Futures Past

by Gardner Dozois

  I could see Mr. Frank's red shirt front, and hand wrapped now in gauze, also red, with tourniquet around his wrist. He was lying without moving. To lose blood is for some not easy.

  I went to stand at end of the counter, out of way. I was feeling very bad for Mr. Frank. I saw he was mad, and I knew he was cutting with knife, as it was my fault.

  After long while came a policeman, and he looked on Mr. Frank, and I told how it happened. Mr. Harry and Mr. Wilson also told, but they did not see from beginning. Then came ambulance, and I ask Mr. Wilson if I can go with Mr. Frank to hospital. So he said, "Go on, I don't care. We won't need you here after tonight anyhow, Kronski." He looked on me from bright glasses. He was gray-haired man, very neat, who always spoke cheerful but thought suspicious. I liked Mr. Harry, and even Mr. Frank, but him I could never like.

  So I was fired. Not new feeling for me. But I thought how in a year, two years, or even sooner, those men would forget I was ever alive.

  I was working in place three nights, night shift, cleaning up tables and stacking dishes in sink for dishwasher. It is not enough to make a place different because you are there. But if you make no difference, you are not living.

  AT THE HOSPITAL, they wheeled Mr. Frank up indoors and took him in elevator. Hospital woman asked me questions and wrote down on a big paper, then policeman came again, and was more questions.

  "Your name is Michael Kronski, right? Been in this country long?"

  "Since twenty years." But I told a lie, was only one month. Policeman said, "You didn't learn English very good, did you?"

  "For some is not easy."

  "You a citizen?"

  "Sure."

  "When naturalized?"

  I said, "Nineteen forty-five." But was a lie.

  He asked more questions, was I in army, how long belong to union, where I worked before, and always I would lie. Then he closed book.

  "All right, you stick around till he comes to. Then if he says there was no assault, you can go on home"

  In hospital was quiet like grave. I sat on hard bench. Sometimes doors opened, doctors shoes squeaked on floor. Then telephone went brr very quiet, hospital woman picked up and talked so I could not hear. She was blonde, I think from bottle, with hard lines in cheeks.

  She put down telephone, talked to policeman for minute, then he came over to me. "Okay, they fixed him up. He says he did it himself. You a friend of his?"

  "We work together. Did work. Is something I can do?" "They're going to let him go, they need the bed. But somebody ought to go home with him. I got to get back on patrol." "I will take him to his home, yes"

  "Okay." He sat down on bench, looked on me. "Say, what kind of an accent is that, anyhow? You chesky?"

  "No" I would say yes, but this man had the face of a Slay. I was afraid he should be Polish. Instead, I told different lie. "Russian. From Omsk."

  "No," he said slow, looking on me hard, and then spoke some words in Russian. I did not understand, it was too different from Russiche, so I said nothing.

  "Nyet?" asked policeman, looking on me with clear gray eyes. He was young man, big bones in cheeks and jaw, and lines of smiling around mouth.

  Just then came down the elevator with Mr. Frank and nurse. He had a big white bandage on hand. He looked on me and turned away.

  Policeman was writing in his book. He looked on me again. He said something more in Russian. I did not know the words, but one of them was like word for "pig" in Russiche. But I said nothing, looked nothing.

  Policeman scratched his head. "You say you're from Russia, but you don't get the language. How come?"

  I said, "Please, when we leave Russia, I was young boy. In house we speaking only Yiddish."

  "Yeah? Jr zent ah Ildishe' yingi?"

  "14 den?"

  Now was better, but still he did not look happy. "And you only spoke Yiddish in the home?"

  "Sometimes French. My mother spoke French, also my aunt."

  "Well—that might account for it, I guess." He closed book and put away. "Look, you got your naturalization papers on you?"

  "No, is home in box."

  "Well, hell, you ought to carry them on you. Times like these. You remember what I said. All right, take it easy now"

  I looked up, and was no Mr. Frank. I went quickly to desk. "Where did he go?"

  Woman said very cold, "I don't know what you mean." Each word separate, like to child.

  "Mr. Frank, was just here."

  She said, "Down the hall, the payment office" And pointed with yellow pencil over her shoulder.

  I went, but in hall I stopped to look back. Policeman was leaning over desk to talk with woman, and I saw his book in pocket. I knew there would be more questions, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. I took long breath, and closed eyes. I reached down where turning place of book was. I found it, and turned. I felt it happen.

  Policeman never noticed; but next time he would look in book, would be no writing about me in it. Maybe would be empty pages, maybe something else written.

  He would remember, but without writing is no good.

  Mr. Frank was by window in hall, pale in face, arguing with man in office. I came up, I heard him say, "Twenty-three bucks, ridiculous."

  "It's all itemized, sir." Man inside pointed to piece of paper in Mr. Frank's hand.

  "Anyway, I haven't got that much."

  I say quickly, "I will pay" I took out money, almost all I have in purse.

  "I don't want your money," said Mr. Frank. "Where would you get twenty-three bucks? Let the workmen's pay for it."

  "Please, for me is pleasure. Here, you take" I pushed money at man behind window.

  "Twenty-three seventeen." I gave him the change.

  "All right, give him the God damn money," said Mr. Frank, and turned away.

  Man behind the window stamped bill and gave me. I quickly caught up Mr. Frank and we went outdoors. Mr. Frank could not walk straight. I took his elbow. First he pushed me away, but then he let me.

  "THAT'S IT," SAID Mr. Frank. Was street of old thin houses with stone steps coming down like they stick out all their tongues. I paid the taxi driver, and helped Mr. Frank up steps. "What floor you live?"

  "Fourth. I can make it."

  But I said, "No, I help you," and we went up stairs. Mr. Frank was very weak, very tired, and now his lips did not pull back over teeth anymore.

  We went in kitchen and Mr. Frank sat down by table under the sour yellow light. He leaned his head on hand. "I'm all right. Just let me alone now, okay?"

  "Mr. Frank, you are tired. Eat something now, then sleep." He did not move. "What sleep? In three hours I got to be on my day job."

  I looked on him. Now I understand why was cutting so hard with knife, why was so quick anger.

  "How long you worked two jobs?" I say.

  He leaned back in chair and put his hand with white bandage on the table. "Year and a half."

  "Is no good. You should quit one job."

  "You don't know a thing about it."

  I wanted to ask something more, but then opened a door, and I saw someone in bathrobe standing. A voice said, "Pop?" Was young girl's voice.

  Mr. Frank answered her, and I said quick, "Well, I will go then. Goodbye." And while the girl was coming into kitchen one way, I was going out other. I saw only face, pale, and brown hair, and I thought she was tall.

  Downstairs I found mailbox with Mr. Frank's name, and apartment number, and over door was number of house. I wrote on piece of paper, thinking when I go home I would make some money and send him by mail. From me he would not take, but if he finds in mailbox, is like from God, he must take it and give thanks.

  On street, dawn was coming up, gray and cold. In gutter was papers blowing.

  SINCE I WAS small boy in Novo Russie—what they call here Canada, but it is all different—always I could see where every thing in world, even every stone and stick, had shadow in past and in future. To me is hard thing to understand that other people only see what
is now.

  Sometimes I would say to my brother Misha when he would hurt himself, "But didn't you see that it would happen?" And because I was stubborn, sometimes I would even say this when I saw that he would hit me because I said it.

  But then I learned also to reach, not with hands but with mind. And in darkness where something could be or not be, I learned to turn it so that it is different. At first I did it without knowing, when I was very sick, and frightened that I would die. Without knowing it I reached, and turned, and suddenly I was not sick. Doctor was not believing, and my mother prayed a long time before icon, because she thought God had saved my life.

  Then I learned I could do it. When I did badly in school, or if something else I did not like would happen, I could reach and turn, and change it. Little by little, I was changing pieces of world.

  At first was not so bad, because I was young boy and I only did things for myself, my own pleasure.

  But then I was growing up, and it was making me sad to see how other people were unhappy. So then I would begin to change more. My father had a bad knee; I made it well. Our cow broke her neck and died. And I made her alive again.

  First I was careful, then not so careful. And at last they saw that I did it.

  Then everyone said I was going to be a saint, they prayed over me, and big men talked to me so much that I believed it. And I worked miracles.

  Then one day I began to see that what I do is bad. I made so many patches in world that it was not world anymore, but mistake. If you would try to make chair better by many patches, putting a piece oak wood here, and piece cherry wood there, until all was patches, you would make a worse chair than before.

  So I saw every day that I was only making more patches, but I would not let myself know that it was bad. And at last I could not bear it, and I reached back far, I changed not little bit but whole country. I reached back before I was born, and I turned, and I changed it.

  And when I looked up, all world around me was difterent—houses, fields, people.

  My father's house was not there. My mother, my brothers, my sisters, they were all gone; and I could not bring them back.

  Then for the first time, I knew what I was.

  NEXT DAY AFTER Mr. Frank's accident, I found a new room. It was time for me to move anyway; in old room was becoming everything black so I could not see it. My new room was on second floor, not bad—maple furniture, oilcloth on table, washbowl, like usual, I moved in, and then I remembered about Mr. Frank and I took a dollar bill, my last one, and reached back and turned where man could have given me fivedollar-bill by mistake. Always it is possible this should happen, even if only once in hundred times. So I turned where it did happen, and in my hand was five-dollar-bill. Then I turned again where instead of five it is ten; and then instead of ten, ten one-dollar bills. And so I went on turning until I had three hundred dollars in ten-dollar bills. And in drug store I bought envelope and stamps, and wrote Mr. Frank's address on envelope, "Mr. Frank Verney, Apartment 4B." When I put bills inside envelope, they are already becoming dark so I cannot read the numbers. This money is no good for me, I will always make mistakes if I try to spend it; but for Mr. Frank it would be all right.

  Next day I was angry with myself, and I lay on bed doing nothing. I told myself it would be no good to get different job, which I knew; but I did not tell myself without job I would be like dead man, which I also knew.

  Next day, I went on Greenwich Avenue walking. Sky was deep blue over the building roofs. The sun was shining warm, and all buildings looked surprised and sad, as if they would say, "I am dirty, but is best I can do."

  Here, in this same place, I have seen droshkies. Also steam cars, quiet, with white puffing like man smoking a pipe very quick. I have seen people all dressed in black, and people in many colors like parrots. I know how wide is the world God made. Is so big, so deep, that heart turn small to feel it. But I would say to God, "Why did you not make a world smaller? More like man?"

  I went home, and in hall the door of Mr. Brennan was standing open, the one they called landlord, but he was only janitor, and Mr. Brennan was in doorway looking. He was a man with frozen face, mouth tight like he taste lemon, and eyes always big. I said, "Hello, Mr. Brennan," but he said nothing, only looked while I went up the stairs. Behind him I saw his wife, small brown-haired woman with too much rouge.

  I went in the room, and inside was policeman.

  My heart was hurting chest, and I was so weak that I must lean against door. Policeman was same one that was at hospital before. He was sitting in my good chair, with hands on knees. The light was not good, but I saw his gray eyes burning.

  "Shut that door."

  I did it.

  "Come over here."

  I went.

  "Okay, take everything out of your pockets and throw it on the bed."

  I took out wallet, money, handkerchief and so on. My hands were shaking.

  "Sit down."

  I sat on wooden chair while he picked up the wallet and looked inside. Always was heart pounding, and hard to breathe.

  Policeman said, "I've been looking for you for three days.

  My wife thinks I'm nuts. I must have tried every rooming house in Chelsea before I hit this one." He looked on me, with nostrils big.

  "Nothing like this ever happened to me before," he said.

  "When I went to make my report out, it was all gone. Pretty soon I began to wonder if I dreamed the whole thing."

  He looked at cards from my wallet, then opened his book hard on knee, and wrote. Then he threw the wallet back on bed, and said, "All right, now what's your real name?"

  "I told you before, Michael Kronski."

  "You told me plenty. Where are you from?"

  "Odessa, Russia."

  "Didn't you tell me Omsk before?"

  "No, Odessa." He was right, I said Omsk, but I was too frightened to make up new lie.

  "Who sent you here?"

  "Nobody. Maybe God."

  He leaned and slapped me across mouth with his hand.

  "Don't give me that sacrilegious crap."

  I jumped, and my chest got tight, harder to breathe. Inside was something like balloon wanting to burst.

  I said, "Please, you make mistake."

  "How did you do that trick to me?"

  "If you would let me explain—"

  "Well?" He waited, then slapped my face again. My body was trying to go through back of chair.

  "Let's have it. By God, I'll get it out of you. Where are you from? What are you here for?" He slapped me again.

  I said, "Don't:' but already was inside me like a bursting. I felt big weight roll over inside, then nothing.

  Yellow light was shining on empty chair.

  Was no policeman. No one in room but me.

  I was weak all over like a baby. With the hitting I could not think, could not stop it. Now I have reached back, maybe thirty years, I have made policeman not born.

  Once more, I have killed a man.

  I was crying. I thought, if only he would not have hit me in face. But it was me that made him so frightened that he must hit. It was me, my fault, always my fault.

  To reach back again for same turning place is foolish, because I know I cannot do it, but I tried. Was like reaching where is nothing, like empty shelf in old dusty closet.

  I sat in chair, looking at walls. Then I could not bear it. I went downstairs, past Mr. Brennan and wife still in doorway watching. My knees were weak. I went like a drunk man.

  I knew they would go up to my room and find no policeman, and would think I do not know what, but I had no time to worry. I went out in the street, looking for something.

  My jaw was shaking, like cold, teeth going click. My hands, arms were shivering, and knees weak. But I must hurry. I crossed big avenue, running; then I was in quiet street with many old stone houses. In the street was playing two little girls with a ball.

  While I stood looking, around corner came a car, too fast, tipping on whe
els. I heard tires shout, and car was coming so quick that I could do nothing but stand and watch.

  In street, little girls began to run. One had dark pigtails tied with pieces white ribbon, and her dress was blue and white. The other had blonde curly hair, and she was wearing pink dress. I saw their legs flashing, and I saw the ball rolling very slowly across street.

  Then the car hit sideways into another car parked by sidewalk, and it made a sound like hammer hitting tin cans. The car bounced away, still coming, and I saw driver, young man with blonde hair, bouncing in seat. Car was red, with no top. He was turning the wheel as hard as he could, but the car went by little girl with pigtails and just touched her going by, and she was down in street, not moving.

  Then car hit fire plug on other side of street, and stopped. All up and down street was sound of hit metal. In the car, young man was leaning over wheel. Then I saw him straighten up, I look around. In doorways and windows now was people.

  Now I was beginning to run. Now came a woman out of basement, and she was screaming, "Jeannie!" But now the red car backed up away from fire plug, and the young man was twisting wheel quick, and now was grinding sound, and then red car jumped down street again, past me so close I felt the wind, and saw young man's red eyes. Then he was gone around the corner.

  In middle of street was people gathering. Woman still screaming at top of voice, more people running from doorways. I did not see the girl anymore.

  I could not run. I was sick inside. I bent over with hands on belly; inside my head was still shouting the tires, and red car still coming sidewise down street, to hit car, bang, hit girl, hit fire plug, bang.

  Inside was reaching, turning. I felt the whole street, sky, turning all together. Then I was lying on cold pavement with ringing sound in my head.

  When I looked up, I saw face hanging in the sky, men and women all looking down on me. Closer was two little girls. One blonde, pink dress, one dark pigtails, blue and white dress.

  Woman's voice said, "Jeannie, go on now. Get in the house." Girl with dark pigtails turned slowly and went away, looking back over her shoulder to me. It was the same girl that I saw lying in street; but now she was not hurt, not dirty, not even frightened, only curious.