by Neely Dobbs
CHAPTER 41: Cronul
His head itched. He tried to scratch it, but his arm did not respond. What is wrong with it? The thought startled him awake. Where am I? He opened his eyes, saw the wooden chair and table, and relaxed. I must have dozed off... and my arm is asleep because I was laying on it. Jazon swung his legs off the bed and let the feeling return to his right arm as he scratched his head with his left hand. It's still night, he thought, seeing the glow of braziers through the curtains. Might as well give up and get into bed.
He stood and turned to reach for the nightclothes, but hesitated. Now facing toward the door he had earlier dismissed, he reconsidered his decision.
His natural curiosity carried him to the door. He placed his hand on the knob, then hesitated. Would I be imposing on my host's hospitality by exploring? Hoga made no mention of this door. If he hadn’t wanted me to open it he surely would have said so. Or the door would be locked.
He smiled, realizing he was simply rationalizing what he had already decided to do. He turned the knob. The door opened. To his surprise, he found himself staring at the opposite wall of a narrow hallway. Leaning forward a bit, he discovered an open doorway in the opposite wall about five paces to his left. That must lead outside…this cottage simply doesn’t have enough room for anything else! He shivered. But so much on this planet has depths beyond the surface impression!
He turned back to the bedroom, retrieved his shoes and put them on. The power of mystery quickly drew him back into the hall and down it to the other doorway. There, he was engulfed by sights, sounds and smells that produced nostalgic recollections mixed with ghastly confusion. There was Aunt Edna's round wooden table and high-backed chairs, where he had eaten so many meals with his cousins. Through the kitchen windows he saw green fields, where figures moved between rows of crops. With blinding shock, he realized that the entire scene sweltered under a midday sun! Jazon’s senses insistently proclaimed the scene to be real, but some deeper part of his mind continued to deny its reality. Yet, however impossible it might be, the sun shining down warmly from the sky could not be denied.
Turning slightly, he saw the screen door that he instantly knew would lead to the farmhouse’s back yard. Irresistibly drawn by the torrent of memories that foreshadowed the seemingly real scene, he moved cautiously through the door and into the backyard. On nightmarishly leaden feet, he crossed the yard toward the field.
Approaching the fence that divided backyard and field, Jazon now identified two of the figures. Aunt Edna and Uncle Ned! As his eyes fully adjusted to the bright sunlight, he finally recognized the smaller figures frolicking among the plants. My cousins and… Impossible! I can’t be here and there at the same time! Yet, no matter how hard he rubbed at his disbelieving eyes, the scene stubbornly remained constant. Jazon was watching himself as a child.
A cold hand seemed to squeeze his throat. Gasping, struggling desperately to retain his grasp on reality, he strove to reassure himself that none of this could be real. I’m actually on Cronul, in Hoga’s cottage. I must be dreaming, and it’s definitely time to wake up!
Instead his senses only heightened, refusing to be denied. The “dream” persisted, remaining disturbingly real. He remained rooted to the spot, anxiety overwhelming him at the sight of the children— including a younger version of Jazon— running toward him! A weak inner voice whimpered fearfully, What will happen if you meet yourself face to face?
Something in Jazon snapped. In an explosive paroxysm of release, he threw himself madly back through the kitchen, raced back up the hall, and plunged through the door leaning back into the bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and painfully held his breath, listening intently for sounds of pursuit. Except for the throb of his pulse pounding in his head, the stillness was complete. He looked around. Yes! His chest heaved with a long withheld breath. He had made it safely back into the rustic bedroom of Hoga’s cottage.
Like a nightmare slowly dissipating in warm morning light, the entire chaotic episode became increasingly remote and felt ever more unreal, more deniable. His pulse and breathing gradually returned to normal. Though he continued to listen through the door carefully for quite some time, the silence thankfully remained unbroken.
With the return of some semblance of normalcy, Jazon’s innate curiosity rekindled. He was briefly tempted to try the door again, but even the thought of that action made his pulse leap again. What if his kith and kin were stalking him, just outside of the door, waiting for it to open? What if my younger self is lurking there, quietly waiting to waylay me when the door opens? Would we merge together and become something new, neither adult nor child? Or, in meeting, would we— like matter and anti-matter— annihilate each other?
He had no answer to these questions. He wondered if there really were rational answers to any of his questions. Am I losing my mind?
The childhood memories that had merged with reality had been dimmed by his terror. They began to creep back now, dangerously sharp, bringing a new awareness. The room took on added significance. The huge bed, with its carved posts and headboard now seemed identical to the one where he had slept his during childhood visits to Uncle Ned's.
He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sight. Instead a new recollection came.
He once had visited his aunt and uncle soon after they had purchased a new shuttle. His uncle had built a small underground docking bay for it, even installing a holo-projector to mask the bay’s open top. The projected image could be programmed to give the appearance of anything desired. Uncle Ned had chosen a grass covered yard scene that matched the surroundings of the house, leaving the impression nothing had been disturbed where the bay had been installed.
On that visit…this visit?… Jazon was the victim of his uncle's practical joke: the projected image over the bay included a lawn chair resting directly over the disguised opening. Jazon had been excitedly playing a game in the yard, so he failed to notice Uncle Ned's unusually keen interest in his activities. As the game wound down, his uncle sauntered into the yard, waved toward the chair, then started quickly toward it. Jazon immediately made a dash for the chair, relishing the idea of beating his uncle to it. Instead, he stumbled into the hidden force field and was awkwardly suspended in mid-air, arms and legs flailing. His cousins laughed uproariously along with Uncle Ned.
Jazon was physically unhurt but, to restore his damaged pride, he devised what— in his childish mind— would be a diabolical revenge. That night he managed to pull the big wooden bed away from the wall. With his pocketknife, he carved deeply into the backside of the headboard. He spent almost half an hour at the task to assure that the carving was so deep that no amount of scrubbing with abrasive paper could ever remove the marks. Childishly, he didn't think of this act as defacement since, with the back of the headboard again pushed against the wall, the carving could not be seen. He even planned to call his uncle after returning home so he could have the satisfaction of telling him what he had done.
Jazon's attention returned to the present.
To this room
To this bed.
He approached the bed. Its headboard stood slightly away from the wall. His trembling fingers gingerly felt behind the headboard for the well remembered spot. He gasped and his eyes went wide at what they felt, but did not need to see— the deeply carved, unmistakable pattern of initials: “J.O.”!