Shivering in the driving rain, it was at that moment that David's own determination to duty was born. He stiffened in the saddle and rode through the jarring bolts of lightning, accepting whatever fate would hand him. He was as they were; a soldier of the regiment, and would face death if he must, because his countrymen expected no less.
Hours later, in the fading light of the evening, the violent lightning and heavy rain finally ended. David began to feel a welcome change in temperature as the land started to heat up once more. With the air dead calm, he began to dry out, and his steady shiver was now just an occasional chill. As the column of men slowly came to a halt in preparation of their evening camp, relief that he would soon be resting by a warm fire lifted his spirits.
"Boy, now that all the action is over, it sure will be nice to sit and relax by the fire and dry out," David said.
"I agree, lad. It was a wonderful little storm, but I think I'd prefer a change in scenery," Dr. Morgan replied.
"Wonderful little storm? Doc, that was one of the most violent things I've ever witnessed," David retorted back.
"I rather enjoyed the display. It sure made the ride entertaining," Dr. Morgan continued.
"I'd say it was entertaining," David said with great emphasis. "Weren't you scared at all?"
"Well, to be truthful, I will probably require a change of britches," Dr. Morgan joked.
They both looked at each other silently for a moment and digested the old doctor's uncharacteristic humor. As truth and humor combined as one, both men broke out in laughter, a sound repressed during the arduous march, and welcomed as a relief to the stress and worry they had internalized throughout the day.
The two worked together quickly to set up camp and build a fire. David collected wood and kindling as Dr. Morgan set up the tents and dug out their food for the evening meal. Soon the pair settled in to their near flavorless dinner, consisting of hardtack crackers, salt pork boiled with a few assorted roots the old doctor discovered by the tree line during the day's march, coffee and some dried fruit. With David's stomach groaning for sustenance, he did his best to ignore the bland flavors and concentrated on replenishing his body's much needed energy. While he ate, he suppressed any torturous cravings he might have had and concentrated on his return home. Staring pensively through the fire, he was uncharacteristically quiet, a change in personality the old doctor immediately sensed.
"Forgive me for prying, David, but I sense you are in conflict. Is there anything I might be able to help you with?" Dr. Morgan asked.
"Unless you can order me a pizza, I doubt it," David replied, joking.
"Ah, pizza - cuisine indigenous to your time. I'm sorry, David. I tried to prepare our food as flavorful as I could, but we are limited in rations," Dr. Morgan apologized.
"Doc, you did a fine job. Actually, I'm trying to figure out how I got here. If I can just understand the mechanics of the event, maybe I can replicate it in reverse," David replied, rubbing his unshaven growth of chin hair.
"Sound reasoning, David. Have you come up with anything yet?" the old doctor asked.
"Nothing," David replied bluntly. "I can't remember any one thing that stands out from when I crossed into your time."
"Would you mind relating to me again the series of events that occurred as you appeared?" Dr. Morgan asked, hoping to find some hidden details not yet discussed.
Understanding the old doctor's reasoning, David gladly obliged, "Well, it's like we've discussed during the march. That poor little girl died on the operating table. I wandered down the hall to the elevator, got in, and just sort of stared through the back wall. The next thing I knew, the elevator descended on its own. As it descended, I remember being so distraught over that young girl’s death, I punched the picture on the back wall. As I picked it up off the floor, the elevator stopped and the door behind me opened. I turned around and saw you working on a patient, when you called to me for assistance. From there, things get a little fuzzy for me. I believe I squeezed though the doors and out onto the grass. When I turned around, the elevator was gone, and there were explosions all around me," David finished, still rubbing his chin more intently now.
"Hmm, interesting. I cannot understand why I didn't see the elevator. I only observed you standing several yards from me," Dr. Morgan said. He paused a moment in thought, then continued, "Maybe it had something to do with the natural creation of things in time?"
"I'm not following you, doc. Could you elaborate more?" David asked.
"Well, maybe the reason I couldn't see anything from your world was that for me, looking in from my time period, things of your time haven't been created yet. If they haven't been created, then I can't see them, but as you looked from your world into my world, you were looking at things that had existed for many years, therefore you could see everything in my world from your time period," Dr. Morgan stated, looking confused with his own explanation. "I think I'm beginning to sound unbalanced," he finished, feeling a bit embarrassed by his explanation.
"Doc! I think you're onto something," David blurted out. "It makes perfect sense. Why else couldn't you see the elevator... or the building for that matter?" he said enthusiastically. "Wow, this is really complex."
"If my explanation is accurate, then I'd have to agree. It does twist the mind just thinking about it," Dr. Morgan replied, equally intrigued.
"So, we can’t see into the future because the future hasn’t happened yet?" David said, more rhetorical than questioning.
Dr. Morgan’s face frowned for a moment in disapproval. “David, I think we’re overlooking an important detail with this theory. You are from the future. How is it that I was able to see you in the elevator?”
“Huh, that’s a very good point. Must have something to do with living tissue, I guess. Maybe living tissue has some kind of energy, while non-living tissue does not. I don’t know, doc, but one thing’s for certain: I’m proof that living tissue can be seen beyond this time period,” David replied. He paused a moment in thought, then asked, “Any thoughts on this one, doc?”
Deep in thought, the old doctor lightly stroked his long white beard as he watched the flames of the fire playfully dance on the logs. Without taking his eyes from the fire, he made a casual statement.
“You know, you said something in your description of the events this time that was different from your previous explanations. You mentioned that you squeezed through the doors of the elevator. I didn’t see the doors, so I can only assume they were closing on you when you went through them.” He thought for a moment, then asked, “Were the doors closing when you walked through?”
“No, I don’t believe they were. I do remember pressure, though, as I stepped beyond the doors. It felt tight on my body, almost taking my breath away,” David replied. He looked away from the fire, into the darkness as he thought about his statement. Turning back to the doctor, he continued, “That’s got to be it. Maybe the doorway wasn’t a door at all. Maybe it was a hole I passed through.”
“David, I just had a thought. We are looking for something tangible to locate: a door or a hole, something you could walk up to and somehow step through, back to your time period. What if what we’re talking about here really isn’t anything tangible? We’ve got to ask ourselves what made this hole open. Was there some kind of disturbance with your world and my world that tore open a moment of time? Maybe this war and the tragic death of that young child somehow formed a connection that tore a hole in time and allowed you to pass through it,” Dr. Morgan speculated.
David’s eyes stared at the old doctor intensely, nodding his head as he considered this new twist of logic. The more he thought of it, the more it made sense to him.
“A tear in time… a tear in time,” David repeated over and over as he stared into the fire.
Both men stared at each other from across the fire as they contemplated the depth of the statement.
Shaking his head, David said, “Doc, if it really was a tear in time that I traveled through, t
hat was a unique set of circumstances. It probably couldn’t be reproduced again in a million years. I might be stuck here forever. Shit!” he exclaimed, as he stood up and paced about the fire.
Dr. Morgan stood and faced David as he approached him. “David, I know the solution might seem far away, but we have to ask ourselves, why did it happen there and not anywhere else? I believe there must be some kind of energy at that location that helped to tear open time and allow you to pass through. I have confidence that once we are back there, we will find the answer,” Dr. Morgan said, placing his hand on David’s shoulder in reassurance.
Regaining control, David replied, “Sorry, doc. You’re probably right. Maybe it’s not that complex. Maybe time opens there all the time and nobody has noticed it before because that was the first time anyone has been there to notice it. Maybe it WAS the first time it tore open because of a set of unique circumstances, but that is not to say we can’t somehow replicate those circumstances again. There is a lot to consider here, and being negative won’t help with the solution,” David finished, extending his hand. As the two shook hands, David added, “One thing’s for certain: the only way I’m giving up is if someone shoots me.”
With a slight grin, Dr. Morgan replied, “Well, let’s hope we don’t have to resort to that.” He paused a moment, then continued, “Now, how about a taste of medicinal spirits? I don’t know how you are faring, but my mental state is in disrepair.”
Sitting back down by the fire, David replied in a stern tone, “As a trained doctor in advanced modern medicine, I must inform you that the consumption of alcohol to suppress psychological and emotional stress will only bring temporary relief of systems. I strongly recommend against a small prescription.” Pausing for effect: “Only generous proportions will have any meaningful effect, I’m afraid,” David said, now smiling, “Better plan on leaving the bottle.”
“Quite right, lad, quite right,” Dr. Morgan replied, with a reserved smile.
For a while, the two sat by the glow of the warm fire and imbibed in the clear, potent spirit. With their disposition softened, the topic of conversation turned back to the lighter side of time travel.
“What do you think the folks back in your time will say about your adventure?” Dr. Morgan asked.
“They’ll probably call me a lunatic and feed me huge quantities of mind-altering drugs,” David replied.
“Hmm, a most satisfying remedy to be sure, lad, though to be labeled a lunatic could be most disconcerting, I’m afraid. Maybe you should confide in only the most reliable associates,” Dr. Morgan recommended.
“Then again, I could accept the prescribed treatment and write a book about my adventure, selling millions of dollars in books. I could take a lot of abuse for a million bucks, you know,” David replied in jest as he rubbed his dirty finger across his unshaven face.
“Bucks for abuse. Hmm, an interesting occupation,” Dr. Morgan joked. “Reminds me of ole Handy Nelson,” now chuckling to himself.
“Who’s Handy Nelson?” David asked, mildly interested.
“Handy Nelson, where do I begin? He’s an interesting fellow I met years ago who visited me on occasion for medical treatment,” the old doctor replied, continuing as he squinted at David for dramatic effect. “He had a peculiar idea of what constituted a respectable occupation.”
“What was he, a stage coach robber? Snake oil salesman?” David replied, pulling from his limited knowledge of history of the old west.
“Neither, lad,” Dr. Morgan replied. “Ole Handy Nelson started off with a highly respectable occupation. He was a soldier in his youth, albeit a poor one. He had a particular attraction to the effects of the grape,” he stated with playful disdain.
“You mean he was a drunken soldier?” David clarified.
“So was reported, lad,” Dr. Morgan replied. “In any case, his real decline came after a wound he suffered during a skirmish with the Apaches. From what was reported, he lost the tip of one of his fingers. High command apparently used this as an excuse to discharge him from service, an act that was agreeable to both constituents. Unfortunately for old Handy, he really wasn’t prepared for the responsibilities of civilian life. He tried his hand at ranching, farming and, of course, bar keep, an occupation aligned with his affinity to alcohol. Unfortunately, he drank as much as he sold, much to the frustration of the saloon owners. With his alcoholism out of control, he resorted to begging for his survival. When that proved unsuccessful, in an act of desperation he turned to petty thievery, spending a short time in the local jail. With his release, he immediately headed straight for the local saloon, but without a cent in his britches, they turned him away, telling him ’his hands weren’t worth the drink they held in them’. In a macabre retort, ole Handy offered his bad finger for a bottle, thinking it wasn’t of any use to him anyway.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Don’t tell me he let them cut off his finger for a bottle of booze?” David said in shock.
“Not the whole finger, lad, and not just a bottle of booze. As it turns out, the deal was a piece of the finger for a week’s supply. What a stir it caused from what I heard. The whole town turned out to see the spectacle,” Dr. Morgan replied.
“Nobody tried to stop it? What were they, a bunch of savages?” David said, with obvious contempt.
“Apparently the overpowering lure of witnessing something so macabre outweighed their sense of propriety. Man, woman and child attended the grisly show, and with a swing of an axe, Handy Nelson was able to support his habit for another week,” Dr. Morgan concluded.
“So that’s how he got the name Handy?” David asked, now intrigued.
Shaking his head, Dr. Morgan replied, “Not exactly. It took a few more amputations for him to acquire that nickname. You see, after that first amputation and after the booze ended, he was right back to where he started. After a few days sobriety, he figured the painful nub was of no use to him anyhow, so he proposed the same deal once more, only this time he bartered more wisely, for a couple of weeks instead of just one. By now, you can probably predict how this ended.”
“Are you saying the moron actually let someone cut off all his fingers for booze?” David said in shock.
“Not all of them… about half, as I recall. To wit, that was certainly the strangest occupation I’ve seen so far – bucks for abuse, as you named it. An apropos usage, I’d say,” Dr. Morgan replied, bringing the story around full circle.
“Did you actually know this Handy Nelson fellow?” David asked.
“Know him? I was the surgeon that tried to salvage those gruesome little nubs,” Dr. Morgan admitted.
“You? Doc, didn’t you try to convince him against such lunacy?” David questioned.
“Yes, David, I did. When that didn’t work, I finally sent him to the local preacher, hoping he could turn him away from the bottle with a little spiritual cleansing,” Dr. Morgan defended.
David, now impatiently waiting for the end of the story, exclaimed, “Well, doc, whatever happened to Handy? The suspense is killing me here. Did the preacher help him?”
“The preacher offered him a bottle of booze for a digit,” Dr. Morgan replied dryly.
“The PREACHER?” David replied in a burst of laughter, “Offered booze for fingers? What a freaking hypocrite. So much for piety and compassion.”
He thrust his head back as he laughed aloud. With his shoulders shaking and his chest heaving, he gasped for air. Suddenly, there was no sound to be heard from David. Holding his stomach, his mouth stretched wide open beyond any normal human range, David had run out of air in laughter.
On the other side of the fire, the old doctor sat motionless at first, but then slowly the corners of his mouth began to turn up. As he watched David laugh uncontrollably, the sight became infectious. He felt the contractions in his stomach as his body instinctively reacted to the sight of another human laughing. His shoulders shook slightly and he felt pressure in the back of his throat. Like a hiccup, he felt it: the first sig
n of his uncontrolled laughter that started as, “Hmm, hmm, hmm.” Again and again the low hum sounded through his slightly parted lips, until he could stand the strain no longer. In a loud bellowous roar, Dr. Morgan joined in with David, each one’s laughter feeding the fire of the other’s laughter. Back and forth, they continued until their laughter was interrupted by a large spark from the fire that sent smaller sparks high into the sky. As they wiped the tears from their eyes, they regained controlled and considered the story that prompted their fit of laughter.
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