by Peter Ponzo
Henry was a few steps ahead of me when we reached the nearest cave. He dived into the narrow opening. It pays to be slim. I tried to push my way through the tight aperture, but got stuck. I could hear the beast climbing the hill, stones flying, his bellowing low and terrible. Does TWH know what's happening here? Will they suck us Home?
With one mighty push I was through. We huddled at the far end of the cave as the giant brute lunged at the opening. Too bad. He was too large. When will TWH take us Home?
The creature hung about for a half hour. I flung stones at him, but he wasn't deterred one bit. Just before he gave up and left, a strange thing happened. I found a pointed stick and hurled it at his head. It seemed to pierce his eye and I saw flashes, sparks of some sort.
"Did you see that? " I asked.
"See what?"
"The flashes of light, coming from his left eye. Did you see it?"
Henry grunted. "No. You're dreaming. Anyway, he's gone now, so what do you suggest we do, smart guy?"
I assumed that TWH knew where we were and would provide for us–somehow. Either take us Home or send in the cavalry or some food, at least. I was reluctant ot use our comdev to ask for help, However, if the danger was real, TWH would surely know.
We sat quietly for some time. Henry kept repeating his need for food and drink. I got up and crawled to the mouth of the cave. There were small round pebbles on the ground, by the opening.
"Looks like rabbit shit," I mumbled.
"What's that?" Henry shouted.
"I think rabbits live in this cave. I can see rabbit poop. I kept rabbits when I was a kid. The same shit. Maybe we can catch a rabbit and..."
"You're kidding," Henry yelled. "Rabbits? Raw meat? I have a better idea. Let's push Home on our communication gadget."
I could see Henry searching in his tunic. "Damn it! I lost it!"
"Must have fallen out when we ran across the field to this cave," I said. "No matter, we'll catch a rabbit and cook it and eat it. Let's just wait until the wee beastie comes back to his hole. I think I can make a fire with those twigs over there. They must be dry and I did remember to bring matches, so I don't need to demonstrate my Boy Scout skill at rubbing sticks together."
Henry grunted. I crept back to sit beside him. We'd just wait.
We had both fallen asleep when the rabbits came back. I heard their chatter and quickly slid to the cave mouth to prevent their escape.
"Henry! Wake up! Catch our dinner!"
Henry pushed himself to a sitting position, a rabbit scurried by and he grabbed it by the ears.
"Jeesuz, Henry. You're quick!"
I scampered to Henry and grabbed the rabbit.
"Sorry bunny," I said...and twisted his head off.
The sparks were obvious. The rabbits head was attached to his body with a dozen small wires. There was an electrical discharge which made my hand tremble. I dropped the thing on the ground.
"What the hell was that?" Henry said. "It's a...a toy rabbit."
"No my friend, it's a robotic rabbit. And the sparks that I saw from the eye of that dinosaur? I bet it was also robotic."
I paused to contemplate the significance of what we had seen.
"In fact," I said, "I think this entire Cretaceous world is a fake. The rabbit, the dinosaur. Wait! I think there were two rabbits that came in. Where's the other one?"
We both saw the rabbit sitting motionless by the wall. It's eyes were blinking, green and white. I crawled to its side, but it didn't move. When I picked it up, it went limp like a rag doll.
"Damn," I grunted. mimicking Henry's grunt. "Okay, let's go Home."
I pulled my comdev from my pocket and was about to punch the Home button when henry shouted. "What about me? I don't have my gadget!"
"I'll have them take you back once I'm back at TWH headquarters. Don't worry. Stay her. It'll be no more than a few minutes."
It actually took longer than a few minutes. TWH was shocked and greatly perturbed that we had discovered their secret. Although the existence of parallel worlds had been verified, years ago, TWH research was unable to make contact with any of the parallels. However, they did discover how to translocate people to remote parts of planet Earth. The expense of maintaining locations about the globe was astronomical. Cretaceous was an experiment, different, exciting. They needed something other than more recent historical settings in order to attract customers. All the other parallels were real places, on islands in the Pacific or in remote areas of the world, this world. The people we met in Renaissance were employees of TWH. Cretaceous, however, was a deserted, automaton-filled island off the west coast of South America.
When Henry threatened to sue the company, they got quite upset and offered us both senior positions in the firm. We now enjoy penthouse apartments with butlers and maids and spend a great deal of time on TV describing our most exciting Trans World Holidays. When I reminded Henry that I had promised him an exciting adventure, he snorted.
Chapter One
I was dying. I knew that. Yet, as I lie on my bed, connected to tubes and other curious paraphernalia in St. Joseph's Hospital in west end Toronto, I was happy. I had led a good life. I had no regrets. It might have been otherwise, but I was lucky. As I recall, it all started when I was ten years old–or perhaps eleven.
I was playing in High Park, not far from Grenadier Pond. The park was only a few blocks from home and it was so quiet and beautiful that I often went there alone, just to watch the ducks, throw stones into the pond and sketch. In particular, there was a huge maple tree with branches so low that, with some difficulty, I could climb to about thirty feet. Ma would provide a lunch of peanut butter and jam sandwiches and a bottle of pop and I'd eat, leaning against the trunk of that tree.
I think it was in the Fall of 1944 when I found it. I couldn't imagine having missed it on previous excursions to my maple tree. It had been buried amid the giant roots but the rains had washed away much of the soil. The oilcloth was a dirty brown colour so wasn't very conspicuous. I pulled out the oilcloth and saw that it was wrapped about a book. I let the book lie on my knee while I finished my lunch. This was exciting. I had never, ever found anything that interesting before. I wiped the crumbs from my lips with my sleeve and carefully opened the book. It was empty. Well, not exactly. On the first page was written, in large bold print: Good Deeds.
I put the book back into its oilcloth wrapping and walked home. I looked at every page, but what I saw originally was accurate; nothing but blank pages–except for that first page. Nevertheless, I put it into my box of precious things: a baseball glove, several toy soldiers, a wind-up helicopter, many of my early oil paintings and other assorted stuff that meant something, at one time or another.
Our family spent years at our place near High Park and I went to public school there. There was an artistic contest and my design for the curtains in the cafeteria won and it was with great pride that I first saw the curtains hanging, displaying my design. A poem I wrote for history class was praised by my teacher and I often spent Sundays in the country, painting scenery in oil paints. On Saturdays, Ma would give me six cents to go to the movies. On the way to the movie, I'd munch a bag full of brown sugar and oatmeal. There were always two movies at the theatre, with some kind of contest in between. My brother Joe won one of the yo-yo contests. He was really good.
Lawrence, one of my four brothers, had a haircut store near the theatre. I'd drop by to say hello and he'd cut my hair if he felt it was too long. Lawrence changed his last name to Rae, my mother's maiden name, because our last name was very Italian, and Italians were "the enemy" during World War II. I guess Lawrence was one of my favourite brothers. He'd take me fishing and let me drive his truck when I was just fourteen years old.
When I graduated from high school, my name and picture was in the Toronto paper as a top scholar. Of course, there were thousands of so-called "Ontario Scholars" across the city. I kept my photograph for many years until it faded beyond recognition. Although I
was painting in oils for years, while a teenager, I discovered that artists starved...so I decided to attend the University of Toronto in the Engineering Physics program. Why that program? It was because my favourite brother, Leonard, had graduated from Eng. Phys.
Our family moved and I was asked to dump much of the junk I had collected. I browsed through my box of precious things and kept only that strange book with the blank pages. That was when I finally realized what it was for. It was a book of my good deeds. It was clearly intended to hold all the good things I did for other people. I stared at the blank pages for some time.
Should I junk the book? Good deeds? Had I ever done a good deed? Brother Joe had a Liberty magazine route and I remember stealing money from his stash which he hid in a drawer. When Ma made her dozen apple pies, she'd ask me to ask Mrs. Burkowski for some apples. Mrs. Burkowski always refused, so I stole the apples from her tree, but never told Ma. Ma would then give me a baked pie for the lady, as a thank you for the apples. Me and my nephew, Sal, we'd eat the pie.
One of my brothers, I can't remember which one, kept 22 calibre bullets in a closet. I'd steal a few and Sal and I would place them on the train tracks, then hide when the train came by. Sal and I also experimented with theft from a store. Sal would keep the store owner busy while I stole a spool of thread. Were these good deeds? Hardly. In fact, I don't recall every having done a good deed. Not ever.
That first year in university was when I decided to actually keep track of my good deeds, so I wrote my name under the Good Deeds title. Who knows? This might be fun.
Chapter Two
Although I was aware of the Good Deeds book on the shelf, it was difficult to perform such activities while studying. Nevertheless, I did help many fellow students when exams were coming up. I was a good student and I think I helped some of my classmates graduate. Indeed, when I graduated, I gave all my class notes to students who had failed. Although I never heard from any of them, I hope my notes helped. I spent a great deal of time polishing those notes.
By the time I graduated, my Good Deeds book had just seven pages with good deed activities. I was happy to be free of exams, but felt guilty that the number of good deeds was so modest. I swore that I'd keep that kind of activity on the front burner. I was never sure why that seemed so important.
When I proposed to my wife, I did it at Grenadier Pond, in High Park, not far from the maple tree where I found the book. Indeed, since she was well aware of my penchant for good deeds, I took her to my maple tree to show her the location of my discovery. Heidi, my wife, was born and raised in Germany and I thought it'd be old-fashioned appropriate for me to first ask her father for permission to marry. I wrote that in the book. Although that may not have been a good deed, it made me feel good and, in particular, it made Heidi's father feel good.
Heidi became a nurse and I a university professor. Perhaps she was influenced by my good deeds activity, because she spent much of her spare time as a volunteer at Freeport Hospital. In fact, she took a course and received a diploma in hair dressing so she could volunteer this talent at Freeport. Since there were permanent residents there, many handicapped, I would write small programs so quadriplegics could play games on a microcomputer, with a pencil in their mouth or a text editor that they could use with the aid of a switch they could operate with their pencil. To be able to send letters home was a joy to them...and to me.
As a math teacher I spent much time giving evening classes to my students, before each test and especially before final exams. Unlike many of my colleagues, my door was always open to students. There were often a dozen of more, standing or sitting on the floor, as I went over some topic on the blackboard. One of my committee duties was to verify that students had satisfied all the requirements for graduation with a bachelor's degree. A student from Nigeria had been sent at great cost and, at graduation time, he was one course short of the requirements. He apologized to me for failing and said he must return home. His parents did not have the money to continue. Needless to say, I approved the degree.
In addition to teaching, mathematical research and administrivia, I worked on a device that would speak the words on a computer screen as an aid to the blind. In cases where the person was only partially blind, the words displayed on the screen were huge. A talk that I gave on my device was advertised in the local newspaper and several visually impaired people showed up and were delighted. So was I.
Heidi and I had four children and, eventually six grandchildren. When our children were teenagers, one of my daughters had an accident that put her in the hospital for several days. In the next bed was a young girl that had run away from home. When our daughter came home, we offered to take the girl home as well. For years she stayed with us until, eventually, she married a fellow who took her to Australia.
When my brother Joe became ill, Heidi looked after him, doing his shopping, laundry, cooking meals, cutting his hair and managing his finances. I was careful to put every one of Heidi's good deeds in the book. She insisted, it was our book. From time to time, we would both browse the entries in the book, pleased when they filled page after page, sad when they did not. It was an important activity that we shared, as we shared everything else in life. When Joe died, we carried his ashes to spread on the shoreline on Centre Island, as he requested in his will. Since Heidi inherited money from Joe's estate we set up college trust funds for each of our six grandchildren. With some of Heidi's inheritance, she provided an all-expenses-paid cruise for her siblings. She had a collection of recipes, collected over some fifty years. I turned them into a cookbook that was available for download from my web site. I was eager to enter Heidi's deeds in the book.
Chapter Three
For several years we lived in a Mennonite village. In the winter months, the horse-and-buggy Mennonites had difficulty traveling, so Heidi would drive them shopping or to the doctor. Being a nurse, she became the village medical expert, rushing to some nearby farm if someone fell off a tractor or had a cut or headache. I made spreadsheets and graphic logos for local businesses. Martin's Sausage was across the road and I helped with Internet searches pertaining to health issues involved in the making of sausage. After some fifty years in the village, the sausage shop moved out of town and we rented tables and chairs so that Heidi could hold a dinner party for a couple of dozen nearest neighbours and I presented the owner with an acrylic painting of their store. Since I had Internet access, I would also print extensive travel information for Mennonites that were visiting relatives in the U.S.A. Several of my paintings hang in local offices.
Our neighbour was a senior official in the Mennonite Disaster Service and Heidi and I were eager to help when we could. In addition to donating money to their relief efforts, as well as contributing a significant fraction of my salary to many charitable organizations, we helped during a disastrous ice storm in Quebec. I spent days on the phone, trying to find people with trucks, willing to drive supplies and wood to Quebec, a province without electricity. After an earthquake in South America, Mennonites provided the cattle and I helped cut the meat which the women cooked and canned for shipment to the disaster area. Heidi was part of the canning line. When we left the Mennonite village, they had a going-away party as a thank you for our efforts.
When Heidi and I retired we were pleased with our contributions to the book. It was a joint project and we couldn't have been happier. As a retirement project, I spent the next sixteen years working on a web site which explained the myriad investment philosophies that were so poorly explained on the Web. I made available, at no charge, a thousand tutorials and over five hundred spreadsheets to illustrate the strategies. Many of my paintings, now done in acrylics rather than oils, I gave away to friends and family. I started to write novels and short stories, making them available on my web site.
Now I am eighty years old and lying in a hospital bed in St. Joseph's Hospital, being kept alive by a host of tubes. I look at my beautiful wife, reading in a chair by the window. I mumbled somethi
ng and Heidi dropped her book and came to my bed.
"It's time," I said. Heidi nodded. She took the book that was lying on the end table by my bed. "You remember the place?" I asked. My speech was garbled, but she understood.
"Yes, my dear," she said.
"Please, do it now," I whispered. "Don't worry about me. I'll stay alive until you return. I promise.
I could see the tear in her eye as she backed away then turned and left, the book held firmly in her hand.
In my mind's eye I saw Heidi. She drove to High park, to Grenadier Pond, to our giant maple tree. She dug a small hole beneath a huge root and in it she placed the book, now wrapped in the same ancient oilcloth. It was a book of blank pages...except for the very first page. On that page was written, in large bold print: Good Deeds.
Chapter One
Illia gazed at the bay from the twenty-fifth floor of Dominion Towers. The islands were clearly visible in the morning sun as were the ferries, sailboats and cargo ships in the harbour. But her mind was on the curios shop. Every morning she passed it as her chauffeur drove her to work. Several times she had stopped to peruse the contents. Mostly junk, but intriguing junk, charming, fascinating. This morning she saw the For Sale sign on the door and had asked her driver to stop so she could write down the phone number. It seemed to be a private sale, probably by the owner.
She had never met Mr. Liu Zuan even though she had visited the store several times in the past. In fact, there never seemed to be anyone attending the store. The door was unlocked, she would walk in, wander about then leave. Now Zuan was selling the store and Illia wanted it. The store itself wasn't worth much, but the location was prime real estate. She could keep the fascinating curios, clean up the property and resell it at a profit. She pulled the notebook from her pants pocket and noted the number. Then she sat at her desk and phoned.