Dialog with a Time Traveler

"Why did I call you? I linger--near death, and have a story to tell."

Dialog with a Time Traveler

 

                “Why did I call you? I linger�"near death, and I have a story to tell,” said the wrinkled and bent old man. He struggled to take in a deep rasping breath. “I need to tell my incredible story whether you or your readers believe it or not.” The fragile old man forced a laugh, but he was instantly reduced to hacking and gasping. “Ahem! And I selected you because your articles tend to be provocative.”

                As a young journalist, I had to jump on the opportunity to speak with this man who claimed to be a time traveler. I immediately assumed the aged man was an eccentric lunatic, but he had given me tantalizing evidential tidbits to his sincerity, authenticity, and his sanity. I bustled right down to meet this man quite positive there would be others poised to print his story�"if�"he was found credible, but I found I was the only reporter. I covered a number of strange people over a couple years, but I remained highly skeptical.

                “Thank you sir for this opportunity to speak with you,” I said politely despite I was sure that I wasted my time. “I am eager to hear your story to substantiate your claim that you are a time traveler that has reached an age well beyond a normal human lifespan. Truthfully sir, I find your assertions to be�"dubious.”

                “Look at me; do you doubt my claim that I am really old? I assure you, I am 132 years old�"by my calculation.”

                “I see, but how is that possible, sir?” I said, taking down a note. “I mean to live to be that old? And considering your other claim to be a time traveler, you must have started time traveling, when, back around 1915?”

                “No, don’t be absurd,” he said, gasping for a breath. “There was no technology for time traveling back then, you fool!” He exclaimed despite his weakened condition. He hacked a few times and wiped a thin, bent finger under his runny red nose before continuing. His squinty, saggy eyes glazed as he studied himself. “Look at me, it is inherently evident that I am old, but I began jaunting only two years ago when I was about your age, thirty-three, if I can recall correctly.” He sadly turned away. “Alas, with all this jaunting I am no longer a denizen of this time.”

                “Jaunting? Is that what you call your travels in time?” I posed, not quite understanding the term. I studied the wheezing man who didn’t seem quite with it. “Excuse me sir, are you up to a dialog with me?”

                “I called you, young man! Remember? Or are you losing your memory worse than I?” He trembled with a chuckle. ”Of course I want to continue, damn it.” He eyed me aside quizzically. “What did you ask me?”

                I repeated myself and asked how he started his supposed time traveling. I thought the angle would help expose him as a fraud right off the bat.

                “Oh yeah, the chrono-jaunting term, my idea.  How I began? Listen, I was in my own exclusive element early on. You know, a big budget, a big head, and a free rein, I had it all.” He paused to catch his breath. “Electronics was my chosen field, though I deviated from the conventional mindset and invented a few things that made jaunting possible like the Peripheral Chronologic Interface Actuator�"” The traveler looked away with a worried expression.  “I shouldn’t have told you that. Scratch that.” I scratched my pen back and forth on a blank line. “Ahem! My jaunts were fun at first, but they were trials just the same, mind you.” He wheezed and held his chest as he struggled for breath.

                “Take it easy, sir.” I studied the emblem on his breast pocket. It was tattered and threadbare, and I couldn’t make it out. He noticed my focus.

                “My lab insignia, old and tired like me.” His frail trembling fingers tugged on the pocket. “My eyes don’t see so well. ‘No Boundaries, Temporal Lab,’ it says.” He hacked and wiped drool from his chin. “I had the corporation�"” his squinting aqua eyes drove right through me, “by the cojones.” He tried to make a grab in the air but couldn’t quite grasp it. He dropped his shaking veiny, boney hand and with renewed fortitude said, “I was their star researcher, the best designer in the place; I was reaching for my fame and their fortune. I knew it; THEY knew it.”

                Without proof, I thought his delusions of grandeur had to be fallacious; after all, as I studied him, I saw a dried up old man on the edge of death, though again, he contacted me to do the story and those few facts he gave me by holophone had tantalized me enough to bring me here. Without knowing all the facts, the science, and some physical proof, I would be presumptuous to judge his story either way at this onset. Then again, all that he indicated could be feasible considering the rapid technological progress these days versus my limited knowledge. I gasped when he gasped and held his chest and groaned. How much time did I have to get his story, I wondered? Maybe if I played along, I could coax something momentous out of him. The old time traveler watched me closely.

                “Sorry sir, just thinking of what to ask you,” I said. “First off, I have to tell you frankly, I had my doubts initially, but now you have piqued my curiosity. So, what is it like to travel through time? I mean the sensations; does it hurt, make you head spin, put a strain on your body?”

                “Yes, all of those things. The time, I mean the period of actual time passage is frightening�"dark, lifeless, airless�"” he wheezed. “Like being shut in a mausoleum. Like meeting the death that awaits me.” A stocky man dressed in white stepped into the room and stood there readying to say something. “Don’t ask me again you! I need nothing!” The time traveler shouted at the man I assumed was his nurse. He quickly retreated. I scanned my prewritten notes.  I scolded myself for not putting more of an effort into coming up with a few really meaningful questions.    

                “Sometimes movies show time travelers witnessing momentous historical events one right after another. Did this�"”

                “Hogwash!” The old time traveler said, cutting me off. “You’re a journalist, man; it doesn’t take a genius to realize that historical events are mere punctuations in mundane daily grinds. This is true throughout time where nearly 100 percent of the past is boring existence and tenuous survival.” He paused and stared out the window. “Though I did witness one significant event, a terrible massacre�"”

                I thought on this a moment. “Ah, that brings me to one of my main questions: can you change history?”

“Simply put: no.” The time traveler said succinctly.

“So you tried.”

“Yes, of course I tried, wouldn’t YOU try?” I nodded. “Especially early on, I tried changing many events, minor as they were. I was headstrong, virile, and full of myself so I went large in my efforts to change things however ineffectively”   

“But weren’t you afraid of those ah, ah time-traveling problems, ahhh�"ummmm�"” 

“What are you stammering about, man?”

“Paradoxes!” I exclaimed happy to recall. “Time traveling paradoxes where a small change can make multiple and big changes as time passes.”

“Phhhhfffft!” The old time traveler let out. “Never gave it a thought. Couldn’t change anything, anyhow. I was full of myself, I say and not a poultry�"a chicken�"to attempt altering time.” I smiled to my lap, hiding it. He started hacking again before adding, “oddest thing, tampering with time�"causes other problems that you’d never envision�"a couple big problems in fact�"”

 “Care to speak about those problems?” I ventured, but he silently shook his head. I did a mental coin toss of what to ask him next, something important and compelling, maybe world-changing. “Oh,” I said. “They, you know movie characters, try to beat the system and strike it rich by time traveling, you know by gambling on horses, the lottery, and so on.”

 He coughed before saying, “Sure, sure, more science fiction that you refer to.” He cleared his throat and wheezed. He mumbled, and then regained his focus. “The lottery, humph! I couldn’t understand it at first, it was so friggin’ frustrating! I found it impossible to pick the numbers that I knew would win. Races too! Like all that history is so indelibly set in stone that nothing can be altered. A peculiar situation I sure didn’t expect.” He gazed away for several moments before I decided to press on.

“Don’t you miss it, traveling in time? Don’t you wish you could still do it?” I thought a second. “Can’t you reverse your aging so that you can continue traveling?” I thought my sudden supposition came across stupidly. The time traveler jerked his head aside in confusion�"or was it fear? He slowly turned back to me.

“Look at me. Do I appear capable of withstanding the rigors of traveling? And do you, do you REALLY think that I can go through some kind of aging regression to regain my former youth? You think I wouldn’t have thought of that before now?” He put his hands on his chest, took on a pained expression, and bit his pink wrinkly lip.

“I only meant that it must be exciting to go on a time journey and that you must still yearn for that feeling like when you were young.”

“When I was young�"such a short time ago. I suppose I still crave that feeling in an old man sort of way�"to relive the glory, the excitement,” the old time traveler said. His eyes closed, and he appeared serene. He reopened his eyes. “It was exhilarating�"the rush of adrenaline to be capable of the inconceivable.”

 I found myself caught up in the concept of time traveling or jaunting as he put it, and I was beginning to believe his story. I thirsted to gain an enlightening insight, to hear something juicy to write about, like some sort of tangible, physical proof to substantiate his claims. My thought process jaunted to writing a piece for Rolling Stone, The New Yorker or one for all the major publications, hardcopy and the cybernet. Though he seemed a bit difficult to deal with like a puzzle, I sensed he wanted to tell me things, but thought he shouldn’t reveal it. How could I open him up? I wanted so much more from him so I could hustle his story along into print. As I thought, my eyes drifted. Next to the couch was an ornate urn.

“An interesting urn, sir,” I said pointing. “A lost loved one?”

He gazed at it for a few moments before his squinty eyes watered. “Someone very close to me.” He stared at it. “Very close indeed. They did a shabby job of burning the body�"bits of bone and teeth are left behind in the ashes.” His bent hand went up to his mouth. “I didn’t indicate anyone in particular just then so don’t you think�"that!”  He pointed a boney limp finger at me. “Because I didn’t mean that.”

“I’m sorry sir. I wouldn’t assume anything that would offend you. I have many questions, but I don’t want to push you too hard.”

He sat there a few moments and trembled. “I understand your wish to thoroughly question me, and I have a lot of answers. I have so many answers that are truly astounding, but you probably wouldn’t understand so I hold them close.”

I pondered a few moments before starting again. “You never told me how you got so old in such a short amount of time.”

“No, I didn’t�"no, it’s a rather complicated and a convoluted process that you won’t comprehend,” he gestured me away.

Now, I thought he was being particularly smooth and evasive. “Try me, a simple explanation.”

“Without all the physics and electronics involved? Hmmm. Well, let’s see. At first I made short jumps to appraise the time traveling process. I thought of possible paradoxes as you brought up and tried carefully to assess the potential of the device without exposing myself to danger. There were problems that arose. We modified the device, and added polish to the process, but I kept the REAL secrets to myself. Despite all that, I seemed to get the hang of jaunting rather quickly.”

A harmonica began playing far away like an echo in a tunnel. The old traveler glanced about with a frightened expression.

“A musician in the house?”  I asked.

“I don’t approve of it,” he said, old eyes flicking back and forth. “Where were we?”

“How you got old?”

“Oh, yes. I made jaunts in gradation, in degrees of distance from the here and now. I didn’t discover the real, serious underlying hazard of time traveling until it was too late.” I leaned forward with anticipation, but he paused.

“Yes, yes! Go on!” I urged.

 “Basically, I found that I aged with every jaunt.”

“So this accelerated your aging? The stress on your body?” I asked crestfallen.

“Don’t be so petty in your thinking, man. Listen.” He took a deep, halting and gasping breath. “If I jaunted an hour, instantly I’d be an hour older. A jaunt of a week�" like that�" I’m a week older. Trouble was I didn’t catch on at first. Worse than those examples, too late I discovered the kicker.”

I was blunt. “Kicker?”  

He seemed to melt into the couch defeated, maybe ashamed.  He nodded slowly. “I jaunted too damn far. My enthusiasm got the best of me, and I jaunted back well before my own birthday.” He paused.

“So?”

“It reset my DNA,” he said sadly. “I became as old as if I was born on that day back in time. When I came back to the here and now, this is what I became�"categorically old�"ancient.”

“You are rather ancient, old man!” Said a loud male voice from the other room.  The first few notes of the “Death March” played on the harmonica.

Both the time traveler and I whirled about to see the intrusion into our intimate dialog.

“NO!” Cried the time traveler. “You shouldn’t have come back!” He began hacking and coughing while leaning forward in pain.

“Sir!” I said, excitedly reaching for his arm. “The other serious problem you mentioned�"what was the other problem?!” But the old time traveler just sat there terrified.

A man, a little older than I, came into the room. He was lanky and strutted like he was full of himself. The time traveler shirked from this man’s form and said, “you know we shouldn’t be here together�"gasp!�"especially with a witness.” His eyes turned to me.

“Can’t you wait? You’re upsetting him,” I said, stating the obvious. “And who are you?”

“NO!” Don’t tell him,” the time traveler said, before going into a coughing fit again. I saw the drool on his lip was tinged pink.

“Why the hell not old man?” the young man said. “We can always get rid of him if it comes to that.”

“NO! I, we can’t be reduced to that!” ”The time traveler managed to get out between hacks, “You villain, I learned to temper my callous and impetuous nature.” He went right back to coughing so hard his body convulsed. “But you, YOU DIDN’T!”  He pointed his thin bent finger toward the man.

 The man scoffed. “Villain you call me, but who are you to talk? And now, who cares about you? This bloodsucking writer?” He offhandedly indicated me. “The corporation? HA! I have them wrapped around my little finger without you! All of your so-called safeguards I easily hacked. I’m it now and you’re nothing! Worthless!” The visitor ranted picking up the urn and examining it. “SO, did you tell our friend who is in this jar?” The time traveler shook his head unable to reply. “Why, one of us! An older copy, yet! Did you tell him that?”

I stared at the younger of the two time travelers as the pieces fell into place. I cleared my throat. “Ah, if I got this right, you two are the same time traveler�"only at different ages?”

“Ding! Ding! You got it!” The younger traveler said sarcastically. He pointed to the urn. “Though there were three of us, actually. Someone was really bad and reckless, shame, shame!” He held up the urn and let it drop, shattering it in a cloud of ashes. “Whoops.” He said dispassionately. The old time traveler’s head lolled aside.

“But how is that possible?” I asked, but then saw the time traveler had blood dripping from his nose onto the couch. I grabbed my phone, but the younger version batted it out of my hand splintering it against the wall.

“I don’t think so, you! He made his mistakes, so he has to go. You know, no loose ends,” the young time traveler said with a malicious grin. “I already took his place at the corporation, so I have no need for him�"they have no need for him, and you’re a loose end as well.”

 I sat next to old time traveler; his eyes flickered open. A boney finger beckoned me closer. I bent my head close. He whispered: muffled, garbled, halting.

“Dying. Don’t trust. Twisted. Device hidden. Take. Use. ” With a great effort, he reached to my hand and pressed a cool object into it. He sucked in his last breath, and it expelled long and slow. Imperceptibly, his body went limp and sunk deeper into the couch. I checked his pulse.

“He’s gone,” I said, to the younger time traveler. I had tears.

“Yeah, he’s really going,” the younger traveler said pointing.

I looked down at the old time traveler and jumped away. His form slowly dissolved away.

“Well, ha, that makes it easier on me, but what to do about you? You cannot walk around with our�"my secrets.”

“But, but I can keep secrets,” I pleaded. “And he didn’t say anything telling.” I found my fist gripped the object so tight my knuckles whitened. “I’m not going�" anywhere or giving any names.”

 ***

Apparently, he believed me because I lived to tell this story, though he didn’t fill in half the gaps nor answer half of my questions and half of what he told me I don’t dare repeat. In the end, he told me a few minor details to hold over my head including some not so thinly veiled threats, so I’ll never know if, when, or where he may show to cut off the final loose end, namely me. Nevertheless, I risked submitting the time traveler’s story to every publication I could think of, but all I could get was a minor article in the fiction market.  I was crushed, but I suppose safe.

Today, I still recall the old time traveler’s first words to me, “I linger near death,” so I’ll remember to be more careful when I go.

 

 

 

  
    

 

 

Author's Note

Another writing assignment written from random words selected by members of the Warsaw Writers Group.