Scrapbook

by Michael White

  “A time machine.” she said sarcastically, “It just needs a power source and it will work. I know it will.”

  “There’s a certain thing in my job known as reputation.” I smiled. “One of my colleagues put a proposal in front of the board for limitless power harvested from egg shells. He never worked again.”

  “On the other hand just think of the increase in your standing with the board if indeed it does work. I should imagine you will be head honcho. Best guy on the block.” She smiled.

  “There is that.” I said, “But come on. “Time travel. If it actually works, then yes I am the biggest kid on the block for sure. The problem here is the word, “if”. Time travel. Come on now. It’s impossible.”

  “I don’t see why you would possibly think that.” she said, and there was a steely look to her now. I would call it conviction if I didn’t know any better. It certainly made her less mouse-like.

  “Okay.” I said, counting off on my fingers, “Going back to prehistoric times and stepping on a butterfly and changing the entire course of human history.” I moved to the next finger, “Going back and killing your father so in effect you don’t exist.” Then the next finger, “Going forward to get tomorrow’s lotto result.” I gave up on the fingers. “It just doesn’t make sense.” She looked as if she was going to take a swipe at me now, but that was good. I wanted her rattled. If she was rattled, then she was careless too. She carried on.

  “I believe there are many universes; millions. In fact, an infinite number of them, all separated by different decisions. In this timeline I catch the train, in the next I don’t. In the case of time travel if you altered anything then yes, it would have a knock-on effect for many timelines, but not all of them. In my opinion the timelines are almost organic; they shift and turn, and not necessarily in a chronological way.”

  “You know what I would say to someone who says that they are a time traveller?” I smiled, and she shook her head, eying the Walmart carrier bag with the box inside that still sat on the table warily.

  “I would say, “Where the bloody hell are you?”” I laughed.

  “What do you mean?” she asked angrily.

  “It’s simple.” I said, swigging the last dregs of my cold coffee. “Today is the 3rd of June 2015, yes?”

  “Correct.”

  “Well. If I invented time travel yesterday, then I could instantly go back in time and watch myself inventing it.” She nodded at this, obviously unsure where I was heading with the conversation, “So if I went back to say the first of June then time travel hasn’t been invented yet, but wait a minute. There I am! I am a time traveller! “Great!” would say the whole world, “When did you invent it?” and I would say, “tomorrow.” “

  “I don’t see your point.” she said, her lips a tight white line, anger showing in her eyes.

  “Well it’s kind of complex I guess.” I said, “It doesn’t actually matter when you invent time travel, because when you do invent it you can go back in time before you invented it anyway.”

  “So?” she said, and I think she finally figured where I was headed.

  “So where are they?” I asked and she shook her head. “Where are all the time travelers? I don’t recall seeing any around the place.” I leaned forward, the small box in the bag and empty coffee cups between us, “So if there aren’t any time travellers here now that therefore logically means that there have never been any time travellers, and more importantly that there never will be. If there were then we would know about them already.”

  I sat back and took a piece of gum from a stick in my pocket and began to chew it, leaning back as I did so to see what her take on this would be.

  “It all fits with my theory of multiverses.” she said sourly.

  “Oh your theory yes. I forgot about… what did you call them? Oh yes. Multiverses. Very eloquent, I do have to say.” I smiled, chewing my gum.

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Mister McFarland.” she said angrily.

  “Oh but I think it does.” I said, “And please. Call me Jack. No need to stand on ceremony.”

  “Okay.” she more or less simpered, letting her brief flash of anger abate. “I suggest that perhaps there is a lynchpin, if you can envision it, that dictates whether time travel can be known or is indeed already known. In my theory they are both the same thing.”

  “The lynchpin?” I asked, giving her a confused look that was not genuine at all.

  “The lynchpin in this multiverse is this meeting on the 3rd of June 2015. You will either decide to put me in front of the board or you will not. The result of that decision will decide, if the board back me of course, not only whether I have discovered time travel, but that it already actually exists.”

  I paused for a while, looking out across the pedestrianised cafe’ quarter in which we were sat in but one of many outdoor dining areas. People milled about, going about their business. I thought for a second or two about how good it would be to take just a little bit of time to just sit and watch the world go by, people-watching. I rarely did this these days, I thought. It was all business, business, business. Perhaps I would take some holidays soon. I think perhaps I needed a break. I looked at my watch.

  “Put it back in your handbag.” I said, pointing at the Tupperware box inside the Walmart bag. She looked at me curiously and did what she was told, placing the bag under the table once again once the device was inside the bag. I paused for a while as if I was considering what to do next and I gave it just the right amount of time to give the impression that I was trying to come to a decision. Which I wasn’t. My decision had been made already quite some time ago.

  “It seems to me that I have two choices.” I said and she nodded, carefully listening to my reasoning. “I can either forget any of this happened and leave you to do whatever you can to get anyone interested in your device, or I can put it to the board.”

  “That much is obvious.” she said, tight lipped again.

  “If you're looney tunes than I end up with egg on my face and the possibility of an early retirement.”

  “It does work...” she began, but I held up my hand and stopped her.

  “Please.” I said, giving her my best smile, “Just let me finish.” She settled down, all ears once again.

  “Or if by some weird chance your device actually works then as the enabler of that meeting I could possibly become a very very rich man.”

  “You could.” she said, sweat breaking out on her brow I noticed.

  “So I am damned if I do, damned if I don’t.” I paused, but only a second or so. I couldn’t keep her dangling any longer. “I think personally the chance is worth it. You don’t seem like a lunatic to me, even if there does seem to be a distinct lack of time travellers about.”

  “You’ll put me forward to the board?” she almost gasped.

  “I will.” I said, and my great surprise she actually got to her feet and burst into tears.

  “Hey.” I said, standing and putting my arm on her shoulder across the table.

  “I’m sorry.” she said, “I thought you would just reject my invention out of hand. It is quite a proposition to come to terms with. I understand that. But I’m not a crank, Jack. I’m really not.”

  “I know, Cynthia.” I said, rubbing her shoulder slightly. “Go clean up in the restroom. I will make a call to the board recommending they see you.” She paused a second, looking at her bag. “Quick!” I said, deliberately hurrying her, “Nobody likes a crying scientist.” and she turned on her heels and walked quickly across the patio, disappearing into the cafe’.

  I took the gum out of my mouth and squashed it underneath the table, out of sight. It wasn’t gum of course, but it sure looked like it, even if it didn’t taste like it. I may need to have a word with my suppliers about that, but for now I checked it was in place and then reached into my other pocket and pulled out an identical Walmart bag to the one I had given Cynthia to put the Tupperware box into earlier. I looked about the table for somet
hing to bulk the bag up with and decided upon the sugar bowl, which I placed into the Walmart bag, sugar cubes and all.

  I had checked already to ensure that the waiter was not around and so I now reached into Cynthia’s bag and took the Walmart bag with the Tupperware box time machine in it and placed it in my pocket, putting the wrapped sugar bowl in her bag instead. It would pass only a cursory examination of course, but that would be enough. I checked the gum stuck under the lip of the table one time and found it to be completely attached and secure, and took my cell phone out of my pocket and placed it on the table just as Cynthia reappeared from inside the cafe’ and wound her way back to the table.

  I noticed as she sat down she gave a quick glance into her bag and seeing the Walmart bag in there sat down and smiled. I, of course, did not let on that I had noticed at all.

  “Better?” I asked and she nodded.

  “I am so sorry about that. It has taken me years to research this device, I have given all of my life so far to it.”

  “Not a problem.” I smiled, “I understand.” I pointed to my phone on the table. “I have spoken to the board’s adjudication. He is going to call me back with a date.”

  “Oh my.” smiled Cynthia, and she looked as if she was about to burst into tears again.

  “Listen.” I smiled. My best smile. “I just have to go to the john. If the phone rings answer it for me. Tell them I won’t be a minute.”

  “Sure.” she smiled, glancing at the phone. “Don’t be long though. I am not good with making small talk with strangers.”

  “I won’t.” I said and walked quickly back into the cafe’, past the main desk and out into the street, careful to keep the wall between myself and the outside dining area where Cynthia still sat waiting for me.

  I looked at my watch. Two minutes would be enough. I began to sprint in the opposite direction from the cafe’, getting as much distance between myself and it as I possibly could. As I ran I touched my jacket pocket. the Tupperware box in the carrier bag was still in there. Cynthia’s device. I ran on.

  Two minutes later I drew to a stop on the sidewalk, painting harshly. I touched my pocket again. The device was still there. By now Cynthia would be starting to wonder why I was taking so long, and so I pulled another cell phone; my real cell phone out of my inside pocket and unlocking the screen, pulled up a number and started to call it.

  There was a short pause and then it was answered. A dull thud shook the ground beneath my feet as the detonation from the cafe’ sent debris high into the air, a plume of smoke already drifting across the street two minutes away. Then there was the sound of car alarms, no doubt sprung into life by the force of the detonation, and then seconds later, the first sound of sirens calling across the now silenced city.

  You had to hand it to them. Twentieth century emergency services really were terribly efficient.

  I glanced at my watch and then checked that the potential time travel device of the now recently deceased Cynthia was still in my pocket. It still was. I smiled. Time travel. You know it really isn’t for everyone. It isn’t allowed to be for a start. Just the elite few, of whom I was just one of a very small few.

  How does it work? No idea. As I say. I am not a technical guy. I just press the buttons, and so I twisted a dial on my watch and there was a flash of light and I returned to the 3rd of June 2072.

  The Dust of Your Dreams

  (Reprise)

  I stood under the bridge for a while watching the man in the blue coat staring at me. I wondered if he was going to be there long, because when I looked out from under the bridge a few moments ago the sky was turning black and it was going to rain by the look of it. I wonder what he is staring at? After all, he can’t see me. Nobody can. Just for a bit of a laugh I wave to him and it is almost as if he sensed me somehow, for he seemed to startle and then with one last look at the bridge; MY bridge that is to say, he was off, along the river bank; away into the rain.

  It’s not much of a bridge of course. More a culvert really, but it’s cosy. At least it is somewhere to live. Fair enough when it rains the water can get a little high, and sometimes there is an awful lot of rubbish washed down from upstream. There was a pram came rushing down the stream a few months ago. A pram. I kid you not. Took me ages to shift the bloody thing. It had got tangled up in the reeds of the river bed you see. I mean. Who throws a bloody pram in a river? At least it was empty. That was something.

  So, no. It is not much of a bridge. I think somewhere, over the hills and far away there are bigger bridges somewhere. Bridges over rivers as wide as you like with buttresses and pillars and soaring columns and masonry and what have you. Now that would be a bridge to live under. Still. No use in daydreaming. This is my bridge, and nobody else's, so there is no point in complaining.

  I have been here quite a long time. How long I hear you say, and to be honest I am not sure. That is how it works you see. Well. it was how it used to work. I am not really certain any more. Perhaps I have lost the knack, or maybe I never had it. But I know the rules. Oh yes. I definitely know the rules.

  It is simple. Like this. You cross the bridge and out I pop, all hoo hoo hoo and big rolling eyes. Then we swap. I take you, and you become me. We swap. Easy really.

  The thing is though I don’t really want to swap. I am quite happy as I am, and so I kind of forget the rules when anyone comes over my bridge. I may get a little irritated if they step too loudly, but it’s a concrete bridge and I am rarely troubled.

  So here I am. The troll under the bridge. You cannot see me, and I constantly ignore you. It’s a fair swap as far as I am concerned, and it is a good job sitting under here keeping the bridge clear, clean and free flowing. A happy troll I am, and no danger to anyone at all.

  Plenty to eat too. Those who cross my bridge and even those who live a little way across the bank. Like the man who seemed to be watching me. Troubled one he was. Still. A good feast I had off him.

  It is a little known fact you see. You have probably been told in fairy stories and the like that trolls eat fish or plants, or even goats. Stuff and nonse, hoo, hoo, hoo!

  No. trolls are much cleverer than that. We listen to your thoughts. Listen to your imaginings and we feast. Oh yes, how we feast, and the good thing is? You don’t feel a ruddy thing! Nothing at all! That’s a fair exchange and make no mistake!

  So here I sit under my bridge, letting the world and all of the rest of you go by, and as I sit and reflect and think my troll filled thoughts listen for me well. For my food is made by you. You could say that all is well. Yes, all is very well indeed. In fact, you could say that everyone lives happy ever after, whatever that means.

  For here I sit, watching time go by as you pass idly by not even knowing I am here, for here under my bridge I feed and eat and sleep on the dust of your dreams.

  ALSO AVAILABLE….

  COMING SOON