not one common in travelers from the north, who were the most frequent
strangers in this area. It was impossible to say where he was from.
“Certainly, sir, certainly,” he replied. “What is your complaint, sir? I mean,
what is wrong with your watch? It is obviously quite expensive, although...”
114
Z. Živkovic
He opened his mouth to admit that he had never seen one like it before, but he
held back at the last moment, fearing this might stop the visitor from leaving
his watch with him. He certainly had to have the chance to examine it in
greater detail.
“I have no complaints,” said the stranger, interrupting him. “The watch is
fine. But all the same, I think it would be a good idea for you to have a look at
it.”“Most certainly, sir. You are quite right. A bit of precaution would certainly
do no harm. On the contrary, never enough caution. You were very wise to
bring your watch to be looked at. Even the best watches need regular main-
tenance. People do not bear that in mind, actually, they are negligent for the
most part, not only toward objects, unfortunately; many misfortunes would be
avoided if precautionary measures were taken...”
“There are no precautions that can thwart chance.” The man said this in an
even voice, as though saying something obvious, even banal. The watchmaker
squinted toward the invisible face; although the statement sounded like a
general principle, there was something in the stranger’s tone that gave it the
weight and credentials of personal experience.
“Yes, indeed. Of course. You understand things perfectly, sir. Chance, yes.
Something you cannot influence regardless of how hard you try. For a
watchmaker that is the effect of dust. I have yet to see a watch without dust,
and countless numbers have gone through my hands in my many years of
work. You can protect a watch however you want, even close it hermetically,
but nothing helps. Dust will find a way inside, and one particle is
enough—one single, solitary particle—to jeopardize the fine mechanism.
You have no idea, sir, what a nightmare dust is for watchmakers.”
“Yes, a particle of dust,” repeated the visitor, drawing out his words, lost in
thought. “The flutter of butterfly wings...”
The old man’s eyes became suspicious. What was that supposed to mean?
What “flutter”? Maybe he wanted to say something else but expressed himself
awkwardly in a foreign language—although he seemed to speak it well, at least
fluently and correctly, if not without an accent. Or maybe he was some kind of
crank, an eccentric? The old man was not prejudiced against foreigners and
considered the stories that could be heard about their peculiarities, even
abnormalities, to be exaggerated for the most part. But you never knew.
There were quacks everywhere, in any case. Not even this neighborhood had
been spared.
He had the impression that some sort of reply was expected from him, but
did not know what to say. Really, “butterfly wings” ... What could he say
about them and still be nice, polite? He was saved from the awkward situation
Time Gifts
115
by a carriage that suddenly passed by in the street. The rapid thud of horses’
hooves caused the plated wheels to produce a sharp rattle as they rolled over the
cobblestones. The visitor seemed to flinch a bit at this noise, turning toward
the entrance. But the carriage passed in a flash, and the fading echo of its
passage was quickly absorbed by the heavy silence of the evening.
“Yes,” said the watchmaker when the stranger turned his unseen face toward
him once again, “you are completely right. There is no way to fight against
chance.”
“Oh, that’s not what I said. I only said that you cannot thwart it, prevent
it. But that does not mean that you cannot fight against it.”
The old man involuntarily swallowed the lump in his throat. “Please forgive
me, sir, but I’m afraid that I don’t understand you very well,” he replied
timidly.
Before he answered, the visitor finally put the pocket watch on the felt-
covered counter, as though for some reason he had concluded just at that
instant that he could safely let the watchmaker take his valuable timepiece.
When the white glove withdrew from the lamplight, the old man had the
impression that a bright trace remained behind it for a few moments. With his
free hand, the foreigner skillfully took the cane from under his arm, turned
slowly on his heel and pointed at the clocks on the four walls with it.
“It is all a matter of time, you see,” he said at last, after making a full circle
and returning to face the watchmaker again. His voice took on that flat quality
once more that spoke of reliable knowledge, his own experience.
The old man simply nodded, without a word, as though this statement
explained everything. One had to be careful with eccentrics; it was not
advisable to contradict them.
“What makes chance so powerful? The fact that you can’t foresee it. If you
knew exactly which particle of dust would ruin the watch mechanism, you
could remove it in time. But you can’t know that until the malfunction occurs,
of course.”
“Of course,” repeated the watchmaker like an echo, with another nod.
“Cause and effect,” continued the visitor. “The particle only becomes a
cause when the effect takes place—the malfunction. Never beforehand. That is
why alleged clairvoyance and similar illusionary sleights of hand have no
meaning. The future cannot be foretold because then one would be able to
change it. And if you changed it, then it would no longer be the predicted
future. You cannot prophesy: this particle is the cause of the future malfunc-
tion—and then remove it, because then there would be no malfunction, and
your prophecy would have no value, either. No, the consequences must
happen in any case. And they do take place. You yourself said that you have
116
Z. Živkovic
never seen a watch without dust inside. And you undertook detailed precau-
tionary measures, everything that was within your power, to prevent it.”
“Oh, I did, I did, most assuredly. You can be certain of that, sir. I hope I am
not being immodest when I say that this watch repair shop has an excellent
reputation for industriousness. You will see this for yourself, sir, I hope. We
leave nothing to chance here...”
The old man stopped, biting his tongue; it was only after he had said this
last sentence that he realized the expression he used might sound inappropri-
ate, given the topic under discussion. But since the visitor did not react, he
quickly continued.
“But, if you will forgive me my poor perception, sir, I cannot see how it is
possible to fight against chance—your very words, sir—if the effects, the
consequences, must take place?”
The foreigner did not answer at once. Led by some obscure impulse, he
threw his cane a short distance into the air, then as it fell caught it adeptly near the upper end with his thumb and forefinger and started to swing the lower
pa
rt as if it were a pendulum. It was only then that the old man noted in the
gentle, milky gleam that the top of the cane was the stylized figure of an
hourglass. Most likely made of ivory, he concluded. The man was without
doubt quite wealthy. Perhaps only people like that could allow themselves the
luxury of being eccentric.
“It’s all a matter of time, as I said,” he announced again at length, continu-
ing to swing his wooden pendulum. “You truly cannot influence the cause
before the effect, but there is another possibility—perhaps you can do so after
the effect takes place.”
The old man squinted again over the metal rim of his glasses. Watchmakers
are like doctors, he thought, self-pityingly and comfortingly: they do not enjoy
the privilege of choosing their clients. How would it look if a doctor refused to
treat a patient simply because he had strange convictions? Should he now
refuse to serve this obviously wealthy quack with a very unusual watch just
because of his peculiar ideas? That would be quite against professional ethics,
not to mention courtesy. And after all, there was the fee to think of.
“Oh,” replied the old man briefly, trying not to sound too surprised.
“Yes,” continued the visitor, “although extremely unusual, the idea is
actually simple. Going into the past. Going upstream on the river of time, to
put it picturesquely. If you returned to the past, you would be able to remove
the cause and thereby the effect as well.”
“Of course,” agreed the watchmaker without hesitation. “Quite simple, as
you said, sir... Going back into the past and removing the cause... Nothing
easier, so to speak. No cause, no effect. You explained that quite well, sir, quite
concisely...”
Time Gifts
117
The stranger did not reply for several moments, and the old man had the
unpleasant impression that the unseen eyes were gazing at him in suspicion
from under the hat brim. Did I say something I shouldn’t have? he wondered.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. A man doesn’t know how to talk to
such people.
“It is not quite as simple as you might think.” The visitor’s voice seemed to
carry a touch of reproach. “Here’s an example: imagine that you go back to the
past and accidentally cause the death of one of your parents—before you were
conceived. That would mean that you were never born and could therefore
never go into the past and prevent your own conception. And if you were
nonetheless born and then you went back to the past...and so on. Reductio ad
absurdum. A paradox.”
The old man stared fixedly at the dark figure before him, suddenly feeling
sweat break on the palms of his hands. What was he talking about—causing
the death of one of my parents? How could he think of something like that?
Was that the sort of thing a gentleman talked to a stranger about, even if he
was an eccentric? But what if this person before him was not some rich
eccentric, but a madman who had escaped from a foreign asylum for the
mentally ill, who would rob and maybe even kill someone? Where did he get
those fancy clothes, expensive watch and ivory-tipped cane, anyway? Does he
intend to attack me? What should I do? How were you supposed to act toward
a dangerous lunatic, anyway? Humor him, flatter him? I must not let him
know that I realize he is crazy. But they say that madmen can be very bright...
If only the ceiling light was on—damn the penny-pinching of the elderly!
“No, there is no solution to the paradox, at least not if you hold to the
normal view of time—as a unique river. What has happened cannot be
changed at all. The flow of time is like granite in which events are permanently
chiseled. Both causes and effects. It is not a palimpsest that you can erase and
write on again as many times as you want.”
Another short pause ensued, and then the foreigner suddenly stopped the
monotonous swinging of his cane. He held it in the hanging position for a
moment, as though uncertain what to do with it next, and then with a sharp
movement put it under his arm again. All that remained sticking out at the
front was the figure of the hourglass—a milky spot before a dark background.
“But what if there were not just one time flow, one inscription in granite? If
there were several flows—countless, actually? Imagine time not as a single river
but as an enormous tree with countless branches, countless forks. Forks appear
on those places where you change the past. One branch is the original flow in
which a cause produced an effect; that is final—it must remain unchanged,
chiseled—but from the other branch both the cause and the effect are
removed.”
118
Z. Živkovic
The visitor stopped, as though wanting to check the impression his words
had made. The old man was still staring at him fixedly, his mouth half open. In
the sudden silence, the muted ticking of the wall clocks rose by several octaves.
“And you exist on both forks, in both versions, if we can put it that way.
You have a sort of double—more than that, actually—whose course of life
differs from yours in some respect. In an essential respect, perhaps. He could
be spared the effects of an unpleasant, tragic accident, for example.”
The visitor fell silent and the old man started to fidget, feeling that he
should say something in reply. However, for several long moments he couldn’t
think of anything.
“Truly quite clever,” he said at last, making an effort to keep his voice from
trembling. “What an unusual notion! You have figured out something quite
brilliant, sir. A tree and then a fork, and a double! Very picturesque, striking,
no doubt about it. Something like that certainly would never have crossed my
mind.”
“Strange. And one would say that you have had both an opportunity and a
motive to think about that.”
“What are you thinking of, sir? I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”
The visitor took the cane in his right hand again and described a rather large
arc in front of him.
“Isn’t this an opportunity? Look around yourself. You have spent your
entire life in the midst of clocks. You are surrounded by chronometers. You
are in the very center of time, I might say, in a very privileged position. I
cannot believe that in all these past years you have never wondered about the
nature of time, how it works, about the peculiarities linked to it. Who else if
not you?”
“I am afraid you highly overestimate me, sir. I am just an ordinary watch-
maker. Industrious, that is true, yes, and probably good, too, at least that is
what they say, but nothing more than an artisan. For me, sir, and please don’t
hold it against me, time flows as it flows, and if a clock does not measure it as it should, I repair it. I can do that. And that is all. Clocks are here to measure
time properly, aren’t they?”
“Yes, that’s true, but what about the motive?”
“Motive, sir?”
The stranger did not continue right away. The watchmaker could almost
feel the piercing look of the eyes in the sha
dow.
“Nothing in your life has ever made you want to go back to the past and
change something there? Remove some unforeseen cause that led to adverse
effects? Cancel the consequences of some mischance that befell you or
Time Gifts
119
someone particularly close to you, someone dear? Has there ever been a man
who has never had such a desire?”
Who is this? wondered the watchmaker in fear, feeling suddenly squeezed,
as if in a trap. Behind him was a wall, and before him lurched a threatening
figure, a voice from the darkness asking inadmissible, impossible questions.
His hand unconsciously touched the watch in his vest pocket. This was not
some eccentric or madman. Oh, no. Something else was going on here,
something unreal, like a dream. Maybe I’m dreaming, he thought with
hope. He did not wake up, however, as always happens when this question
is asked in a dream.
“What would be the use even if I did want to, sir? It can’t be done. I mean,
all right, maybe time isn’t, as you described, sir, a river, I don’t contest that,
but that...tree...with the forks in the branches...and the rest. The double... But
how can a person ever get the chance to change anything? Go back to the
past?”
There was no reply from the shadow. The seconds lapsed, long, silent, full
of expectation. And then, instead of the stranger, the wall quartet suddenly
resounded, breaking off the tense silence and prompting the old man for the
first time in his life to jump at the harmonious announcement of the full hour;
the very next moment it was transformed into a discordant confusion of
grumbling, chirping, chiming, and waltz music.
The visitor remained motionless until the last echo of the grenadier’s bass
died out and then with a rapid movement placed the top of his cane next to the
pocket watch that lay on the illuminated felt counter.
“You will look at it, won’t you?”
A deep sigh of relief escaped from the old man, as though a heavy load had
been taken off his chest. His eager hands finally caught hold of the precious
object; they started to turn it over and feel it, examining it as carefully as eyes
could.
“Certainly, certainly. Rest assured, sir. Right away. It’s not too late. If you
would be so kind as to come by in the morning. As soon as I open. It will be
Zoran Zivkovic - First Contact and Time Travel Page 19