I turned out light again and sat down on bed in the dark. Then I was very tired, and I lay down. After little while I heard voices and footsteps in hall, and then in kitchen, and door slammed. Then I heard only Anne's voice sounding mad asking some questions, and Mr. Frank and Mr. Pete answering, and then after while radio was turned off and it was quiet.
I lay still and closed eyes, but could not rest. First my leg would jump, then neck, then hand. And always I would think of Mr. Pete and Mr. Frank sitting in kitchen, under sick yellow light, with their wet eyes looking on me.
Then sometimes I would remember shiny black streets empty at night, and walls of brick and soot, and the faces of the people gray as they went down stairs into subway.
After long time, when house was quiet, I got up and went to door. Underneath in crack I could see light, very thin. I tried door and it would open little way, then click on something and stop. It was not a lock, but a bolt outside, the kind that slides across and then down into a slot.
I reached, and turned to make the bolt not be there. Then I opened door little by a little, and looked out. Hall was dark, only a little bit light coming from underneath kitchen door, which was now closed. Other way, all was black in living room, but I heard someone breathing slow.
Kitchen door also was closed by bolt, and this bolt also I removed. Carefully I opened door and looked in.
Mr. Pete was asleep in chair, leaning back against wall in corner. He was partly against wall, partly against front door, so it could not open without hitting his chair. His head was hanging, and he was breathing loud. Every so often he would start to lean too far off the chair, and then he would pull himself back with a jerk, and his breathing would be quiet. Then, noisy again, and he would lean, and so on. He was frowning, and looked worried.
I went quietly across floor. The front door was closed with a big spring lock, also a bolt, and a chain. To open them would be easy, but then if I would open door, it would knock down Mr. Pete's chair and wake him up. So I reached, and turned to where whole door was not hung. And it flickered and disappeared. A cold air began to flow in through open doorway, and I stepped out into the hall.
When I was at the top of stairs, I heard a crash and a yell from inside apartment. I looked up as I started down stairs, and I saw Mr. Pete in doorway, with eyes big. When he saw me he ducked back behind the doorway, and then I saw him coming out again, and suddenly was a flash of fire and a sound like house breaking apart. Then I was falling downstairs. In my shoulder, slowly, was a feeling like someone would have hit me with a stick.
I was lying with my head downstairs, feet up. The stairs were full of that noise that made in my ears a pain, and whole building was going slowly around. Then I saw over the railing Mr. Pete's gray face looking down on me, and I saw his hand move, and inside me the fear came bursting up, and then suddenly was a black hole over my head. No Mr. Pete, no hallway, all vanished.
I was feeling sick, and dizzy. Now when I moved I felt pain in my shoulder, and in my mind I said, "He shot me. I am shot." I put my hand on place, and there was blood.
For minutes I could not see, and I thought I would faint. Then upstairs I heard feet running, and dimly saw Mr. Frank standing on edge of hallway, where beginning of hole was, and trying not to fall over. He was in pajamas, top part open. When I saw him, the fear came up again, and then he was gone, like candle going out.
Downstairs I heard doors banging, voices. I was trying to feel inside shoulder and find bullet, but there was no bullet, only hole. Then I started to fix wound, but it was too hard, I could not think with all the voices calling, and feet running in hallways. Then I heard Anne: "Pop! Pop!" And I saw her on edge of hallway upstairs, in blue bathrobe and pajamas. She was looking at hole in floor, holding on to railing with one hand, and with other brushing back her hair from face. I said, "Go back," and then she saw me but did not hear. She said, "Mike!" and began to move sideways along railing, putting her feet in spaces between the bars.
She got safely to top of stairs and came down quickly. "Mike, what happened? Gee, are you hurt? Let me—"
I said, "Shot. Trying to fix it, but—Must get out." I tried to get up, and she helped me. "Mike, where's Pop? Oh, look out, you're bleeding!"
I got my feet down where should be, and stood up holding on to wall. Anne tried to help, but did not like to touch side where I was bleeding.
I said, "Don't worry, doesn't matter:' and I started down stairs holding wall with one hand, and her arm with other. Still I was trying to fix bullet hole, little by little, but could not do much, only close up to make the blood stop.
Going down the next flight we met two men in bathrobes coming up. They began to ask questions, and one tried to help me and make Anne go back, but I pushed him away. Now my shoulder was hurting, but we went down, past more people in doorways, until finally we were in bottom hallway, and Anne helped me push open the big door to outside. And cool air was blowing in our faces.
I went down stone steps slow, holding on. I tried not to think, not feel, only lean against the cold stone and make well my hurt shoulder.
Behind me Anne's voice said, "Mike, should I get a doctor?"
"No, wait, I can fix." Looking up street to avenue I could see the red eyes of traffic lights, and it was so quiet that when the lights changed to green, I could hear the click all way from corner.
Still, inside me was the fear pushing to get out. I heard Anne coming downstairs behind me, and each footstep I heard like a touch on my skin. She came and looked on my face, and began to say something.
Then doors of houses opened bang, and again I was like shot: I saw a man standing in doorway with legs apart and mouth open—but only a flicker, and then doorway turned black and melted away. The man was gone. Inside house, was a rain of plaster falling into hallway like a cave: and a dirty cloud puffed out of hole where doors had been.
In my ears was pain, on my knees cold stone. Inside house, I heard a woman scream. Then the stairs shook like thunder with feet coming down; and I could not help it, the fear came up inside me again. And it was quiet inside house. Except for patter of dropping things.
Anne was calling in my ear, "Mike, Mike, what is it?" Holding my arm till it hurt.
But I could not speak to her, because from few blocks away I heard a sound that made my skin cold. It was a siren of police car—coming nearer.
Then once more the bursting inside me, bigger than before; and the siren stopped like cut off with knife.
Then there was a rumble that shook street, and a cloud of dust crawled up over tops of buildings. Anne was shouting in my ear; I could not hear what she said.
I was seeing in my mind where buildings were cut in half, with people falling out.
I could not stop it. I put my hands over ears, but no good, I heard window opening, and my head jerked up; but all I saw was bricks flying from hole in building behind me. They winked out in middle of air, and never hit sidewalk. Then—one, two—the fear bulged again inside me, and there was nothing left of that building—not a brick, not a scream, only empty lot, color of ashes.
Anne said, in hoarse voice, "Mike—"
But across the street was doors opening, and people standing … and then, nothing. Darkness. Empty lots, and dark backs of buildings on next street. The wind was blowing a piece white paper, like bird with broken wing. And we looked on it.
Then I heard in the air a sound like police car a million times bigger. It was air raid siren, howling, in pain, shaking the streets, up and down, up, down. I could not stand it, and there was inside me like explosion, and that sound also stopped.
Stillness came whispering down the street.
But it was no more a street, only flat gray land as far as I could look. Not a tree, not even weed, only rock. Where minute ago we were in bottom of the street, like bugs in a crack, now we could see the edge of the world, and over us was the whole sky.
Now, slowly, like one muscle unclenching after another, my fear went away.
I listened. Under stillness was no sound, not even cricket; only more stillness, deep and deep. Across the land came a cold strong wind, and it passed us and went on.
"What happened?" said Anne. Her voice was flat and dull. I said, "I killed them. Some I killed. Some cut in pieces. And the rest I made go away."
She looked on me, and after minute whispered, long and slow, "Why?"
"I was afraid." I listened to that word, waiting for it to echo like hand slapped on a wall, but it only floated away into darkness.
She said, "But what happened—to all the buildings? The—"
"I turned to where they were not built. Where was no city, and even no life. Now is a city on a world of gray rock, like this."
"I don't understand."
I said, "The way I fix your shoulder. I turned each little bit to where your accident never happened. Many worlds, many Annes. It is to me like breathing. I could always do it, even when I did not want to do it."
She did not seem to understand. She looked on me and said politely, "How is your shoulder?"
I felt, and it was whole again. "When I am asleep, or sometimes if I am very frightened, it is like inside me a small frightened child. Anything that is wrong with me, or anything it is afraid of, it will fix. To hurt other people—it does not know, it does not care."
She shook her head, looking past me. "It was all here, just a minute ago. Gee, I was sound asleep. Then I heard this big noise, and Pop got up and ran outside and then I got up too, and went to see—" She laughed. "I just can't believe it. I mean, it was all here" She looked around, and said, "Oh," with her hand to mouth.
"What?"
"I just thought, Queens is gone too. That's where Phil lived." I saw her eye shine. "He's a boy where I work. He kept asking me for dates, and I liked him, but— Gee, I'll never know, will I? And Pop—"
She put face down into her hands and her body began to shake. Deep, hurting sounds came up from her belly. And it kept going on. I could not bear to listen, and I went close and said, "Anne, don't cry. I will do anything, anything to help you"
Still she wept, and between crying she said to me, "Why couldn't you kill yourself instead!"
I said, "Once I tried it. But inside would not let me. And I woke up, and I was alive."
She was still weeping, and only to comfort her, I said, "All must die sometime, Anne, but to me is not easy."
She raised her head and looked on me, blind with crying. I said, "If I try to bring back a world where something has made me afraid, that frightened child will not let me. I tell you with shame, that it is stronger than me. And it never forgets. I could do for you only two things. Either I could take you over there"—I pointed—"where is still other cities—Philadelphia, Boston—"
She said in thick voice, "What's the other one?"
"I could turn where is another world, and another city-not New York, but it would be as much like New York as I could make."
"Pop?" she asked.
"No. There will be no one that you knew, because I must turn before they were born. But you are young, pretty, you will make friends—"
She wiped her eyes with sleeve. "Will they build New York up again?"
"In this world? They will build it, yes, but never in your life would it be the same. Also there will be hard times for a while, even if you would go to California. I tell you truth, so you will know. To lose such a city, is like to a man to lose his arm. There will be shock, and much unhappiness."
"I lived here all my life," she said. "What would this other place be like?"
I said, "I will reach back and turn where simple thing was different—maybe one man president of country instead of another man. From this will be all things a little bit different—there will be different people born, and even different buildings built. But it will look like New York to you, and you will soon feel at home in it. That I promise."
She found handkerchief in her pocket, and turned away. "Don't look at me"
Now I knew she would be better, so I went little bit away and sat looking across gray plain, where ash-colored sky was turning slowly to a little bit green and pale gold.
"I'm sorry"
I turned to her. She was sitting straight, with hands in lap. "I'll take the other place you talked about. Can you do it right now?"
"Yes." I reached back, feeling for place to turn. It was easy to find one, but not so easy to pick right one. After minute I said, "Ready."
I reached and turned. And like a light going on in dark room, so quick it hurt the eyes, around us was a street with high buildings of red brick: and down at corner, traffic lights were turning green, and a long car went by with swish of tires on pavement. Street lights were yellow and dusty, and sky was again black. Under the stillness was small sounds everywhere, and in air was smell of burned gasoline.
I heard Anne say, very small, "Oh."
It was almost like old street. Small different things wherever you look, but from corner of eye, almost the same.
I said, "You will need some money," and I stepped to curb. I reached, and turned one small part of gutter, like deck of cards, until I found place where money was dropped. I picked it up, it was a dollar bill, but in middle was a different face. Then I turned to where it was a five instead, and then a ten, and so on until there was five hundred dollars. And I gave it to her, but she was holding robe tight around her and looking if anyone should see her not dressed. "Wait," I said, "I will fix it."
Under stone stairway was cellar entrance with railing, and garbage cans. I climbed over railing, and turned until I found place where was a coat thrown away. It was lying beside garbage can, a fur coat, with fur rubbed off some places, but better than bathrobe. I climbed back, and gave it to her, and she put it on.
"Now what?" she said, trying to smile.
Up at corner, lights were red, and I saw a taxi, a yellow one with sign on top lit. I stood at curb and waved, and I saw driver's head turn, and then lights were yellow, then green, and the taxi came curving around. It rolled up to us and stopped. The driver looked at us out of his window without saying anything. He was young, with long, pale chin, and he was chewing gum. He saw me and he saw Anne in her bad fur coat, with bedroom slippers on her feet, but he did not look away with politeness, or stare with rudeness; he did not care.
I opened the door for her, and she got in. "Take her to a good hotel," I told driver, "quiet, not too expensive:' I started to close door, but she held out her hand.
"Aren't you coming too?"
The driver was listening, but I said, "Anne, this is not a world for me. If I would stay here, it would be same as last time. Better I should go now, and not take chances."
She said, "Go where?"
"Somewhere."
"What's the use, if it always turns out the sameT'
"It will not always be the same. Somewhere I know God has made a place, even for me."
On her forehead was pain. She touched my hand and said, "Mike, Mike—"
Then I closed door slowly. "Goodbye. Please go on now, driver:'
She was rolling down her window as taxi made a metal sound, and gray smoke came out of tail pipe, and taxi began to roll away down empty street; and Anne's head came out of window looking back, getting smaller, and I saw her hand waving; then taxi turned corner and she was gone.
I did not think to lose her would be so hard.
But if I would have stayed with her now, first from loneliness and then from being grateful, she would have grown to need me. Other bad things there would be, but this worst of all.
At least I had not done that to her, to spoil her by making myself a little demon who would do miracles, whenever a pot would boil over or a fingernail was broken.
Over roofs of buildings the sky was turning a bright, clear blue between streamers of purple-gray cloud. There was no use to wait anymore. I was tired, but I could rest where I was going.
I took long breath, and reached back deep and far, farther than ever before—two thousand years o
r little bit less. I was thinking that maybe all my trouble was because I was trying to stay close to my own world, and always to be traveling around it even though I could never go back. If I must wander, why not go far?
I found place, where if one man was not born, all world would be different. And I turned.
The buildings jumped like flames and disappeared. Then, under that same sky, there was another city.
Cold gray buildings climbing one behind another, all with peaked doors and windows, very big, and with domes of yellow stone or of powdery blue copper. Across the brightening sky was an airplane drifting—not cross-shaped, but round. The street was of cobblestones.
I was standing inside a little park with a railing of stone carved like loops of cloth. Behind me was a pedestal of stone, and two statues, one of handsome young man in a hat with no brim, carrying a torch in his arms. And the other just the same, but with torch upside down. They looked down on me with blank stone eyes.
Is it you? they seemed to say.
And I, looking back, said, Is it here?
But we could not answer each other; and I left them standing there, and went into the city.
O Brave Old World!
Avram Davidson
As the sly and witty story that follows demonstrates, there's no detail so small that it can't cause a cascade of events that will totally change the world—including something as mundane as whether or not you like a country's cuisine …
For many years, the late Avram Davidson was one of the most eloquent and individual voices in science fiction and fantasy, and there were few writers in any literary field who could match his wit, his erudition, or the stylish elegance of his prose. During his long career, Davidson won the Hugo, the Edgar, and the World Fantasy Awards, and his short work was assembled in landmark collections such as The Best of Avram Davidson, Or All the Seas with Oysters, The Redward Edward Papers, Collected Fantasies, and The Adventures of Doctor Esterhazy. His novels include the renowned The Phoenix and the Mirror, Masters of the Maze, Rogue Dragon, Peregrine: Primus, Rork! Clash of Star Kings, and Vergil In Averno, and a novel in collaboration with Grania Davis, Marco Polo and the Sleeping Beauty. Since his death in 1993, his posthumously published books include a collection of his erudite and witty essays, Adventures in Unhistory, the collections The Avram Davidson Treasury, Limekiller.d, The Other Nineteenth Century, and Everyone Has Somebody in Heaven: Essential Jewish Tales of the Spirit, plus the novel The Scarlet Fig.
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