by Tim Pratt
Brooks nodded. "He chose the colorized version. He's not a purist. I hope you don't mind me saying this, Mr. Gallatin, but it would be very good if we got a move on."
"Where to now?"
"Back to your house."
"What's at my house that wasn't there an hour ago?"
"A moving van."
Three sets of eyes bounced back and forth, back and forth like Flubber for a while before any of the mouths connected to them had more to say.
"They're taking over my house now?"
"Yes sir. That's why we came to warn you this morning."
"You knew about this? You knew it would happen?" We started walking--fast.
"We always know it'll happen--just not when. We didn't think it would be so soon and in such large numbers. That's why we go door to door. The problem is no one ever believes what we say until it's too late. So Beeflow decided to change the way we do things because the situation is now getting critical."
"Was that really Beeflow who talked to me back in the truck?"
"Yes sir. Was Cyrus there too?"
"How do you know about that? I thought was my soul!"
"It is. Did it lick your hand in the dark?" He smiled and shook his head like he'd just found a fond memory in his pocket. "That's its way of greeting you, telling you it's there. It happens that way to us all. But 'Cyrus' is only Beeflow's nickname for it. The real name of the human soul is Kopum, pronounced Coe-poon. You'll learn all about that later."
"Then why does he call it Cyrus?"
"It's easier to accept in the beginning. The name sounds a lot less strange than Kopum. People like feeling safe, especially when it comes to their souls."
We hurried back and only when we were halfway home did I think about what I was doing or the fact I had accepted everything they'd told me as cold hard fact. The name of my soul was Cyrus, but not really because it's actually Kopum. Okay. Dead people were moving into my house? If you say so. The craziness of it all made me slow some but not stop. I'd seen and heard enough in the last hour to know parts of my world had suddenly gone seriously damned wobbly, but this? Could it really be true?
"Look at that."
I was so deep into thinking about all of this that my brain didn't click until my eyes saw the scene in front of us. And then the first thing I did was burst out laughing. There's this guy I know and work with named Eric Dickey. Just saying that name makes my lips squinch up like I ate something bad. I hate that son of a bitch. You don't want to get me started on him because I've got a whole alphabet of reasons why I do not wish him well--in this life or any other. It's enough to say that we started disliking each other in ninth grade and only got better at it as the years passed.
Anyway, Eric Dickey and his stumpy wife Sue live in a nice house a few blocks from ours. And I've got to admit it is a handsome place. Eric is a foreman at my company who knows how to kiss ass well enough to get promotions while the rest of us are worrying half the time about what will happen if there are layoffs. But the fact of the matter is the Dickeys to have a really nice house and at work Eric is always bragging about the new this or new that they bought for their place. They don't have any kids so they go all-out buying top of the line air conditioners, lawnmowers, gas grills--the kind of expensive things that can be seen from the street and coveted by the rest of us slobs. A real asshole.
So anyway, I'm laughing now because what do you know--old Dickey's stuff is piled on the street in front of his beautiful house. This time seeing a pile like that doesn't surprise me so much as make my heart throw a fist in the air and yell ALL RIGHT! Maybe this Hell business isn't so bad after all. But that feeling was short lived because just as I was relishing seeing kiss-ass Dickey's stuff dumped out on the street, who should walk around from the back of his house but a caveman!
So help me God. Tat sounds totally nuts but it is the truth. And you've seen him before in every caveman movie you ever watched. The fucker is hunched over in a sort of monkey scrunch and has got so much hair growing on his body you can't really make out where the head ends and the rest begins. I mean this fellow is ALL Hair and even when he looks at you, his face is hard to make out because everything is so completely covered in fur.
Now if that wasn't enough, this whatever it is, this creature looks at us and growls like a monster. No, he more like roars like a lion and it's one loud ugly sound. Then he threw up two furry arms that looked like a couple of tree trunks with brown moss growing on them. I was sure he was going to come charging at us because he thought we were going to steal his place from him. But as far as I was concerned, he was the best neighbor in town if he had evicted Eric Dickey on his bragging ass. When I thought for sure Mr. Caveman was coming for us, I put up my hand--palm out. I was even about to say "How!" like cowboys do to Indians when they meet up on the prairie. Where that idea came from in my brain I do not know, except maybe I thought you greeted dinosaur eaters the same way you did Commanches. Even though the two groups were only about a few million years apart on the time line. When he roared again I thought it was time to get out of there so I started off.
"Wait, don't run. He can't bother you." Zin Zan called out. I stopped but my feet weren't convinced. They kept going up and down, sort of running in place just in case he was wrong. "How do you know that?"
"Because we're with you. We know how to keep him away. You're protected so long as you don't go into his house. That's why it was so dangerous when you went into that other man's place."
"But where's Dickey and his wife?"
"Hiding in their basement."
"No shit?" Ear to ear I was grinning. Ear to ear.
"You're going to have to stop using that kind of language, Mr. Gallatin. It just won't do."
I wanted to say "fuck you," but the picture of Eric hiding in his basement from a furry caveman, while all his high-priced possessions sat in a heap on the curb--that was happiness enough for the moment to keep my dirty words in my mouth. "So dead people from all the different ages are being sent back here? Not just recent ones like Mel?"
Brook shook his head and frowned. "That is correct. It's totally chaotic but only part of the problem we face. Look! That is exactly what I'm talking about!" From behind the house smoke and flame started coming around the corner. And not just "too many burgers on the barbecue" stuff--these were big impressive clouds of brown smoke and some yellow flame coming fast and scary toward us.
"What's happening?"
Zin Zan pointed at the caveman. "He probably started a fire back there. He can't help it--guys like him don't know any better."
"Should we do something about it?"
From the distance came faint siren sounds.
"No, someone's obviously called it in already. We've got to get to your house now."
"Yeah, but what's going to happen when the firetrucks get here and have to deal with Mr. One Million B.C.?" I pointed at you-know-who.
"That's their problem, not ours. Right now we've got to get you back home."
We started walking again but I kept turning around to look at that hairy guy standing in front of Eric's house. He didn't move. The sirens got louder, nearer. Were those voices coming from inside the house? Was someone shouting in there?
"Come on, Mr. Gallatin. There's no time."
I looked at the Brothers. I looked at the caveman. I looked at the house, the smoke behind him. I knew I was about to do something really stupid and probably unnecessary.
"We can't just go."
Both Brothers turned toward the siren sounds and gestured toward them. "They're coming now. They'll be here any minute."
"But what happens in the meantime? Maybe they'll die down there of smoke inhalation or whatever. Don't you watch those emergency rescue shows on TV? Every minute counts."
"Every minute counts for you too. You have to save your home! Do you understand that? They are taking your house!"
I lowered my head and started walking in the wrong direction. One of them touched my arm. I shook him off.
Eric Dickey was a turd but I wasn't going to let him die. Maybe I was being stupid because he probably would have been saved just fine without my help. But I didn't want ugly things on my conscience. I didn't want to live the rest of my life with a picture pinned to the inside of my brain of a man and his weasel-eyed wife lying facedown forever in a smoky basement because I needed to get home.
"We won't be able to help if you go in there. We can't go with you!"
"Then just wait out here. I'll be right back." I kept walking. The caveman saw me but seemed to have his mind on other things. He lifted his head and sniffed the air like an animal--nose up high, making these little up and down jerks every now and again. Sniff-jerk-sniff-jerk. Then he turned and ran around the house to the back.
Which was just fine with me because it gave me free access to the front door. The moment B.C. disappeared from sight, I ran for it. Behind me the Brothers were hollering now, "Don't!" and, "Please come back!" But I was already there. The bad news was that the door was locked. The good news? An aluminum baseball bat was leaning against the house. Without a second's hesitation I picked it up. Not a second too soon because I heard a rough animal grunt behind me. Not too close but close enough to have me bringing that bat up to "play ball!" height by the time I'd swiveled around to face that grunt. In shock I almost dropped the damn thing seeing what I did.
The caveman was about ten feet away. In his hands was the charred body of what could only have been a dog. In fact it was definitely a dog because the head wasn't as grilled as the rest of the black, still-smoking body. I could make out that it was once upon a time a beagle or some such. That's what the fire behind the house probably started off being--he was cooking some poor sucker's Lassie or Snoopy. Rest in Peace, Snoopy. Bet you never thought you'd end up lunch.
I didn't have any time to think about it because B.C. dropped his Happy Meal and came at me. I swung the bat at his head. Lucky for him, he was able to turn a bit at the last second so instead of hitting a home run I only knocked him flat.
The clang of metal-on-head sounded like a cooking pot dropped on concrete. I knew I hadn't killed him because he was already dead, but also because he was twitching and frothing up ugly stuff out at the mouth. I stood over him a few seconds to see if he'd get up again. But most of him was on vacation and what wasn't, was busy jerking around.
So I swung that fine silver bat again, this time through one of the large windows into what I assumed was the Dickey living room. After the first crash of glass, I knocked out some slivers still stuck in the window frame and after a last glance at him just to be sure, I climbed in.
I've never been to a jungle. I've never been most places but that's okay because I don't speak other languages and the idea of a passport makes me nervous. But as soon as I put both feet down inside the Dickey's house I was hit by a wet tropical heat the likes of which I'd never experienced. Everything around me was like this 3-D green. A green so strong it almost hurt my eyes. When I took a step forward, I was hit in the face by some kind of nasty thick vine that was a whole new scare in itself. When I managed to push that out of the way I tried to get my bearings looking left and right but all I saw was green everything and sounds that screamed and screeched and cawed and pretty much made me deaf. I was in a jungle somehow and as that sunk into my brain I somehow remembered a line from school that just popped up out of nowhere but said it all--the forest primeval.
Mel Shaveetz had said they got to choose a decor when they came back to Earth. So of course a caveman would want one exactly like where he had been living. In the forest primeval. The Earth a million years ago or fifty thousand or whatever.
Instead of Eric Dickey's living room, I was back on Earth a zillion years ago, standing like a rabbit frozen in the headlights. And there were no walls in this "decor," it wasn't limited to a few closed-in rooms like Rick's Bar. Everywhere I looked was jungle that went out in every direction with no end in sight. This wasn't a room--this was forever. Right about then the next words came to my mind.
"Jurassic Park," I said out loud but couldn't hear very well for all the screeching going on around me.
"Dinosaurs!" Monsters with teeth as big as the baseball bat I still held. Walking houses with serious appetites for anything fleshy. I had to get out of here. In a panic I turned around, planning to go right back through the window into my world. But there was no window. Only trees and vines and green and noise.
Eventually my brain stopped its own screeching in fear. And although I was scared shitless of what might come stomping out of the trees at any minute, I was losing control so fast that there was only one thing left to do--close my eyes. A trick that almost always worked for me when things got so bad I could feel life unraveling. Close my eyes and say, "I am driving my life. I am steering this car. I CONTROL THINGS."
I started the "I am--" but it was drowned out by the terrible new sound of something very big--and near--coming my way through the jungle. THUMP THUMP THUMP. It was running! As huge as it sounded in the not-so-far distance, the speed of its footsteps said it was running at me. It was my turn to be lunch.
"What are the six questions?"
How did I hear that? The voice had spoken calmly and in no hurry. But I heard it clearly above everything else. What six questions? Who is this? Were they the last words I'd ever hear? WAS IT GOD?
"No, Mr. Gallatin, it's Beeflow. What are the six questions?"
Thump Thump Thump. I heard bushes crashing, birds crying out like they do when they're disturbed or attacked. This monster was closer, it was almost here.
"WHAT ARE THE SIX QUESTIONS?"
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about! Get me out of here!"
And then the biggest shock of all--I heard him sigh! A disappointed sigh. The sigh of a teacher when you've answered a question wrong in class.
"All right, I'll help you this one time but not again. Name one experience from your past you wish you could repeat. That is the third question."
"Are you nuts? Now? The thing's coming! Get me out of here!"
"Then answer the question, and quickly."
"An experience I want to repeat? I don't know. Jeez, I don't know. Help me, willya?" My voice sounded like one of the scared birds up in the trees.
"No, help yourself--answer that question."
And when he said that, an answer came so clear and calm to my mind that I was surprised I hadn't known it immediately. "I wish I could have sex again for the first time with Rae. That was the best night of my life."
"Very very good. Now look in your hand."
I looked, even though the bushes nearby rustled hard which meant whatever monster was coming had arrived. Instead of the silver baseball bat, I held a black metal cylinder about two feet long. The dinosaur burst out at me like a rocket with legs. Its teeth were even bigger than I had thought they'd be. Its open mouth looked ten feet wide. I didn't even have a chance to raise the cylinder up to do whatever it might do to fight off the thing. Because it was there.
And then gone.
That's right--it whizzed right by me. Whatever kind of prehistoric piece of shit it was, the creature ran by and went crashing on into the jungle behind me. It didn't even stop to have a look or say hello. Not that I was disappointed. I stood there looking after it and then I looked at the black cylinder in my hand, trying to figure out how it played into all this. No answer came. It was just this metal thing that a while before had been a baseball bat.
I stood there listening while Tyrannosaurus-whatever galloped farther away into the jungle. And then it became quiet around me, or as quiet as a place like that is ever going to be. It took me some more time to detox from the scare that was still sending fireballs of adrenaline to all corners of my body. I stood a while longer and then sort of collapsed on the ground in a heap, dropping the cylinder as I did.
I looked at it and wondered what kind of magic had changed it from a baseball bat into this without my ever having felt it. I wondered if it had somehow saved me from bein
g eaten. Or had answering Beeflow's question been the reason? What were the six questions he was talking about? What was this cylinder lying on the ground a foot away? How was I going to get out of the forest primeval and back to my world?
"Don't turn around."
I didn't but sure was tempted. It was Beeflow again. "Why can't I look at you?"
"Because I told you before, Mr. Gallatin, I am everything ugly about you. I'm your shit in the toilet, the dark side of your moon, the worst lies you've told, the hurt you dropped on others. I am everything bad about you and if you want to look that square in the face then go ahead. But I warn you, looking your own evil in the eye is as bad as looking at Medusa. It will wreck you, turn part of you into stone."
"And you say you're me?"
"Only in part. I've chosen to take all that's bad in you for the time being so you can face challenges other than your own."
"Are you, uh, human?"
"I was once, but am no longer. Years ago I had a vision and it changed me forever."
"What kind of vision?"
"You're looking at it now."
I happened to be looking at the cylinder next to me. "That thing? The baseball bat?"
"Yes. I was in a flea market in London and on a table amongst other junk was a brass object. I worked as a travel agent but my great hobbies were inventing and the history of tools. So I was well versed in the function of all sorts of machinery, archaic tools, and the like. I was no newcomer to obscure gadgets. But for the life of me I could not understand what purpose this gizmo served. Written on the side of it in thick letters were the words 'Heidelberg Cylinder.' I picked it up and turned it over and over in my hands but its purpose still baffled me. I was perplexed and fascinated, so I paid three pounds and put it in my pocket.
"When I returned home to America and was able to look through the reference books in my library, I discovered something staggering: The Heidelberg Cylinder had been used in every great modern invention. The cotton gin, the first steam engine, the telephone, internal combustion engine. You name it and a version of the cylinder was one of the components. It was the essential piece in every one of those innovations. It was the things that made them all work. I was astonished and then utterly skeptical so I researched further. Different versions of the cylinder were used in the first telegraph, the television, computers. Sometimes it was made of a different metal, or Bakelite, then plastic, carbon--you get the point. It was the part that made these earth-shaking inventions work, Mr. Gallatin, but no one had ever noted the connection. One man-made object made all these things possible.