Wanderers of Time

by John Wyndham

  ‘ “ ’E don’t sleep enough, not near enough,” his father assured me. “ ’T’ain’t natural. ‘T’ain’t fair on a man as ’as to work, either.” ’

  All I could tell them was that I’d stake my reputation there was nothing wrong with the child and that he would soon outgrow it.

  It was two months later that something occurred which might have given me an early clue to the whole thing had I had the wit to perceive it as a clue.

  ‘I had called at the Fillers’ cottage about something to do with their daughter, Doreen, I think, and naturally inquired after the baby.

  ‘ “Oh, I found out what to do with ’im,” his mother said.

  ‘She showed me. The heir of the Fillers was sleeping peacefully and with an expression of blissful satisfaction. His bed was made up in an ordinary galvanised iron bath with a handle each end. He could have passed for an Italian cherub or a patent food advertisement.

  ‘ “Sleeps pretty near all the time now. Makin’ up for it, like,” she said.

  ‘ “How did you do it?” I asked.

  ‘She explained that it had happened by accident a week or two before. She had been ironing when Ted started one of his howls. She had fetched him down to the kitchen because, even if you couldn’t stop him, you could keep an eye on him, but no sooner had she got him downstairs than the insurance man had called.

  ‘The baby had to be put somewhere while she got the money and paid the man and the handiest place for the moment was on top of the clean linen stacked in one of the tin baths. When she came back from the door he had not only stopped crying but was fast asleep, so she left him there as long as possible. The next time he yelled she did the same again, and with the same result. It seemed to work every time.

  ‘ “So now I makes ’is bed in there regular,” she added. ‘Seems queer, but it suits ’im. Good as gold, ’e is, in there. Won’t sleep nowhere else.”

  ‘I didn’t take much notice at the time. A preference for sleeping in a tin bath just seemed one of those odd infantile idiosyncrasies which the wise accept and use gratefully.

  ‘Well, time went on. I used to look in at the Fillers’ occasionally, so I saw young Ted from time to time. I didn’t take a great interest in him for he was a healthy enough baby I gathered that he persisted in his odd preference for sleeping in a tin bath, but beyond that he seemed undistinguished. And yet, when I came to think it over afterwards, there was another incident which might have given me a hint.

  ‘On that occasion he was lying in a dilapidated perambulator outside the back door. He did not show that he noticed me.

  His eyes were wide open, gazing far away, but he was not quite silent; he seemed to be humming a little tune. As I bent over him I could swear I caught that theme from the New World Symphony. You know how it goes.’

  The doctor broke off and hummed a few bars.

  ‘That was what it seemed. Hummed by a child one year old.

  I was curious enough to ask Mrs. Filler whether she had heard it on the wireless and learned that the family taste fancied variety, sports news and cinema organs almost exclusively. I remember thinking that even if the child had happened to hear a version on a cinema organ he showed astonishing tonal memory, and then for one reason or another I forgot the incident until later. Probably, I very reasonably told myself that I had made just a foolish mistake.

  ‘I must have seen the child several times during the next two or three years, but I admit I’ve no recollection of doing so, for, as I said, he was too healthy to be really interesting, though I wish now I’d kept an eye on him. It was not until his boy was over four that Jim Filler came to see me one Monday evening and gave me an interest in the boy which I’m never likely to lose.

  ‘Jim had cleaned up and polished off the quarry dust for the occasion. He seemed a bit uncertain of himself.

  ‘ “I don’t want to waste your time, Doctor,” he said, “but I would be grateful if you’d come, casual-like, and ’ave a look at our Ted sometime when me and the missus is there.”

  ‘ “What’s wrong with him?” I said.

  ‘Jim fiddled his cap in his hands.

  ‘ “I don’t know as there’s owt wrong with ’im, exactly,” he said. “It’s—it’s, well, ’e’s a bit queer, some’ow, in a manner o’ speakin’. It’s got me and the missus fair worried an’ all. She don’t know as I’ve come ’ere. So if you could drop in kind of accidental like, you know-?”

  ‘ “But what’s wrong with him?” I asked again. “Do you think he’s backward; not up to the rest, or something like that?”

  ‘“Nay, t’lad’s bright enough that way. ’Taint nothin’ o’ that kind. Fact, some ways ’e’s a bit too bright, that’s a funny thing-E don’t often talk like a nipper and many’s the time I’ve ‘eard ’im use words what I’m sure ’e ain’t never ’eard from me and the missus. Understands what’s said to ’im, too, better than any kid I know.”

  ‘I asked a few more questions, but Jim seemed to be holding back for some reason or other. If it had been another man I might have been short with him, but I knew Jim. His type is the incarnation of stubborn commonsense. In the end I got rid of him by promising to go round the next evening, though I didn’t expect to find much amiss.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE BOY WHO SAW SOUND

  ‘Evidently Jim Filler had changed his mind and told his wife that I was coming, for she didn’t seem surprised to see me. In honour of the occasion they took me into the front room, an apartment with a curious stage-set appearance, but I stopped Ada Filler as she was putting a match to the fire and suggested that we all went to the kitchen. We’d all feel more natural and less Sunday-best in there, as well as warmer.

  ‘Even so, it wasn’t easy to begin. Neither of them was anxious to come out plainly with the trouble. We had to exchange a number of ineffective sentences before Jim cut through it and became his usual forthright self again. He put on a dogged expression.

  ‘ “I know it’ll sound daft, Doctor, but it’s God’s truth. Me and the missus’s ready to swear to that, so if you’ll ’ear me right through-?”

  ‘ “Go ahead and tell me. I’ll ask questions afterwards,” I assured him.

  ‘ “Well, this is ’ow it was. Saturday tea time we was all in ’ere waitin’ for news on t’wireless so as I could check my coupons-” he began.

  ‘It certainly was an odd tale that Jim had to tell.

  ‘Mrs. Filler had been setting the table, while her husband and the two children waited for their tea. Jim had copies of his pool entries and a pencil ready to check them. At six o’clock he switched on to Droitwich. It meant that they’d have to listen to the weather forecast and a lot of political talk before

  the important stuff came along, but you could never be sure how long it would take to get the sports bulletin and it wasn’t worth risking missing any of it. Well, he switched on all right and the dial lit up, but nothing came out of the speaker. He pressed the switch on and off a bit and looked at the outside connections. They were right enough.

  ‘ “Eeh-h-h, there’s summat wrong wi’t’ bastard, there is, an’ all,” he decided.

  ‘He turned the set round and took off the back. It looked all right, at least there was nothing obviously adrift. He scratched his head. It’s not as easy to trace trouble in a modern mains set as it was in the old battery days. The insides look alarmingly efficient.

  ‘It was then that young Ted took an interest.

  ‘ “What’s oop with it, Dad?” he asked, coming closer.

  ‘ “ ’Ow should I know?” inquired Jim, with irritation.

  ‘Well, it was then that the strange thing happened. Jim said that young Ted had looked at him “sort of surprised like,” then the child had pushed in between him and the set. He didn’t look inside it, Jim said; he put his head down at it as if he were going to butt it, then he lifted his face again and looked at his father.

  ‘ “It’s in there. That’s where it stops,” he said and pointed to
a black object in the cabinet.

  ‘ “It were a transformer,” Jim said. “An’ ’e were right, too. Chap-’ad a look at it yesterday and one of the windin’s was gone.”

  ‘Later, Jim had remembered another “funny thing.”

  ‘Several weeks previously he had been taking his son for a Sunday walk. They were on the Derby road where the grid lines run almost alongside when young Ted looked up at a pylon for no reason and said suddenly, “It’s stopped.”

  ‘Jim couldn’t make out what he was talking about and probably didn’t care much, but he remembered that on the way back young Ted, equally without reason, had said, “It’s going again, now.”

  ‘It wasn’t until he got back that he learned there had been a breakdown somewhere which had put the grid out of action for half an hour or so.

  ‘But he only recalled that afterwards. At the moment, he was chiefly concerned over the prospect of missing his football news.

  ‘ Now I’ll ’ave to go and buy t’Football Special, when t’papers come in,” he groused.

  Young Ted had made no immediate reply to that. He had sat silent for a while looking rather puzzled, then with the air of one who had considered the subject unsatisfactorily from all angles he said:

  ‘ “Why, Dad?”

  ‘ “Why, what?” asked Jim, whose mind had gone on.

  ‘ “Why’ll you ’ave to get a paper?”

  ‘ “Because,” explained Jim, patiently, “because we can’t ’ave t’bloody wireless, that’s why.”

  ‘There was a pause while young Ted took this in.

  ‘ ‘D’you mean you can’t ’ear what the man’s sayin’?” he inquired.

  ‘ “Course that’s what I mean. ’Ow d’you think any of us is goin’ to ’ear owt now t’set’s busted? You shut up, and eat your tea.”

  ‘There was another pause.

  ‘ “I can,” said young Ted thoughtfully.

  ‘ “You can what?”

  ‘ “ ’Ear what ’e’s sayin’.”

  ‘Jim transferred his gaze from his tripe to his son. He looked at him hard for some moments without speaking. He didn’t want to turn on the lad for lying if it was only some childish make-believe game.

  ‘ “Well, tell us what t’chap is sayin’, then,” he invited.

  ‘Young Ted did. “Brentford, one,” he said. “Stoke City, nought. Derby County, nought. Birmingham, one. Everton, two–-”

  ‘ “An’ ’e were right,” Jim went on, leaning forward. “I know ‘e were right. I checked ’em up on my list as ’e said ’em, an’ then I went out an’ got t’paper to make sure. ’E were dead right, every time.”

  ‘Ada Filler went on as he stopped.

  ‘ “I never ’eard of nothin’ like it. It don’t seem natural. Do you think it’s dangerous, Doctor?”

  ‘I looked at them, feeling pretty puzzled. There was no doubt they believed what they said. Jim was in dead earnest and a bit worried. Ada was more worried; she showed all that maternal solicitude which so oddly hopes that its child will be outstanding while being absolutely normal, distinguished while being indistinguishable.

  ‘I was at a loss for a reply. In my mind I was searching for a set of circumstances which could possibly produce the appearance of what they believed to have happened, and I could not find one at the moment. There floated into my mind the memory of the child’s curious humming as it lay in its perambulator, over three years ago now. Curiosity prompted me to ask.

  ‘ “Is Ted fond of music?”

  ‘ “Well, ’e can’t play anything,” Mrs. Filler said, “It’s early days for that, ain’t it? But ’e’s often ’ummin’ things, all sorts of tunes I never ’eard of.”

  ‘Jim was looking at me.

  ‘ “You don’t believe it, Doctor? Not that ’e was really ’earin’ the wireless without a set, I mean?”

  “‘Well, it takes a bit of swallowing you know, Jim. Would you believe it if you were in my position? There must be some explanation.”

  ‘ “Oh, there’s that, all right, but it’ll be a queer one, not a trick one. I’ll get t’lad down ’ere and you’ll see.”

  ‘He left the room. We heard him clatter upstairs and then down again. He came in carrying young Ted in his arms and put him down in a chair. The little boy sat there, sleepy and perhaps a trifle pale, though he looked well enough otherwise.

  ‘ “Now, Ted, lad, tell t’doctor what’s on t’National now.”

  ‘ “Ain’t it mended?” said Ted, eyeing the wireless set on the dresser.

  ‘ “Aye, it’s all right. But you just tell ’im what’s on t’National.”

  ‘Young Ted appeared to think for a moment, then:

  ‘ “Music,” he said. “Loud music.”

  ‘ “ ’Ow does it go?” his father persisted.

  ‘Ted began to hum a part of a march quite recognisably one of Sousa’s, I think.

  ‘“That’s right, lad. Now you keep on ’ummin’,” said Jim, and switched on the radio set.

  ‘Nobody spoke while the set warmed up. The only sound was Ted humming his march with a fine martial air. Jim leaned over and turned the volume control. A march came flooding out of the speaker. It was the same tune exactly on the beat and in pitch with Ted’s humming.

  ‘I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just sat staring at the child. Jim turned the volume control right down to nothing and reset the dial.

  ‘ “What’s on Regional?” he asked his son.

  ‘ “People clappin’,” said young Ted with the briefest pause. “Now there’s two men talking.”

  ‘ “Sayin’ what?”

  ‘ “Good evening, cads,” said young Ted, in a travestied drawl.

  Jim turned the knob. The weary-toned wit of the Western Brothers pervaded the room.

  ‘ “What else?” Jim asked, damping out again.

  ‘ “Lots of things. A man shouting very loud over there.” Ted pointed to a corner of the room. He lapsed into a gabble which sounded like a vocal cartoon of German.

  ‘ “Try Berlin,” I suggested to Jim.

  ‘ “That’s ’im,” said young Ted, between the bolts of impassioned rhetoric which leapt out at us.

  ‘Jim gave it a few moments and then switched off.

  ‘ “Well, there it is, Doctor,” he said.

  ‘There, indeed, it was, unmistakably. And I was supposed to make something of it.

  ‘I looked at the boy. He was not paying attention to us. There was an abstracted expression on his face, not vacant in the least, but preoccupied. As his father said:

  ‘ “ ’Tain’t no wonder ’e seems dreamy-like sometimes if ’e’s got that goin’ on in ’is head all the while.”

  ‘ “Ted,” I asked him, “do you hear that all the time?”

  ‘He came out of his abstraction and looked at me.

  ‘ “Aye,” he said, “when it’s going.”

  ‘It occurred to me then for the first time that I had been thinking of him—and that he had behaved—as if he were quite twice his age or more.

  ‘ “Does it worry you?”

  ‘ “No,” he said, a bit uncertainly, “ ’cept at night, and when it’s so loud I ’ave to look at it.”

  ‘He always used that queer hybrid of expression. He talked about “quiet” and “loud” and yet coupled them with “looking.”

  ‘ “At night?” I asked.

  ‘ “Aye, it’s loud then.”

  ‘ “Always puts a tin box over ’is ’ead at nights, ’e does,” his mother put in. “I’ve tried to stop ’im time and again. Doesn’t seem natural, not to sleep with yer ‘ead in a tin box, it doesn’t. But ’e would ’ave it, and it does keep ’im quiet. ’Course, I didn’t know about this ‘ere. ‘E just said it were noises and music, and I thought it were fancies.”

  ‘I remembered the tin bath of his babyhood.

  ‘ “Does the box stop it?” I asked him.

  ‘ “Middlin’,” said young Ted.

  ‘ “Maybe,” I said c
autiously, ‘we could stop it altogether at nights somehow. Would you like that?”

  ‘ “Aye.”

  ‘ “Well, come here and let me have a look at you.”

  ‘His mother stretched out her hand and brought him over under the light.

  ‘As I’ve told you there was nothing at all unusual about his appearance, it was just that of any normal little boy. With the story of the tin and the memory of Jim’s description of him as he bent at the wireless set, I put my hands on his head and began to feel the structure. It wasn’t long before I came on something decidedly unusual.

  ‘On either side of the vault of the skull, about two inches above the temples, I found a round, soft spot about the size of a halfpenny. Hair grew on the spots as thickly as on the rest of the skull, but there was certainly no bone beneath, and the spots were situated with exact symmetry. The child winced involuntarily as my fingers touched them.

  ‘ “Does that hurt?” I asked him.

  ‘His “no” sounded a little doubtful.

  ‘I told him to close his eyes and then touched the lids with the tips of my fingers. It brought exactly the same wincing reaction. I was aware of a curiously excited feeling growing inside me. I had never heard of anything at all like this. It was unique. I parted the hair over the soft spots and looked closely. The skin was continuous and unbroken. There was nothing to see. Again I cautiously explored the spots with my fingers. The child did not like it. He dodged and broke away from me.

  ‘I was aware of his parents looking at me expectantly, but I kept my eyes on young Ted. I was trying to control my own excitement. I think an astronomer who has found a new planet or an explorer who has discovered a new continent must have felt rather as I felt then. Unable to believe his own luck and busily cramming his imagination down with reason; seeking for a hold on the hard facts and their implications.

  ‘I had an automatic desire to keep the child as unaware as possible of his singularity and an instinctive impulse to belittle its importance for his parents’ benefit. The motives for that impulse were, I confess, mixed. In fact, I’ve never really been able to sort them out honestly yet. There was a professional desire not to be sensational, undoubtedly a jealous wish to keep the thing to myself for the time being until I could learn, more about it, and probably a lot of others.