TIME AND AGAIN

TIME AND AGAIN

Ron Isaacs

"My theory questions the basis of all previous thought about the
relationship between space, time and our lives." said the speaker,
banging his fist on the table. Charlie Haynes was among a number of
reporters attending the launch of a new book by George Fell, professor
of cosmology at Exbridge university. The professor continued, "We take
for granted that we are living our entire lives in this here and now,
and there are various theories concerning where we go from here. There
are many who believe that our souls are reincarnated into other bodies,
but supposing..." His voice tailed off as some in his audience
whispered to each other, asking what on earth he was on about.
"Well go on, then," called Jeannie Gill of the Young Scientist, "What
does happen to us?" The professor took a sip of water, followed by a
deep breath. He knew he was getting in deep, as many pioneer thinkers
had before him. "Suppose," he continued, "that we live this life over
and over again, without ever being aware that, as some say, we have
been here before. And this being the case, suppose that we might even
meet ourselves in a previous or future loop." Charlie diverted his gaze
from the speaker for a moment as he noticed someone dressed in a
trench-coat with a turned-up collar and wearing a black slouch hat. He
could swear that the figure was watching him. In a weird sort of way he
felt that he knew who it was.

The crowd of journalists left the meeting, each with a signed
complimentary copy of Fell's new book, "Time and Again". During their
conversations they asked each other what the professor had been getting
at, for it seemed just a load of gobbledegook. "No good asking each
other," laughed Charlie, "wouldn't we all be better off reading the
blessed book?" He was as sceptical as any, but made up his mind to do
what he was suggesting to the others. As he looked for a cab-rank he
could have sworn that the shadowy figure he had seen earlier was
following him.

He arrived back at his flat, warmed up a convenience meal he had
purchased before going to the book-launch, made some black coffee and
switched on his stereo. He selected a CD of a Debussy piano recital,
which he had found always helped him to relax after a stressful day. He
settled down in a nice soft chair, relaxed and closed his eyes for a
minute or so, to the strains of "La Plus Qui Lente", then opened the
book and began to read. He found that despite his own doubts on the
topic he just could not put the book down. He read and read until,
without thinking about it, he had gone through even the corrigenda. He
looked at the clock. It was three in the morning. Perhaps if he
organised the coming day properly, he thought, he might snatch a few
hours sleep. Without undressing, he flopped onto the bed and drifted
off.

He got up at 10 a.m., washed and shaved and had a hurried breakfast of
buttered toast and grapefruit juice. As he ate he continued to think
about the book he had just read. Suppose the prof were right, how could
his hypothesis be proved? Who was actually going to bump into himself
on a previous or next time around? He picked up the phone handset and
dialled the number of his girl, Jillie. Being involved with a newspaper
man was something she had become accustomed to, so it was neither a
surprise nor a cause of annoyance when Charlie said he had some
thinking to do and could not make their cinema date that evening.

Several weeks went by, then Charlie was assigned to cover a sale of
oriental carpets. Why the paper should consider this to be even worth
covering was a complete mystery to him, but as it turned out, it was to
be a fateful event. The stalls with the carpets were laid out in a
large church hall. He was struck by their beauty and craftsmanship. The
prices were clearly way beyond the reach of a humble reporter like
himself, but just looking at them was a real pleasure. As he browsed
around he was vaguely aware of being watched by the same man in the
slouch hat.

Then he noticed at the far end of the hall what looked like a pair of
heavy curtains. He walked across and discovered that what appeared to
be curtains were really beautifully made highly ornate carpets. The
design on them was almost hypnotic. As he gazed at them his eyes were
drawn to a particular part of the design, and on looking at that, it
seemed to vanish and lead them to another pattern. It was at the same
time both tiring and inspiring. "Those are not for sale!" said a high,
nasal voice behind him. He looked round and saw a brown-skinned man
dressed in flowing robes. The pattern of the robes was different from
that on the carpet-curtains, but had a similar effect on the eyes. The
man continued, "They are not for sale because they form part of
something else, which will only become apparent to you if you pass
between them." Charlie became very curious. The tone in which the
Indian addressed him was one of warning, yet it seemed also to be an
invitation. The nasal voice continued, "You describe some our common
customs as mysteries of the east, do you not? These curtains hide a
portal to another time and place. Do not go through unless you really
want to, for you could have a very unpleasant experience. If you must
go, then take this and hold fast to it." A leather pouch was handed to
him, and he found himself involuntarily drawn to the parting of the
curtains.

Charlie walked, or rather seemed to be pushed through what appeared to
be a doorway and found himself facing a strangely familiar scene. It
was part of the London suburb where he had lived as a child. He looked
round, but there was no sign of the portal. He walked until he came to
a park. Near the bandstand was a seat. He sat down and opened the
pouch. In it was a sum of money in notes and coinage which would have
been valid in the past, or rather, what was now the present. He looked
at the bandstand. As far as he could remember it had been demolished
five years previously. He then remembered that at about the same time
part of the park had been occupied by a housing development, but there
was no sign of any houses.

He went into the street and walked towards the railway station. Outside
was a news-vendor with the customary placards advertising, among
others, newspapers which in his own time had long been defunct. The
youth selling the papers called something he had not heard for years,
"Star-News-Standard!" Charlie bought a Star for a penny, returned to
the park and settled down for a read. He noticed the date. In the
time-frame from which he had come it was thirty years ago. He sat
contemplating the scene in the park he had not seen for so long. A boy
about ten years of age came and stared curiously at him. The boy looked
vaguely familiar. He heard the boy say "I think I know you, but I don't
know who you are." It was then that Charlie realised that the
ten-year-old was none other than himself. That seemed reasonable, for
after all, everything else he had seen belonged to thirty years ago. He
did not reply to the child's remark, but got up and walked off.

As he walked he glanced at the small-ads in the newspaper and noticed
one for bread-and- breakfast accommodation at an establishment not far
away. He walked to the house and enquired. "Ten bob a night, including
cleaning, bedding and B and B!" replied the land-lady. The room was
quite large, with a pleasant scene from the window. It was provided
well-furnished, with a desk, book-shelves and minimal cooking
facilities. The sanitary arrangements were to his liking. "I'll take
it!" said Charlie.
Of course, the money in the pouch, although sufficient to pay a week's
advance rent and to buy some food, would not be enough to live on, so
he would have to find a job. He found the office of the local newspaper
and asked to speak to the editor. The man was pleased to interview him
for a reporter vacancy which had just arisen, but it was with great
difficulty that Charlie described his experience as a journalist. This
was not surprising, considering that he was describing something which
had not yet happened, but inevitably would at some time in the distant
future.
And so, with a job and somewhere to live, Charlie felt he had to have
some purpose in being back in his past. Presumably it must be something
to do with the boy he met in the park, that is, himself. Somehow, by
observation and listening to gossip he would be able to keep tabs on
his previous self. The years passed, and he eventually found, not
surprisingly, that the younger Charlie became a journalist and worked
on a national daily. Indeed, the very same one which gave him the
assignment to the book-launch and the carpet sale.

In time the alter ego reached his fortieth birthday, while Charlie had
his seventieth. He heard that his junior self was to go to a
book-launch and determined to follow him. In an attempt to avoid
identification he purchased and wore a trench-coat and a black slouch
hat. He sensed that the younger Charlie was aware of his presence,
though definitely unaware of who he was. Soon the day of the oriental
carpet sale arrived, and Charlie once again took up his vigil. He saw
the younger one talking to the mysterious Indian, receive the pouch and
walk to the carpet-curtains.
At this point there was what seemed to be a searing flash of lightening
and a dreadful, excruciating roar. Charlie felt himself pulled
simultaneously up, down, forward, backward and sideways, while having
the sensation of being torn limb from limb. An eternity seemed to pass,
then he found himself lying near the portal, with the Indian and
several other visitors looking down at him. He was able to rise shakily
to his feet. As he did so he realised that he had arrived back at the
beginning of his journey through time and was still only forty years of
age. The Charlie he had watched entering the portal must now, or more
correctly, was then having the same experiences as himself.

He had previously noted the closing date of the sale, and when it came
he had a strong urge to hang around. As evening approached removal men
came with hand-carts to take away the items on display. The robed Asian
watched as the portal was loaded onto a very large cart. When it had
been wheeled out, Charlie went to take a look at the place from which
it had been taken. All he saw was a painted wall. Not really surprised,
but still perplexed, he shook and scratched his head. As he left the
church hall he felt that he should read that book once again.

? R. J. Isaacs, 2001