Futures Past

by Gardner Dozois

  Then I began to understand. Without knowing it I had reached and turned where car would not hit girl, but would hit me instead. And now there was blood on pavement—but it was mine.

  I closed my eyes, then opened them again. To lie on pavement was good, was like growing to earth. Overhead was sky very big, and here was peace. All day long would be people walking on this street, but how many would lie down?

  If I was hurt, I did not feel it, only numb place on side of head. I pushed myself up on one elbow and with other hand tried to feel my head if it was broken. Then was hands helping me to sit up, even though I did not know I wanted to do it. I heard someone say "hospital."

  I said, "No. No hospital." On side of head was only a cut, not big. To show them I was all right, I stood up. But could not stand straight, and with many hands they helped me.

  "Where do you want to go? Where do you live?"

  For minute, I could not remember. So often I move, I forget easily the old addresses and sometimes the new ones too. Always I tell myself to write down new address, and I never do it, but I felt in my pockets anyway. I found little piece of paper, squeezed together.

  My fingers would not hold it, and so a man took it away from me, and opened it up, and read an address. It was man with new white cap on, like for golfing. He had face brown like coffee, and gold tooth. What he read did not sound right, but I saw paper, and it was my writing.

  "Mister, don't you want to come inside and have a cup of coffee first?"

  I said, "No, please just want to go home."

  Young man with many pimples said, "It's just up the block."

  So they took me one on each side, with my arms around their necks, and we started. I thought we were going wrong way, but maybe it was short cut. Then we start to go up high stone stairway into building, and I stop and say, "No. Wrong house."

  Man looked at paper again and said, "Two twelve east? This is it. Apartment 4B. See, it says right here." He showed me the paper, but I could not read what it said, only that the handwriting was mine.

  Also we did not walk long enough to get back to my house; but I knew that I had seen this house before. And I could not understand it; except that I think in back of my mind, I did understand.

  Man with white cap said, "Well, it must be somebody that knows him, anyway. Let's take him up:' So we went up the stairs.

  Then we knocked on a door, and I saw face of young woman, surprised, looking through crack. Then they were talking, and after minute door opened all the way, and they helped me in through kitchen, and narrow hall, then brown living room and they put me in a chair. Now my head was hurting. But I saw young woman, brown hair, tall, in blue dress. Then they were lifting me, putting me down on soft bed. Then I remember smell of perfume, and soft hands lifting head, giving me pills to take and glass of water. Then perhaps I sleep, because when I looked up, was no one in room.

  Outside window by bed was iron fire escape, and then deep courtyard, gray stone, with clotheslines across and white clothes hanging. Clotheslines curved down, beautiful. Light came from somewhere, not bright, and clothes swung a little bit from wind. Was quiet, peaceful. Was best time of day in city, when people are working, not so crowded in buildings. Light was"quiet and gray; bed where I was lying smelled good for laundry.

  While I was looking, I heard small noise from next room, and turned my head. Young woman came in, tall, with hands together. She had brown hair soft and shiny, not curled straw like so many; face very clean and young, but also very big. She had a wide mouth, and I wanted to see her smile, because if teeth were good, she would be beautiful.

  She said, "Mr. Kronski? Is that right?"

  I nodded yes, still looking at her. Now I saw little bit in her past, not clear, but what I saw I did not like.

  "I thought you must be." She smiled a little, just enough to show teeth white. "I wasn't sure, but you had our address in your pocket."

  "Yes." Now I knew: she was Mr. Frank's daughter.

  Then I must have made a face, because she said, "Are you all right? Does your head hurt?"

  I said no, head was all right. With my fingers now I could feel where she had put a gauze bandage around my head, but even without feeling I could tell that underneath was nothing wrong: no cut, nothing. In sleep I had made myself well. Always, all my life it was so. On my whole body is no mark, no scar, not even pimple.

  Now I was trying not to look on her, because I could see also a little bit the future, and I was afraid. But she sat down and said, "Mr. Kronski, if you're sure you're feeling all right—"

  I said rough, "You want to know if I sent money to your father."

  She said, "Well—the writing on the envelope looked the same. Did you?"

  "Yes. I will tell you. I sent it."

  "That was pretty nice of you. You know?"

  "No, foolish. Now you are going to tell me you need more money, much more than I sent"

  Her eyes opened big. "How did you know that?"

  "Never mind, I know"

  She was pale, but now pink. She got up and said, "You seem to think people are all alike."

  "No, everyone different, but all foolish like me. I ran away from you so hard, I got myself knocked down on your street, with your address in pocket."

  She looked on me and said, "I don't think I get that. What do you mean, about running away from me?"

  I said, "I did not want to help you. But now is no more use running." Was hard to talk, because throat was swollen up. I held out my hand and said, "Please. Let me see your shoulder."

  She went stiff all over, and one hand jumped to the shoulder of her blue dress. She looked on me with big eyes, bright and mad, "Did my father—?"

  "No," I said, shaking my head hard, "he didn't tell me nothing, but I know. Don't you see that I know? Now let me see it."

  She was again pink, and trying not to weep from shame.

  She sat down, still holding her shoulder, and did not look on me.

  I said, "If you want I will help you. Do you understand? Now let me see."

  She did not understand, but she looked on me. Eyes pink and wet, face swollen, not pretty. Was hard to look on her so, but I did it. After a minute she took a hard breath and turned away from me, and began to unbutton her dress in back.

  I had my hands in fists, and I looked on them. After minute I heard her turn and say, "All right."

  I looked, and she had pulled away the blue dress from one shoulder. By her neck, was skin smooth and like cream. But on the shoulder and across the chest was skin hard and white, standing up in strings and lumps, like something that had melted and boiled, and then hardened.

  She had her head down, and eyes shut, crying. I was crying also, and inside was a big hurt trying to get out. I touched her with my hand, and said, "My dear."

  She jumped when hand touched her, but then sat still. I felt under my fingertips cold skin, tough like lizard. Inside me was big hurt jumping, I could not hold in very long. I rubbed her very easy, very slow with my fingers, looking and feeling where was inside the wrong skin. Was not easy to do. But if I did not do it this way, then I knew I would do it without wanting, all at once, and it would be worse.

  To make well all at once is no good. Each cell must fit with next cell. With my fingertips I felt where down inside the bottom part of bad skin was, and I made it turn, and change to good skin, one little bit at a time.

  She held still and let me do it. After a while she said, "It was a fire, two years ago. Dad left a blowtorch lit, and I moved it, and there was a can of plastic stuff with the top off. And it went up—"

  I said, "Not to talk. Not necessary. Wait. Wait." And always I rubbed softly the bad skin.

  But she could not bear to have me rub without talking, and she said, "We couldn't collect anything. It said right on the can, keep away from flame. It was our fault. I was in the hospital twice. They healed it, but it just grew back the same way. It's what they call keloid tissue."

  I said, "Yes, yes, dear one, I know."


  Now was one layer on the bottom, soft skin instead of hard; and she moved a little in the chair, and said in a small voice, "It feels better."

  Under my fingertips the skin was still hard, but now more soft than before. When I pushed it, was not like lizard any more, but like glove.

  I worked, and she forgot to be ashamed until it came a noise of door opening at front of apartment. She sat up straight, looking around and then on me. Her face got pink again, she grabbed my wrist. "What are you doing?" Her voice was thin and not real.

  In a minute I knew she would jump up and pull her dress together, and then she would run out of room, so whatever happened, it would not be her fault.

  But I could not let her do it. I was also ashamed, and my ears like on fire, but to stop now was impossible. I said loud, "No, sit down." I held her in the chair, and kept my fingers on her skin. I did not look up, but I heard a man's feet come into room.

  I heard Mr. Frank say, "Hey, you. What do you think you're up to?"

  And the girl was trying to get up again, but I held her still, and I said, "Look. Look." With tears running down my cheeks.

  Under .my fingers was a little piece of good, soft skin, smooth like cream. While I moved my fingers, slowly that place got bigger. She looked down, and she forgot to breathe.

  Over her shoulder, I saw Mr. Frank come nearer, with face mad and wondering. He said once more, "Hey," with lips pulling back hard over teeth, and then he looked on the shoulder of his daughter. He blinked his eyes like not believing, and then looked again. He put his hand on it, quick, hard, and then took away like burned.

  Now was changing more fast the rest of skin. Was like rubbing from a window the frost. Still they were not moving, the daughter and Mr. Frank, and then he went down on his knees beside the chair with arm around her and arm around me holding so hard that it hurt, and we were all three tight together, all three hot wet faces.

  IN LIVING ROOM was radio, so loud you could not think, and people laughing. I was sitting by table in kitchen when Mr. Frank came out with glass in his hand, and fell against table, and sat down hard. His face was red like from steam bath. He looked on me and said, "Well, there you are. I thought you got lost in the john or something. Well, why don't you join the party, for Christ sake? Get in there and have a little fun."

  I said, "I'm feeling tired. Would like to just sit quietly for while."

  He blinked and said, "Sure. You do whatever you want. You're the greatest, Mike, you know that? You just sit there and take it easy, old buddy." He looked in his drink, and shook ice cubes, and then drank what was in bottom and put it down. "You know," he said, "two years I had that hanging over me. Two years, would you believe it?" He shook his head. "I use to belong to a bowling club. Had to give that up. Use to go out bowling every Tuesday night. Sold all my fishing stuff, too—never got much for it. Had to take the telephone out. You know we were living on franks and beans? Over two hundred bucks a week coming in, and living on franks and beans. Every cent went to the doctors. For two years. I don't take no credit, what the hell, I done the damage. And I paid for it, too:' He reached for bottle on cabinet, and poured more whisky in glass. He drank some and put it down.

  "You know she was engaged to a fellow. I never liked him. His name was Ernest. Ernest Nixon, he worked for a bank. But, she thought she loved him and all that. Then come her accident, and we never saw him again. I broke that up, all right. And don't you think she ever let me forget it." He held up glass. "You want some of this?"

  I said, "No, thank you. It makes me sick in stomach"

  "Too bad." He drank again. "Funny you can't fix a thing like that, I mean, after what you done for Anne."

  I said, "I could fix it, but to me is not worth the trouble."

  "Oh, yeah?" He nodded without interest, and then looked up. "Mean you can fix other stuff? Like if anybody got sick?"

  "Some things I can fix. But not germ disease, because is too many little germs. But sometimes cancers I can fix, and things where body is not working right."

  He put down his glass. "Cancer? You kidding? Yeah, you're kidding, you can't fix no cancer." He drank again. "No, not kidding."

  "Cut it out, will you? If you could do that, you'd be a millionaire, not a busboy."

  Just then door from outside opened and two girls came in giggling, Anne and her girlfriend Loraine. Anne said, "Poppa, look?" They were both wearing pretty dresses, and Anne held open little jacket to show how low was neck of dress. Where bad skin was on her chest, was now only brown place you could hardly see—tanned from sun, because if not for her accident, she would have been at beach many times in bathing suit. And even this she had powdered now so it did not show. "A strapless!" she said. "Oh, you just don't know what it means!" In her eyes was tears. She kissed him, and then leaned over and kissed me also on forehead. Her lips were warm and greasy with lipstick, which I did not like. Then she and other one were rustling down hall toward where radio was going.

  Mr. Frank stood up, holding on to chair. He said, "Excuse me a minute. Be right back." He went down the hall.

  I sat and listened to radio too loud with music I did not understand. After long time, Mr. Frank came back, bumping into one side of hall and then other, with behind him Mr. Pete, the round bald one who always smiled. Mr. Frank sat down in chair so hard I thought he would break it, and Mr. Pete tried to help him but he said, "I'm all right."

  Mr. Pete sat down on other side and put his hand on my shoulder. "Well, how you doing, boy?"

  "All right."

  "Frank here was just telling me, you have some kind of a secret where you cure cancer, is that right?" He smiled on me, with teeth gray and wet.

  "I can cure it," I said. I moved away little bit.

  But he kept his hand on my shoulder. "Well, like how do you do it? I mean, do you say some words, or what?"

  "Is hard to explain."

  He nodded, smiling, and said to Mr. Frank, "See, Frank, a four-flusher. I seen them before. When he says it's hard to explain, that means he can't do it."

  He turned to me and said, "Is that right?" On his breath was liquor. His head was bald and shiny brown under light. I said, "I can do it."

  "Well, you don't sound like you can do it. Look, can you do it or not?" He moved little closer to me. "I mean, like if you can do it, do it, or if you can't do it, shut up." Always smiling.

  Mr. Frank sat up straight and said, "What have you, got a cancer? What's he going to cure, for Christ's sake? Don't be such a jerk, will you, for Christ's sake?"

  Mr. Pete said, "Look. I got a wart, see?" He held up hand. There was a brown wrinkled wart on thumb. "Now if he can cure a cancer, it stands to reason he can cure a wart, don't it?"

  "Oh, don't be such a jerk, Pete." Mr. Frank was frowning and rolling himself from side to side in chair. "Come on now, I don't like it." He leaned forward suddenly and took hold of my arm. "You and me are buddies, right, Mike?"

  "Sure, Mr. Frank"

  "You bet. So don't be such a jerk, Pete, I don't like it." He sat back and closed his eyes.

  Mr. Pete was still holding up hand with wart. He was smiling, but not so wide. He said, "Okay, how about it?"

  I said, "For wart is not worth it, and already I had a hard day, I am tired—"

  "No, now," said Mr. Pete, holding wart in my face, "you said you could do it, and I want to see you do it. Come on, boy, let's see you cure that wart. Go ahead, make her disappear. Go ahead."

  I looked on his face, and he was very hating man, very quiet and smiling, but always looking for reason to hurt someone. And I saw in his past a shadow that made me feel bad in stomach.

  Now my heart was again jumping hard in chest, and I was afraid it would be again like with policeman. So I reached, and turned where there was no wart. And it was gone.

  Mr. Pete jumped like hit, and grabbed his hand. Mr. Frank had eyes open and watching, and I saw him rub his own thumb, where was small bandage. But he was not thinking about it, he was looking on Mr. Pete's ha
nd. Then they both looked on me.

  Mr. Pete swallowed and said, "He did it, by God" "Gone?"

  "Look here. You can't even see where it was."

  Mr. Pete looked on me again with small bright eyes, and smile almost gone. "I don't know about this. I got to think." He rubbed his thumb, looked on it and then rubbed again. I smelled him sour and I knew he was afraid. He said, "There's possibilities in it, Frank"

  "Aw, he's kidding you. Why ain't he a millionaire, then? He's nothing but a lousy busboy. It's all a load of crap."

  I said, "I could do it, but I would not. Sometimes I can help, like with Anne. But if I would cure everybody who is sick, first it would be like whirlpool, everyone coming, fighting. I could make well forty, fifty people a day, that is nothing. It is like throwing one piece bread to hundred people who are starving. Believe me, I have seen it and I know. You cannot imagine what ugliness, how terrible is a world where all life, all happiness depends on one man."

  But I stopped, because I saw they were looking on me but not listening. When I stopped, Mr. Pete got up and went around table to Mr. Frank. He bent down to whisper in his ear.

  Then I thought it would be better if I should go, and I got up and went to the door. But with a crash of chair on floor they came after me, one on each side, both with red faces and liquor breath, and held my arms.

  "Come on!" said Mr. Pete, and they made me walk across kitchen, down hall, and they opened bedroom door and pushed me in.

  They were both breathing hard. Mr. Pete stood in doorway and took knife out of pocket, and showed me the blade. "Listen," he said, "one peep out of you, and this. Understand?"

  I said nothing. They backed out of door and closed it, and I heard a click.

  In room it was dark then, but I found string hanging from ceiling and turned on light. It was one lightbulb, dim and sad. One wooden chair was in room, one bureau, and one little folding bed with thin mattress and Indian blanket on it. In air was smell of spray to kill insects.