time in the city. I’ve had a few like that who don’t talk but just give you an address. He gave me yours.”
“OK, well we just moved in here, so maybe this is someone who knew the earlier tenant. Let’s see.” I nodded to Smriti asking her to go on up,
“Don’t be long” she said, squeezing my shoulder as she walked by.
I walked the short distance from the steps to the curb, and shook my head. The street was still busy for this time of night - I checked my watch - it was half past eleven. A car would drive by every few seconds anyway. Crazy city!
I was still slightly tipsy - but then this evening had called for a celebration! Walking over to the cab where it stood a few feet past our door, I noticed there was an old man in the rear. I leaned to look in through the open passenger window just as the cabbie said,
“He’s not right in the head. Just stares when you talk to him, and won’t say a word. We got here a half hour ago, and he won’t get out of the car. I was going to call the police when I saw you walk up to that door.”
“Hi” I said to the man in the back, who I didn’t recognize. He turned to look at me, and in the glare of a passing headlight I got my first good look at his face.
He looked Asian, like me, and must be quite tall because the top of his head wasn’t very far from the car roof. He had not more than a wisp or two of hair. His whole head - the pate, face, neck - was wrinkled and looked dry. His features were indescribable really; he was just a mass of wrinkles! He had a hooked nose, no teeth or dentures, and looked to be wearing some sort of rough winter coat in the middle of April! As another pair of headlights passed, I noticed his eyes. Though he had turned at my voice, he wasn’t really looking at me. The eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing just like the cabbie said.
“Hi!” I repeated, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you - what’s your name?” Getting no answer, I turned to the cabbie, shrugged, and said “I’m afraid I don’t know him.”
“Aw damn it!” said the cabbie “I don’t know why this shit keeps happening to me! At the end of my shift too - he was my last fare you know. I waited a good hour in line at the airport, and this…” He sighed. “Anyway, thanks boss. I’ll take it from here.”
I nodded and turned to go back to the door. Smriti had left it unlatched for me.
“All right - don’t make me get rough with you now. Just step out onto the curb and I’ll be on my way.” the cabbie was saying - not very politely.
I sighed, and turned away from the door. I really should’ve kept going. Damned conscience.
I got back to the cab just as the cabbie had stopped talking and had started to act. He was trying, mostly in vain, to drag the man out of the cab through the car door on the curb side. I rested both hands on the open door, looking over it and said,
“Hey come on, man. He’s just an old guy.”
“Yeah?” said the cabbie, “Well he can get out and be someone else’s problem.”
“Just take him to the station will you?” said I, “Let the police sort this out. I’m sure someone’s already reported him missing.”
“And let the cops hassle me for weeks to come? No thanks!”
I ran a hand through my hair and could literally feel my ideal evening melting away into nothing.
“Here let me try again.” I said, and pushed the cabbie away gently from the open door. The man inside - I couldn’t help noticing how big he was this time - had barely budged, and continued to stare vacantly through the windshield.
“Sir,” I tried to put on the stern cop voice I’d heard so often on TV “I need you to step out of the vehicle please.” I couldn’t help chuckling, and I turned and said to the cabbie “I’ve always wanted to say that…” That got a grin from the grumpy cabbie.
That was when the old man suddenly grabbed hold of my collar and pulled me close to his face. His eyes somehow seemed alert as he said, “They’re killing us. They’re killing us! I couldn’t fight. I had to run!”
A shiver ran down my spine at the sound of his voice. It was hoarse, but above all else he sounded terrified. His breath smelled like something rotten, and his grip was steel.
“Look - sir, please just let go of me, and we can talk. Just step outside and let’s talk all right? I’m not going to hurt you. OK?”
He slowly nodded “You would never hurt me.”
“That’s right.” I answered before I realized that hadn’t been a question, “Just step out of the car and let’s find someone to take you home.”
The old man slowly shuffled over to the curb-side door and stepped out. Once he was outside, I shut the door gently and turned back to take a proper look at him.
He was over six feet tall, and must’ve once been built like a tank. I realized with a start that he was naked underneath the coat! His face didn’t look as wrinkled as it had in the dark of the cab. I couldn’t tell how old he was, but he was definitely very old - his skin had this strange texture-
I was startled as the cab suddenly started and pulled away from the kerb with a sharp screech.
“Thanks boss!” shouted the cabbie and waved his farewell - already a block down the street.
“Son of a bitch!” said I, followed by a few more imprecations that earned me a foul stare from Smriti, who had been watching at the window the whole time. Mr Eloquent, that’s me. My charge had now taken to staring intently at the door to our house; the vacant look was back on his face.
Well, so there I was, standing in the street, right beside this old man. My ordeal was just starting!
2
“Look I know this is one of those situations…” I tried to say.
“No!” she said; shouted actually.
“It’s just one of those situations, where the right thing to do is really quite clear. We don’t have any other options here.”
“I said NO!”
“Smriti, I’m not just going to turn this poor old guy out on the street!”
“And I’m not just going to let this poor old naked guy sleep in my home! And certainly not in the room that we decided an hour ago was going to be a nursery!”
“Look, all I’m saying…”
“You’re doing it again.”
“What? All I’m saying is it is a question of just one night…”
“You always do this. You act all calm and try to sound very wise, and all you’re really doing is being a condescending jerk!” She actually stamped her foot. I never got why people did that!
“What do you want me to do, baby? You’re the one that said I’m too drunk to drive!” I knew this was going to be a mistake even as I said it, so I tried another tack “Look, you know I called the cops - they say to sit tight and they’ll send someone in the morning.”
“Call them back and tell them it’s an emergency. Say he’s dying or something.”
“Would you listen to yourself? I can’t lie to the police, honey! They’ll just lock me up or fine me or... something”
“Well I won’t be able to sleep at all with him in the house… and the doctor said I need my rest.”
“Come on - I can’t believe you’re using that card already!” Oh snap. I really shouldn’t have said that!
“I will have you know,” she began, her voice dangerously calm “that this is a life changing experience for me. It is a big deal sheltering a homeless hobo like this. Reasonable people don’t do this! What if he turns out to be a homicidal maniac huh? It’s not like you can take him!”
She had a point - the old guy was well built and his grip was rather strong. I ignored the agony my male ego was undergoing and was terribly conscious of my five foot something frame. Did that low blow from her get me out of politically incorrect prison? Of course not!
“So here’s what we’re going to do, Mr Good Samaritan. You can stay up all night and watch over him while I spend a restless night inside, not sleeping.”
She stomped off before I could respond. Not like I had anything pithy to say. I looked at the old man again, where we’d cajoled him to sit down in the lone armchair. I could swear there was a little grin on his face as he made short work of the bowl of porridge we’d put in his hands. Boy, could he tuck in!
We stood in one of two rooms we’d managed to furnish so far in this two bedroom house we’d just bought - and that with an assortment of knick-knacks all bought second hand. Money was tight, and it was going to get tighter now!
Smriti stomped back into the sitting room and all over that depressing line of thought right then, and threw a pillow and a sheet at me. I caught them reflexively, my mouth open. Then she stomped back out, and came back at me again - this time tossing another sheet and pillow at my already fully hands. I didn’t really move from my spot until I heard the bedroom door slam loudly shut.
I sighed, and said to our visitor, “One word about this to anyone, and I’m shipping you off to the nearest shelter.”
Apparently, ‘help, there’s a harmless nameless old guy in my house’ didn’t constitute an emergency. The police had said they’d send someone around the next morning, and the two nearby shelters that were listed in the phone book had not answered their phones. So much for paying my taxes!
The bedroom door opened again and Smriti threw something at my head a third time while it was turned away. I was trying to lay out the sheets - one for me, and one for the old man - on the carpet.
“See if that fits him” she said, not unkindly. “He can’t sleep in that horrid coat! And don’t think I haven’t noticed he’s naked underneath...”
I unbundled the oversized white kurta and pyjama pair that I’d mistakenly bought a few weeks ago. So much for assuring Smriti I knew what my size was and didn’t need to use the trial rooms when shopping like she insisted.
“Aye aye, ma’am!” I said, turning to where she stood, looking at me with a solid Amazonian glare. “I have to tell you - dressing a confused and naked old dude was not how I was thinking this evening would end.”
I gave her what I thought of as my best most ingratiating puppy dog smile - and as usual it got me a disgusted huff out of her, as she wheeled around, walked away, and slammed the bedroom door shut again a few seconds later.
“Women, huh?” I said to the old guy, who come to think of it was completely unaware of the fact that his coat had fallen open and his wares were on full display. The porridge bowl - mercifully empty - had slipped from his fingers and was resting on the carpet. I groaned. “Oh come on man… my evening’s pretty screwed already. I don’t need that view to top it off!”
After several minutes of threatening, pulling, prodding, cajoling, and mostly uselessly gesticulating at the man, I managed to get the coat off and the pyjamas on him. In the bargain, getting more than a few views I’d sooner forget. I then patted on the sheet I’d laid out for him and at least this he seemed to understand. At first he squatted down on it tentatively, then quietly lay his head down on the pillow, and finally curled up into a foetal position and closed his eyes.
I felt a pang of something, seeing him like that. I shook my head, and lay down myself. It had been a long, packed day - a Wednesday, no less. In less than six hours the routine would kick off again.
Ah, the dreaded routine. Wake up, get ready, get to work, get home, veg out a little, fall asleep. Ad nauseum, ad infinitum - conducted with metronomic regularity by this thing called ‘weekends’ - which only serve to screw us over by offering the illusion of ‘recreation’. I took a certain amount of comfort in it, truth be told; in its regularity, its predictability. There was a degree of safety and order in it, an exception to the otherwise chaotic and noisy world.
I looked at the old man again, and wondered what his story was. Where had he come from to disturb my nice little inconsequential routine? Does he have a family, or is he just another nameless, discarded person in the crowd of the world? Does he have a son? If he does, I hope my own son treats me better than this guy’s son has treated him…
I am going to be a father. The enormity of that kind of scared me still, though I hadn’t said as much to Smriti. All the sophistry, all the fuzzy feeling nonsense off of greeting cards, and at the other end all the debates about living an unburdened life, or about not adding a burden onto the planet’s resources - all of it had muted down into a dull buzz. A single pressing note of pure panic had taken hold of me when I’d found out today. The doctor had said it was normal for men to freeze up when they first heard, and of course she and Smriti had had a good laugh about my reaction.
Freeze up? Yeah, not how I’d describe it. It was more like someone had gripped my balls in a - a - well, like they were jammed anyway! Was I really up for this?!
I shook my head again. It did not do to dwell on it. One day at a time. Think about the routine. How the fuck was I going to make time tomorrow to take this old crow down to the police station?
3
I woke up at the sound of Smriti’s scream, and in a daze, stumbled over to the bedroom through the short passage connecting it to the sitting room, where I and the old man were - had been - sleeping. My heart went into overtime when I saw he was not in the room.
I entered the bedroom in full combat mode, and found Smriti cowering on one side of the bed while the old man stood at the other - ‘her’ side of the bed. She was still screaming hysterically, and the old man was looking mostly like a bewildered puppy. I rushed over to her, keeping a wary eye on the old guy, and she hugged me tight.
“Back away man!” I screamed at the old guy - who just blinked at me. I put a hand on Smriti’s head, and gently tried to make her let go of me so I could - I don’t know, deal with the guy! Instead she stopped me.
“I woke up and he was standing over me.... he was…”
“Hush, it’s OK. I’m here.”
“No I know, Kush - I’m saying he was just standing by my side. He was… I think he was trying to put his hand on my head and stroke my hair. I just over-reacted.”
My fight or flight response seemed to be dying down, and I said, “No - that’s pretty spooky actually. You were right to scream.” I bent down to kiss her on the forehead.
Looking up again, I noticed the old man had got that same knowing look in his eyes again.
“I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry. I had no choice” He said in that hoarse voice of his, and started walking toward the bedroom door. In a few swift, sure strides he was gone.
“Hey - hey!” I called and ran after him, Smriti’s protestations ignored.
I followed him into the spare bedroom where he had come to a halt. Probably took a wrong turn thinking this was the way back to the sitting room.
“It really is a wonder!” He seemed to chuckle. “I remember this room!”
“What the hell-? Who are you? Did you live here?”
He turned to me, tears shining in his eyes as he said “I am so sorry! I don’t belong here. But they’re killing us - oh dear father, they’re killing me!”
He slumped to his knees on the carpeted floor and started crying gently. I stood there, mouth agape, feeling utterly lost, Smriti stood behind me, equally aghast.
Well, damn.
4
The harried looking officer finally got off the phone. “Sorry about that. How can I help you?”
“My name’s Kush - Kushang Sen. I have a missing person to hand over to you.”
She just looked at me for a second and then raised an eyebrow.
“I mean - look, a cabbie brought this old guy to my door yesterday - last night - I mean a few hours ago.” I had no idea why I was stammering. “The thing is, he had this chit in his pocket with my address on it, and that’s it. He’s somehow wrong in the head. He won’t speak; except when he does, he says ‘they’re killing us’. I’d called earlier tonight and someone here had said they’d send someone over in the morning, but he spooked us by waking up in the middle of the night… I think he’s Christian by the way, because he seemed to curse...”
“Stop, please stop!” The officer said. “Who did you speak to when you called earlier?”
“I don’t know - whoever was on the phone around midnight?”
“That would be me.” She sighed, clearly cursing her luck. “I’m sorry sir; I’m sure I wrote this down somewhere, but can you back up and start at the beginning for me?” She took up a notepad and a pen that sat next to the phone and stared down at me over the grill she stood - or sat - behind.
Police stations are designed to make you feel puny. Everywhere they can they put grills, and noticeboards, and dingy walls painted the most depressing shade of green that look sicklier in the not bright enough lighting.
I turned to look at the old man where he sat on a bench that clearly had had no ergonomic considerations behind its design and sighed. He sat there perfectly peaceful, in his white pyjamas (yeah, not asking for those back), his coat in a neat bundle on his lap. He seemed somehow at home in the quiet of the police station at this early hour - as an occasional cop or a civilian walked past.
“So about half past eleven last night - tonight - when we got home, there was this cab standing outside my door…” I began to tell the story again.
When I was done, and she’d berated me for not noting down the license plate or tag number of the cab that dropped him off, she handed me a bunch of forms to fill. Of course she did! Because what better did I have to do at three in the morning!?
Grumpy, sleepy, and beginning to feel the beginnings of a hangover I went back to the bench and joined the old man. The forms were a pain to fill - they were bilingual, and I was always unsure if I was supposed to write above the printed lines on the form (in English) or below it (as we do in Hindi!). I chuckled at that.
“I shouldn’t be here.” The old man was lucid again.
“Officer -” I called. “He’s talking. You might want to take a statement”
“Um hmm…” was all I got out of her.
I turned to the old man, and popped the question I had kept at the ready for his next bout of sense: “Sir, I need you to tell me your name, and address now.”
“Too disruptive.” He shuddered. “Subtlety. I need to reduce exposure. I cannot interfere directly. The effects would be horrific.”
“You said they’re killing you. Who is killing you?” I was desperate - certain that his next sentence would be the last for a long while.
“They have to. There are too many of us. The pressure on resources.” His eyes teared up again, “I understand why - but I couldn’t die. When it came to it, I just couldn’t!”
A shiver ran down my spine again. His eyes had not glazed over as I had expected them to.
“Who are you?” I whispered. “You can tell me. I’ll keep you safe.”
A sardonic smile touched his lips as he said, “You will? Too safe. Too old. Too many.”
Then his face turned to a look of pure terror, as he wailed, “They’re killing us!”
That got people’s attention. The officer behind the desk was now looking at me funny, and I could tell she was thinking about stepping out from behind her glorious and powerful elevated desk and coming over. The old man had gone slack-jawed and glazed-looking again.
“He keeps saying that!” I said in a loud voice in the general direction of the onlookers. “I have no clue why!”
For a minute nothing moved; and then the station returned to that low hum of activity that pervades such places. Clearly, they got all types and this was just par for the course. I got back to filling my forms quietly.
When I was done, I took the paperwork over to the officer behind the desk again. “Here you go - if you want to have a look.”
“Thank you” she said, taking the paperwork without a glance. After a brief moment of hesitation she continued, “You know, you’ve really done a good thing here. Most people would’ve let him wander on the streets until someone mugged him or landed him in a hospital.”
“It’s nothing.” I said, a little proud of myself anyway. “You probably get this all the time?”
“No, we really don’t. Missing persons is one thing but what you’ve got is a found person, mostly whole. Not saying it doesn’t happen, but usually it’s a junkie or a drunk who will wake up and remember who they are eventually.”
“So what happens next with him?” I asked.
“We’ll put him in a shelter. Check if anyone’s reported him missing near the airport. Cabbie could’ve lied about where he picked up the fare. He would’ve if he was smart. If we have to, we’ll run his photo and prints. Someone will turn up to claim him, don’t worry.”
“Right. Maybe you can trace his coat too...”
She chuckled. “This isn’t like on TV, sir. Those things cost money and take time. I have a feeling he’s just a senile old man whose family will be along shortly. He looks well fed. He’s neither homeless nor starving. Someone probably mugged him for all his belongings and he picked up that coat on the streets, after. The cabbie bringing him to you was just a lucky break.”
“He’s not right in the head… maybe he got out of an institution?”
“Hmm, that's good thinking! We’ll check up on that angle too.”
“Right.”
I stood there for a second, unsure about what to do next.
“You’re done sir. I have all the paperwork I need. Here’s your ID back.” She’d taken my license earlier to photocopy. “Thank you for bringing him in. You can head home now.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” She smiled the smile of a person who’s not used to smiling that much. It was tentative, awkward even.
“I will just head home then.”
“You do that.”
I turned to look at where he sat - looking rather forlorn to be honest. Or was that just my imagination? I was sure he had looked peaceful earlier. I shook my head and looked at my watch. It was too goddamned late - or early, depending on how you looked at it. I had to get back to my routine in far too few hours, and I was probably going to be hung over.
I realized I was looking for excuses to not leave the old guy behind.
5
“Kush, man! What’s wrong?”
“Ray! How’s it hanging?”
“No.” There was a pause and over the line I could hear him reaching for something - a watch or a clock probably. “No no no no and NO! I mean what the fuck is wrong with you man? Its four freaking AM. No one wakes me at four freaking AM.”
“I bet you weren’t even asleep, you party animal, you!”
“Someone better be dead, dude. Or someone’s going to be.”
“Are you in bed with a hottie? Because if you’re not I need you to do me a solid.” There was no response. “Come on man, don’t zone out on me. I need a favour.” I said, fervently hoping he wasn’t high; or drunk, or both.
“Sure…” he drawled finally, resigned to being awake. “What can I do you for?”
“Open the door, I’m outside.”
“Well, fuck!” There was a click and the line went dead.
I put the cell phone back in my trouser pocket and leaned against the car as I stood outside Ray’s yard. A quick glance assured me the old man was where I’d left him - strapped into the passenger seat. He was staring fascinatedly at the A/C grille in the dash.
The door opened and Ray stepped through. The last unmarried friend in my one-time posse, his spooky resemblance to Zach Gallifiakanis went a long way in explaining why that was the case. Short and portly with a scrappy beard and general dishevelled look, he was a hirsute and filthy contrast to the passenger in my car. Probably hadn’t shaved or showered in a week, the jackass - maybe they had that in common.
He walked over through the grown over garden to the gate that was set in the desultory fence around it. False light was beginning to show in the sky as he walked up to me and fixed a grumpy not-enough-sleep glare on me.
“What the f-” he started, and then stopped as he noticed the old man. “Who’s grandpa?”
“He's your house-guest for a day or two or until the weekend if you’ll have him.” I guess I could’ve broken it to him slowly, but ours wasn’t that kind of friendship.
“Let me guess - rich relative, big inheritance?”
“Yeah, right. No such luck. Look, he’s slow; sort of senile you know? He needs help… he doesn’t understand… he’s not right in head, he...”
“Look at you!” Ray giggled. “She’s whipped the R-word out of your vocabulary now? Ha ha ha ha”
I groaned, and despite myself pinched the bridge of my nose; this only made him laugh harder.
“Look,” I finally said, “Can we at least talk about this inside?”
“Sure man. Mi casa, su casa! Come on in”
I coaxed and prodded the old man - I really should give him a temp name now - into Ray’s filthy palace of chemical pleasures and made him sit down on the ratty couch. The table next to it had what I suspected was a recently used hookah on it. I could still smell the weed!
I followed Ray into the kitchen where he had started on the coffee.
“So you read my book yet, you sorry bastard?”
“I started it” I said. In my defence, I cringed a little at that little white lie. Ray wrote science fiction - and although it wasn’t my thing, the man did sell tons of books.
“What did you think of when the spy’s wife turns out to be a killer fem-bot?”
I confess I opened my mouth to speak and then froze as I sensed the trap far too late! “Sorry!” was all I could manage.
He mouthed “bastard” back at me and poured out three steaming hot cups of coffee.
I watched him walk over from the kitchen to where the old man sat, and set the mug down gingerly on the table, next to the hookah. He hesitated a minute, and then gently took the man’s hand and put it around the mug. The old man seemed to understand, and took a hesitant sip. I relaxed - Ray had a good heart and I was sure I was doing the right thing here.
I focussed on my own mug and took a sip. As the dark, delicious brew started filling my woolly head with complete words - then sentences - I recounted the night’s events to my friend, who listened patiently.
“You softie!” he said. I shrugged as he continued “So let me get this straight - you’re too softy-soft to let the guy get sent to a shelter, your balls are in a vice at home so that’s a non-starter, and so you figured you’d dump the guy on me?”
“Vice - that's it! Thank you - that was the word I wanted.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind; Look, it’s just for a couple of days” I replied “Until the weekend, when I have some time to sort this out. I’m sure someone will come forward and claim him - if not I’ll take him to a decent shelter myself. One that isn’t - you know…”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll owe you one!” I was pretty sure the deal was done.
“I don’t have to like - clean his poop or anything do I?” He asked. “Is he litter-trained?”
“I don’t know mate - maybe you should show him where the bathroom is!” I said - then added “Look - also, he has these moments of clarity. He says stuff; weird stuff. Like shit from your stories, all right? Keep an ear tweaked when he speaks. He might say a name or give us a clue to who he is!”
“How about that?” Ray looked thoughtful. We both turned to look at the old man where he sat.
Our little mystery. It was all a bit exciting actually!
6
The coffee had worn off and I had a pounding headache, which seemed to pulse in rhythm with my phone, which was ringing.
“HeyhoneyitsKush” I blurted, as I held the phone to my ear and narrowed my eyes trying to reduce the brightness of the screen in front of me the old fashioned way.
I heard an intake of breath on the other end before she said “That bad huh? Poor baby!”
“Iamallright. It’s just a headache.” My mouth felt like it was made of wool. My head wasn’t much different. I took a sip of water.
“Just checking in - I had to leave before you got home. Did you eat breakfast? I’d left a banana and some oats on the island”
“Yeah” I lied, staring at the uneaten banana to the left of my screen. I had no idea why I’d carried it. “I did thanks! Look, I’m just going to go home I think. This is hopeless. No way can I work today. I need a nap. I’ll call you once I’m feeling more human, OK?”
“Yeah ok sweetie. You get a good rest.”
She didn’t hang up.
“What?” I asked
“About that other thing…” she sounded uncertain
“The sono is not for a few weeks right? I’m cool with that.”
“No not that; the old man.”
“Yeah, what about him?”
I could just picture her biting her lip absentmindedly, as she did when she wasn’t sure what to say next. “You sure he’s going to be OK? Do you know if the cops took him to that shelter yet?”
I sighed and said nothing.
“I mean” she continued, a bit hesitant “Is there any way we can - you know, help make sure he’s going to be OK?”
“Are you feeling guilty?” I chuckled, despite the headache.
“It’s just… I can’t shake the feeling. Something about him - I don’t know!”
“What?”
“Last night, when - you know, when he freaked me out, he was looking at me so… He looked at me like he knew me; like I knew him!”
“Yeah - why had you left the door unlocked by the way?”
“Because I thought you might sneak in later, you bozo. Four years, and you still don’t have a read on me?” There was a smile in her voice. Despite the hangover I felt warm and fuzzy.
“Right.”
“Anyway” she said, “Somehow I just… I guess I want to know he’s OK, you know?”
“Yeah, listen…” I almost - almost told her. “I’ll stop by the station on the way home to see if they’ve sorted things out. Maybe call Ray and ask if he can help, OK?”
“You’d do that? Good idea, yes – definitely do that! It is about time the king of ganja made himself useful!”
“I have to hang up now, OK? I love you!”
“Love you too!”
With a click the line went dead. I looked up to see a colleague staring at me over the cubicle wall. There was no sense of privacy with these people!
“The cops are here” she said “for you!” She actually sounded happy saying that.
I groaned and looked up to where a guy in a suit was talking to my boss. Sure enough, the boss was soon beckoning me over. As I reached them both, he said,
“The detective here has some questions for you. About some homeless person you dropped off at the station last night? Hope you’re not in trouble, Kush! Ha ha!” I managed a weak smile. “You can use my office, Detective..?”
They shook hands, but the detective never offered his name. My boss looked a bit nonplussed, but then went on his way. Before he did, he leaned in close to me and said “Good lord, man. Look at you - just go home after this OK? Call me later.”
I nodded meekly, and followed the detective into the cabin. We both took seats in a little sit down area, slightly away from the boss’ desk. Through the glass panel we could see - but mercifully not hear - the low hum that pervaded the office floor.
I really hated these ‘open plan’ offices with a passion. Too much light, too much noise, no privacy, and I actually got less done. And they were even worse when you had a hangover and hadn’t had much sleep! I missed the times when you had nice big square cubicles where you could take a nap if you needed one...
“Mr Sen,” the detective started, “Thank you for speaking with me. I just had a few routine questions, so this should not take more than a few minutes.”
“That’s okay”. I tried to focus on his face, but there were painful dancing lights in the way.
“I take it you brought in a vagrant to the station last night?”
“Yeah - I wouldn’t call him a vagrant though.”
“No?”
“I mean a cabbie brought him over. Officer thought he might have been mugged. He was probably high- drugged or senile. Wouldn’t speak…”
The detective held up a hand. “I’m sorry - he came to you in a cab? Where was he coming from?”
“Yeah, he had this chit in his pocket with…” I paused. “You know. My uh… address. Look, I put all of this in the incident report last night.”
“I’ve read it.” He said. “I just need you to go over it with me one more time to make sure all the facts are in order.”
“All the facts are in order” I said, despite myself. “He he. That’s old.”
“I’m sorry?”
“No - sorry, it is just a very clichéd thing to… never mind me. Yeah, he had a note in his pocket with my address on it so the cabbie brought him to our door.”
“Did you get the license or tag ID for the cab?”
“No - he ran off too quickly - as soon as we had the old guy out of his car in fact.”
“Not even a partial plate?”
“No, sorry; I was pretty drunk at the time. We were just getting home from a party.” I paused. “Which is also why I’m, you know, hungover right now?”
“I understand” he said, clearly not understanding at all that there was a freaking brass quintet of pain playing in my head right now. “Go on.”
“So yeah long story short, he spooked my wife and me. Or is that my wife and I? I never really understood why one is grammatically correct and...”
The detective harrumphed.
“Right, sorry” I continued, “So yeah, he spooked us and I decided, having recovered sufficiently from my drinking - after a couple of hours of sleep by the way, so I wasn’t driving under the influence or anything - to drive him over to the station.”
“Did he say anything while he was with you?”
I don’t know why, but that got my hackles up.
“Nothing I could make sense of.” I lied. “Just stupid pieces of… fragmented phrases you know - too hot, too cold, and too much something; that sort of thing.”
“I see. Are you sure he said nothing that might - give you pause?”
“No.”
“And who did you two speak to at the station”
“Two? No, I did all the talking actually. He just sat there. I spoke to the - I guess the Duty Officer, at the front desk. She was - um, I actually don’t remember her name.”
“That’s fine. Go on. Did anyone else interact with the two of you?”
“Now that’s about it actually.” I was properly suspicious now. Surely he’d fill in the name of the officer for me if he’d read the paperwork? “I filled out all the forms and she told me I could go home - the paperwork was in order.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about the man?” Wait - he didn’t know I had gone back, signed for the man’s custody, and left her my card? After haggling for a good ten minutes?
“You mean like physical description?” I said, trying hard to just answer his question and not give anything extra away.
“No - we have that. We have photos in fact. Just- was there anything else that felt off to you?”
“No - can’t think of anything.”
“I see”
“Look - Detective - what did you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t.”
“Right” I paused but he wouldn’t offer a name. “Look, you can leave a card maybe? I’m not in the best state right now. I will give you a call if I think of anything?”
“That’s fine. Just ring the station if you do.”
He started to get up, so I did too.
“Look I’m sorry - can I see your badge?” I insisted
“My badge?”
“Yeah Some ID?”
“Why?”
“Er... because I want to see it? Because it’s your freaking duty to show it to me if I ask?”
“Look, son…”
“Don’t ‘son’ me you patronising son of a-” I was angry now. “As a freaking taxpayer I demand to see some ID. Just-”
I was body slammed into the glass wall - which fortunately only cracked, and didn’t break when the man held me there. He had pinned one of my arms behind me, and had his pressed against my throat.
“Listen to me.” He whispered, “Just answer my questions and I’ll go away. I understand you’re having a very bad day. It must be hard - the last twelve hours or so have been crazy for you, I do understand. You find out you’re going to be a father, and then a hobo shows up at your doorstep. You’re drunk then you haven’t slept, and all this aggravation is getting to you. That however does not entitle you to obstruct an officer of the law in carrying out his duty. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Despite his chokehold (and I’m rather proud of this bit), I chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“In… In…” He released some pressure on my throat so I could speak. I wheezed in relief. We’d drawn a proper crowd by now, as people stood up in their (fucking open plan!) cubicles to watch the show. “In my incident report - in my conversation with the Officer last night who you couldn’t name - and in the last few minutes that we’ve known each other… At no time did I mention that we were pregnant, you fake detective bastard! Who the fu-”
That earned me a swift kick right in the sack, and before anyone could do anything, the “detective” had left the office in a hurry.
I just lay there, groaning, letting my anatomy recover on its own time, regretting the day I was born.
7
“Hello?” Ray sounded a little reedy when he picked up the phone. Was he smoking all day now?
“No names. I’m going to call you Sam.” I said.
“Huh?”
“Say it back to me. Say I am Sam.” I was fervently hoping Ray would get the reference. “This is deep shit dude. This is cloak and dagger. Mission Impossible, OK?
“Kush, you shithead, I am…” He got it then. “Oh. OK. Should I call you something else too?”
I sighed in exasperation. "Never mind. Is the package secure?” I asked. Yes, I really did.
“Is the package secure? Really? That’s the best you can manage?” Ray chuckled. “Yes the package is secure. My virginity is beyond question. Ha ha. Sam suggests you don’t get into writing spy novels OK?”
I rubbed my face. “I know, this is paranoid, and I’m sorry. I’m calling you from a public phone and I don’t want to say your name or what this call is really about. Satisfied?”
“Fine, whatever… I for one was relieved to find out that the package relieves itself on its own and does not require cleaning up after.”
“I’ll come get it later all right? This is messier than I’d thought. A fake detective tried to acquire package coordinates from me earlier.”
“A fake- what? You shitting me? Are you shitting me bro?! Is this some kind of a reality show prank thing you’ve pulled me into now Kush?”
“Sam…” I leaned against the phone booth wall, emphasizing the name, and sighed. “I’m not shitting you. This is some deep shit. I’m not paranoid.” I thought about that. “All right, maybe I’m acting a teensy bit paranoid, but it’s for a reason. I got fake cop interrogated man - right before he kicked me in the balls and ran off.”
“Ouch, brother! Stay safe and use lots of ice, if you need it!”
“Will do. Uh… bye now”
“You wanted to say over and out didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” I grinned. “Thought you’d laugh if I did.”
“Sam over and out!” He hung up on me, the bastard.
If after all this it turned out the old guy was just a homeless retard, I was going to hear about it for the rest of my life from Ray!
8
I was well and truly out of the routine now. I was commuting smack in the middle of the morning. Sure, I still had the remnants of that headache, but the half eaten sandwich riding shotgun with me, plus the two Paracetemol tabs I’d popped had helped reduce it to a dull roar, rather than the - uh - full throated roar it had been. Yeah, note to self - don’t get into writing.
The thing is - when you fall out of the routine, you leave the masses behind. Your clock is out of sync with everyone else’s clock. You can actually drive your car at the speeds it goes at in advertisements. You can stop to smell the flowers - although in my case that would involve jumping off the freeway long before I got back to suburbia, where I lived. I digress - the thing is though, when you fall out of routine, there isn’t as much traffic on the roads and you can spot when someone is tailing you.
This is why my tail was about to get pinned.
I screeched out of the lane I was in and got onto the off ramp at the last possible moment - sure enough the black sedan following me followed suit. As we got off the ramp and past the serious blind turn that I had been expecting and navigated like a boss, I pulled on the handbrake and left the rest to momentum. The car trailing me rear-ended me something awful - and although I’d been expecting it, and wearing my seatbelt like every good citizen should, it still jarred me through and through.
I stepped out of the car as soon as I could and ran over to the guy who had crashed into me. I was not surprised at all to find Mr Fake Detective in the driver’s seat, looking shocked - but mostly unhurt. Mostly - the bugger had split his nose on the steering wheel and there was blood all over him.
I opened his driver side door with some difficulty and pulled him out - and threw him by the side of the road. While he lay there - quite dazed - I patted him down for any weapons. He had none. No weapons, no ID, nothing in his pockets! So much for that badge!
I stayed with the flow, and kicked him in the stomach while he was down. That’s what you did in these situations, trust me.
“That was for my nards, you son of a bitch! I’m somewhat attached to them!” The bad joke made me pause, as the adrenaline began to wear off. I realized I was shivering, and laughing hysterically.
I squatted down beside the man and rubbed my bleary eyes. The smell of burnt things and the hiss of a split radiator and all the noises of the roadside flooded me then. I was suddenly tired, and had tears in my eyes. I sincerely hoped the car wouldn’t blow up like in the movies. Naah. They didn’t really do that. I was pretty sure.
“What the fuck man?!” I propped up the guy - who was recovering and watching me with a snarl on his face now - against a nearby mile marker. “Who the hell are you? Who is that old man?”
No reaction - he just stared at me. He looked kind of funny - blood flowing freely from his nose, eyes scrunched up in pain. OK, maybe not that funny.
“You have to talk! Look man - it’s like that Duty Officer said last night. This is not like the cop shows on TV! They’re not going to send a full-fledged Detective to investigate a dazed old man turning up! I know you’re not a cop. Who are you? Who is he?”
The man sighed and then said “For the record, I’m co-opting this man. The twenty four hour window is nearly done and I have to do damage control. The subject may be lost to us unless I do.” When he saw me looking at him quizzically, he tapped his head. “I have a recorder embedded. It’s for processing, later.”
I gaped. “You’re saying our conversation might be recorded for quality purposes?” He ignored that.
“All right, Mr Sen. You have me beat; literally, and figuratively. I can tell you some things - not everything. The man you found yesterday - is a - a - dangerous fugitive who must be apprehended in the next five hours or less. The consequences of us not doing so could be catastrophic.”
“Who is he?”
“He - and I - we are both of us from the future. We’re time travellers.”
I groaned and looked around. There had to be cameras somewhere.
“Look, hear me out. Yes, time travel is invented in the future. About three hundred years from now, give or take. It is a closely guarded secret known to only the highest levels of government. It was invented accidentally - the side effect of a technology that we hoped would be a huge breakthrough in the transplant of artificial limbs - we discovered we could teleport organic matter over very short distances - no more than 3.14 meters in fact. Then we discovered we could transport it over not three, but four dimensions.”
“This is like something from Ray’s books…” I thought, but said nothing.
“Are you with me so far?” he asked.
I nodded. I mean, what else could I do?
“Time travel is also illegal, and very highly restricted. Every time we’ve tried - every time someone with grandiose ideas tried to avert some great crime or tragedy - we have created something worse. We just can’t risk it - time travel to the past is taboo. Every little thing we do here in the past has ripple effects; the bigger the change, the more catastrophic the effects.”
“Yeah - I’ve seen ‘Back to the Future’.”
He chuckled. “Great movie; you’ll love the sequel trilogy! Look - have also seen Time-cop? That’s from just before your time, right?” I nodded. “So yeah, that’s me. I belong to a small team of people who are trained to catch renegade time travellers... such as the man you found.”
“So he’s here - what? - to stop something from happening, or to make something happen?”
“We’re not sure why he’s here - why he’s here now, to be honest. No offense, but nothing special happens here at this time. It could be that he’s just travelled without intending to. The first twenty four hours after such travel are critical…”
“Why?”
“It’s like he’s faxed himself to the past OK? He was taken apart atom by atom in the future, and then reconstructed here. About 19 hours ago, best as I can tell. The circuitry of our brains - it doesn’t like being taken apart and put back together. Consciousness takes time to reassert itself. Identity - coherence - takes longer. Typically for the first twenty four hours after travelling we are no better than vegetables! It has now been about 19 hours since he got to here and now. I have to find him before he becomes fully conscious and integrates with the timeline.”
“Integrates with the-? He’s already here isn’t he? He’s interacted with me - the cabbie-”
“Causality is all about magnitude.” He interrupted. Once a fully conscious traveller merges into the world, the future has already changed. We cannot pull them out again and take them back to their own time without seriously affecting the time-stream ourselves. Usually the disruptions are tiny - the time-stream adjusts around them easily. Most people forget the crazy person they saw down the road - unless the traveller does something exceptional to leave a mark! This is why most time-travellers who want to stay try to do something - we call it a Spectacular. If they do something world-changing as soon as they’re conscious, something so big that it cannot be ignored, something that changes the future not subtly but in a big way - well, it forces us to leave them where they are.”
“So you’re saying this has happened before…”
“How many random things happen that you can’t explain but are in the news, Kushang? Not all of them - but some - are renegades.”
“Right.” I was reeling. It somehow made sense - all of it. “You’re going to tell me JFK was killed by a time traveller aren’t you?”
He chuckled. Then he said nothing and just stared at me. I shivered a little.
“Look - my resources are limited. Once we find out they have travelled, we know to within a three meter radius where they are, but we don’t know for certain when they are. Heisenberg principle, in case you’ve heard of it.”
I shook my head.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m saying we can only send organic materials, so as you now know he was wearing a wool or cotton coat… carrying a slip of paper - it was probably handmade, out of organic materials. When I travelled, it was the same - I came here to within a month of when I thought he was going. I got out of my own daze, tried to pick up the thread in the area where I knew he would arrive - and I had to do all this without changing anything drastically in the past myself. I had to be careful.”
“Otherwise you would disappear from any Polaroid you carried with you in it.”
He chuckled again. “No - there wouldn’t be a Polaroid at-” He stopped and laughed this time. “Never mind the Polaroid! The point is I was too late. He had already arrived by the time I set up in the area, and now you are my only lead. If I don’t find him in another five hours - he is probably going to do something he’s planned - a Spectacular to establish himself in the timeline - to integrate with it. He is going to change the future irrevocably, and then we’ll just have to eat it and leave him be.”
“Why not -”
“Why not jump back again to a month ago and prepare better this time? Rules! It gets messy when two instances of an agent are running around in the same time segment. Universe ending paradoxes could ensue - it’s actually less risky to leave the renegade be. Also, if we fix a time too accurately, I could end up anywhere on the globe - and it would almost certainly take me longer than 24 hours to get to where I needed to be. Heisenberg principle’s a real bitch! This is also why teleportation never worked commercially by the way. Deliveries can either be on time or reach their destination - never both!”
I ignored all that. “Five hours, huh?”
“Maybe less; some subjects recover in less than 24 hours, some take more.”
“How do you know he’s not already integrated with the timeline?”
He blinked.
“Come on!” I said, “It’s possible. If there’s no Polaroid, how do you know the future hasn’t changed already? What if by taking him away from here you are committing the very - um - time crime you came here to prevent?”
“That is why we never allow more than 24 hours to pass before we pluck a subject back to where they belong. Once they establish a causal loop and integrate with the timeline - once they’re fully conscious - we have to let them be.”
“This is heavy, Doc” I shook my head and plopped down on the ground beside him.
He chuckled again. “Actually, I do have two doctorates - one in what you would call Physics - or maybe Chemistry, and one in Biochemistry.”
We heard the sirens before we saw the squad car and ambulance. He groaned. Wait - vehicles. If you travelled you needed vehicles. Where was his time machine?
“Say -” I started, “If all you can transport is organic matter, where’s your time machine? How do you get here?”
He smiled at me, and then tapped his head. “I told you I have a recorder in here. I also have my DeLorean in there.”
I gave him my now quite unique open jawed stare of incomprehension (patent pending).
“Who says time machines, or voice recorders aren’t tiny and organic in the future?”
“Right.”
“We haven’t much time.” I actually giggled. The clichés were getting ridiculous. He frowned, then continued, “Are you going to tell me where he is or not?”
My heart thudding audibly, I swallowed something bitter and said, “No.” I was quite sure - I don’t know why, but I just was. I wouldn’t.
He sighed and looked disappointed. “Subject lost. Aborting mission.”
Then in a sizzling sound, he disappeared, right in front of my eyes. There was an electric sort of burnt smell in my nose, and then something that sounded like a mini thunderclap. Probably the air rushing into the vacuum the time traveller had left behind, Ray would later hypothesize.
9
It took much, much longer than five hours to sort things out with the police. The car that had rammed me had been reported stolen, I had no good explanation for why two different traffic cams showed me swerving off the freeway suddenly, and of course the car thief had clearly run away from the scene.
Later, Smriti came to the station to pick me up and I finally went home that evening for some well-deserved rest.
Ah, sleep!
10
The next morning, I called work to say I would not be coming in, and the boss had no problem with that. They probably thought I was a drug dealer. I’m sure he had seen me with Ray once or twice. I’d have to do some damage control there.
I was feeling a lot better - almost human in fact after my regulation 8 hours. I looked on the bright side - The routine had no grip on me yet again!
There was nothing ‘spectacular’ on the news. Clearly the old guy hadn’t been a terrorist. No bombs had gone off, no assassinations had occurred. The biggest news on TV was a possible bout of unseasonable weather. Everything was as it should be. Huh - how about that?
Ray wouldn’t answer his phone, so after a (forced) healthy breakfast and some struggling over unfamiliar bus and train schedules (I had no idea when I’d get my car back), I finally saw off my loving, protesting wife and made my way over the his place.
Right from the gate in the fence I knew something was off. The front door was slightly ajar. Come rain, come shine, come coitus or hangover, my recluse of a friend was always for keeping doors and windows tightly shut. On most days he’d probably be arrested - or worse - if whatever he was smoking that day wafted out! My heart racing, I ran the short distance from the fence to the door and pushed it wide open… to find Ray, with duct tape over his mouth, tied firmly to his armchair. He was looking at me - eyes wide and angry and scared and somehow accusing all at once...
I quickly went through the house - there was no sign of the old man - and then came back to liberate my friend.
“What the fuck man?” Were the first auspicious words out of his mouth, “Who the fuck checks the house first and then rescues their friend?”
“What?” I bristled “What if he was hiding around the corner? What if the first thing you’d said to me when like an idiot I pulled the duct tape before checking the house had been IT’S A TRAP!”
“Oh god, please promise me you’ll never write fiction!” Ever the author, that’s Ray.
“Whatever you fat fuck. What happened?”
“I got beat up by a geriatric is what happened.” He paused at that. “Don’t tell Smriti OK? I’ll never live it down.”
“He actually beat you up?!”
“Knocked me out more like” Ray said, as I untangled him from the long electric cord that had been used to tie him down. He shook his arms and looked around. “Knocked me out with my own hookah looks like” He pointed at the apparatus where it lay on the floor, somewhat worse for the wear. “Ouch” he continued, feeling the back of his head. “I think I’ll have a concussion.”
Once I’d made sure Ray was actually OK (by his standards) I sat him down in the armchair again and gave him the orange juice I had found in his fridge. “
He robbed me man!” Ray had said when I opened the fridge. “He took away all the food he could carry! Left the orange juice because he’s probably tasted it before!”
“Did he say anything? Did he remember who he was?”
“Well, when I woke up - and when he was sure no one else was coming - I mean who wants to visit an ace author, right? - well then he did the damndest thing!” I just started at him blankly. “All righty then; clearly you’re in no mood to play 20 questions! Fine, I’ll tell you” He continued, “Once he was sure no one else was coming, and he was in no danger, he sat me down and - I kid you not - told me a story.
He kept saying stories have power. Stories, legends are spectacular enough - that was like a mantra he kept repeating. He told me a proper science fiction story about two scientists. One is a biologist who discovers he can create synthetic organs - but that’s not all, he can create pretty much any machinery he likes out of DNA and cellulose and shit. He eradicates death, man. Mind blowing!
Then there’s a physicist who discovers he can actually fax matter – but only organic matter - from one location to another. Initially thinks the experiments are failing because unbeknownst to him, his samples are travelling in time as well as in space. You fix the time, you can’t fix the place. You fix the place, you can’t fix the time. Heisenberg uncertainty principle - pretty basic plot device, but a nice twist on time travel actually. I’m sure it’s been used before…
Anyway; so one day he discovers two samples in his lab one day instead of one - because one is from the future! Time travel’s only possible to the past you see - the future is unformed. And then he talked through some pretty solid paradox stuff, something about causal loops and integration with the timelines. I didn’t get all of it.
Then he says to me there’s a story in there; in those two concepts. I just have to find it. Stories have power - stories can be spectacularly powerful, he says – or something along those lines. Then just runs out with all the food and money in the place. It was a bit anti-climactic really.”
I had my slack jawed stare of - not incomprehension this time, but awe - on. “You’re his Spectacular!”
“What?” Ray said.
“He integrated by seeding the ideas that created the tech that helped him come here. Probably did it decades earlier than they would have come through!”
“Dude - you saying he was a time traveller?”
Ray didn’t get a straight answer for me some time, because I was laughing at the sheer brilliance of the scheme.
Epilogue
48 years later
When the door to the room opened, my heart leapt.
“Avinash? Is that you?” I was surprised at how croaky my own voice sounded. I had hoped, but it wasn’t him. Maybe he wouldn’t get here in time. I knew my time was done - and my son was a continent away. My doctor walked in instead.
“Uncle it’s me - Jyoti” She brought a smile to my face anyway. “How are you feeling today?” She went over to my chart.
“Much better now that you’re here.”
Ray’s kid - who’d have thought it? - Ray’s kid was my oncologist! God, I missed Ray; almost as much as I missed Smriti. It sucks to be the last of the posse to go.
“I spoke to Avinash earlier. I’ll get a VC unit in here later, you can talk to him. He’s on his way.”
“Do I have enough time? Will he be here when I… go?”
That made her pause. She came over to me and put a hand on my forehead, gentle as ever. “I’m going to make sure he is, OK?”
“Any news from that research project? Am I in the program?”
“Uncle - I’m sorry. There are no results there yet. It’s just a dream.” She teared up despite her tough doctor exterior. “They’re not going to get results in time for you. I don’t want to give you false hope.”
I patted her hand reassuringly. “It’s Ray’s dream. It’s his tech. It will change the world! You’ll see. It’s OK if I don’t”
She smiled again, sadly. “There’s a visitor here to see you - says he’s an old friend. Are you up to meeting him?”
“But all my friends are dead.”
“I can tell him to go away if you like - visiting hours are almost over anyway”
“No, I’ll see him. Something that’s not part of the routine would be refreshing.”
The old man - I never did give him a temp name - walked into the room, and Jyoti stepped out after making introductions. He’d given her a fake name. I pretended I recalled who he was. He walked over and sat down at my bedside.
“Avinash doesn’t make it in time, does he?”
He looked startled when I said that - but he nodded. “No, he doesn’t.”
“So you came instead.”
“You know?” He seemed surprised.
“Yes, Avinash; I know.”
“It was the greatest regret of my life you know - not getting here in time. I had to come.”
“So I die tonight.”
“Yes” was the simple answer.
“This was the only time you could truly interact with me without endangering the timeline, wasn’t it; right when I was about to die? The number of things I can influence - the variables - are much more controlled now.”
“You’ve been reading up!” He chuckled.
“I have. An encounter with two time travellers on one glorious day will do that.”
“So he did find you - and you threw him off my scent?”
“It was the least I could do.” I chuckled. “Kicked him in the nards too!”
We both laughed at that.
“How old are you, son?” I whispered
“I am three hundred and forty eight years old, father,” came the reply.
“The bio-fax technology thing; it works! They really cracked it!”
He nodded. “The thing that enabled time travel also enabled immortality. People didn’t die any more. We almost abolished death - though we couldn’t quite get around aging. That is simple entropy in action. I’m working on it.”
“Are... - were... - will you... be in trouble? When you came to me? Bloody time travel. Mangles the grammar, doesn’t it just?”
He chuckled. “Words haven’t been invented to cover all its implications; but yes, yes it does. And yes, I was in trouble dad. But you saved me.”
“We knew. I don’t know how - and I’m not one for mysticism - but we just knew you were one of us. Your mother - she knew too.” I remembered talking about her - after. A long time after.
“I don’t remember that day very well. Just fragments.” He said his eyes distant. “I do remember looking at her while she was sleeping. She looked… beautiful.” He teared up. “It’s been hard dad, staying away from you for all this time. I just couldn’t risk interfering with my own timeline. I met her too you know. A couple of nights before she passed… you’d stepped away for a bit with the younger me. It wasn’t enough - but it was good, you know, to be with her for a while. It has been so hard!” He put a hand to his forehead.
“Well that’s OK. You got to beat and tie up your uncle Ray. That makes it all worthwhile. 48? Heck I’d give a hundred years to do that!”
We laughed at that. Then he got that serious look on his face again.
“This is weird, but as the older man in the room, I envy you father”
“How so?”
“You will die tonight. Take comfort in knowing it has been a good life. You were the best father I could have had. I love you, and always will. And your part in this world is done. I must go on -”
I held his hand close. “I’m afraid, son. Am I afraid of dying? Sure! But I’m afraid for you. What are you running from? How can I help?”
“You already have.” He paused, stroked my head like I used to stroke his, long ago when he had had a bad dream. “We solved one problem - we became immortal - and we created another. The Earth was already overburdened. It couldn’t take it. There were already too many of us, and we kept making more, and we kept living… So they’re killing us father. Once we reach 300, they… there are gas chambers again, operating gas chambers.” He fell silent then.
“Well,” I began, trying to sound certain when I was anything but. “You came back. You have three hundred years now to change things. You can change it all, son. Maybe you already have!”
He looked up again, after a time. We sat like that for a while, not speaking. Just us old men, being. It was true – I did not envy him his immortality.
The nurse came to tell us visiting hours were over, but we shooed her away. She did not come back. Maybe she understood.
“Your three hundred years of work can start tomorrow, son.” I whispered. “Tonight, just be with me. Just be here with your old man, one last time.”
And he was.
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At His Old Man's Side by Hrishikesh Diwan is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
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