Time Enough for Love (87 page)

“Oh!
Oh!
I’m crying again—I can’t help it.”

“Stop it at once.”

“Yes, my warrior. Lazarus?
You
will come back? You must have some way to know.”

“Huh? Dear, don’t worry about
me
. People have tried to kill me in all sorts of ways—I’ve outlived them all. I’m the wary old cat who always has a tree within reach.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

He sighed. “Maureen, I know Brian will come home; it’s in the Foundation’s records. He will live to a ripe old age and don’t ask how long as I won’t answer. And so will you, and I won’t answer
that
either; it is not good to know too much about the future. But me? I
can’t
know my future. It is
not
in the records. How could it be? I haven’t finished it yet. But I can tell you this: This is not my
first
war, but about the fifteenth. They didn’t get me in the others, and they’ll have to move fast to kill me in this one. Beloved, I am your warrior—but to kill Huns for
you
, not for
them
to kill
me
. I’ll do my duty, but I’m not going to try some crazy stunt to win a medal—not old Lazarus.”

“Then you
don’t
know.”

“No, I don’t. But I promise you this: I won’t stick my head up when I don’t need to. I won’t go into a German dugout without tossing a grenade in ahead of me. I won’t assume that a German is dead because he appears to be—I’ll make sure he’s dead; I don’t mind wasting a bullet on a corpse. Especially one who is playing ’possum. I’m an old soldier, and that’s how one gets to be an old soldier—by being a pessimist. I know all the tricks. Darling, having quieted your worries about Brian, it would be silly to get you worried about
me
. Don’t!”

She sighed. “I’ll try not to. If you turn down this street, we can pick up Prospect, then across Linwood to Benton.”

“I’ll get you home. Let’s talk about love, not war. Our girl Nancy—Is the Foundation now using a pregnancy rule? For first marriages?”

“Goodness! You
do
know all about it.”

“No need to tell me. Nancy’s business. If Jonathan does go to war—I don’t know—I can assure you that he won’t get his balls shot off, even if he loses an arm or a leg. I did look up the breeding records on all your children even though I didn’t bother with their birthdays. Jonathan and Nancy are going to have many babies. Which means he comes back—or maybe gets turned down and won’t go.”

“That’s comforting. How many babies?”

“Nosy little girl. You’re going to have quite a number yet yourself, Grandmother, and I won’t answer that, either. I withdraw the question about the pregnancy rule.”

“Secret, Lazarus—”

“Better start calling me ‘Theodore.’ We’ll be home soon.”

“Yes, sir, Staff Sergeant Theodore Bronson, your lecherous old great-great-great-grandmother will be careful. How many ‘greats’ should there be in that?”

“Sweetheart, do you want that answered? If it had not been necessary to calm your fears about Brian, I would have stayed ‘Ted Bronson.’ I
like
being your Theodore.’ I’m not sure that being a mysterious man from the future is going to be as comfortable. Especially if you think of me as some remote descendant. I’m here beside you, not in some far future.”

“Beside me. Touching me. And yet you’re not even born yet—are you? And in
your
time… I’m long dead. You even know when I will die. You said so. You just won’t tell me when.”

“Oh, confound it, Maureen; that’s wrong all the way through! That’s what comes of admitting that I’ve time-traveled. But I
had
to. For you.”

“I’m sorry, Laz—Theodore my warrior. I won’t ask any more questions.”

“Sweetheart, the fact that I
am
here means that you’re
not
dead. And I certainly was born; pinch me and find out. All ‘nows’ are equal; that is the basic theorem of time travel. They don’t disappear; both ‘past’ and ‘future’ are mathematical abstractions; the
‘now’
is always all there is. As for knowing the day you died—or will die; it’s the same thing—I
don’t
. I just know that you had—have—will have—many children, and you live a long time…and your hair never gets gray. But the Foundation lost track of you—will lose track of you—and your date of death never got into the records. Maybe you moved and didn’t tell the Foundation. Shucks, maybe I came back—will come back—and picked you up in your old age, and took you to Tertius.”

“Where?”

“My home. I think you would like it there. You could run around all day, dressed—undressed—as a French postcard.”

“I’m sure I would like that now. But I don’t think I would, as an old woman.”

“All you would have to do is to ask Ishtar for rejuvenation. I told you what she did for Tamara…when her breasts hung down to her waist and were empty sacks. But look at Tamara now—
that
‘now’—pregnant again, just like a kid. But forget it—if it
did
happen, it
will
happen. Mama Maureen—I’m durned if I’ll call you ‘Grandmother’ again—all I’m sure of is that I’m not sure of the date of your death, and I’m glad I’m not, and you should be. Nor of my death, and I’m glad of that, too. Carpe diem! We’re almost home and you started to say something and I said to call me Theodore’ and we got off the track. Was it about Tamara?”

“Oh, yes! Theodore? When you go home to wherever your home is, can you take anything with you? Or does it have to be just you?”

“Why, no. I arrived with clothes and money.”

“I’d like to send a little present to Tamara. But I can’t guess what she would want…from this time to that wonderful age of yours. Can you suggest something?”

“Mmm… Tamara would treasure anything from you. She knows she’s descended from you, and she’s the most warmly sentimental of all my family. It should be something small enough to carry on my person, even in the trenches, as I’m always ready to abandon anything I’m not carrying—have to be. Not jewelry. Tamara would not value a diamond bracelet one whit more than a hairpin…but she would treasure a hairpin that I could tell her I had seen you wearing. Something small, something you’ve worn. Look, send her a garter! Perfect! One of these you have on.”

“Mayn’t I send her a brand-new pair? Oh, I’ll slip them on for a moment, so that you can tell her truthfully that I’ve worn them. But these—Not only are they rather old and worn but I’ve perspired right through them tonight. They’re not fresh and clean. And they do have naughty mottoes on them.”

“No, no, one of
these
. Sweetheart, ‘naughty’ today can’t be naughty on Tertius; I’ll have to explain any naughtiness to Tamara. As for perspiration, I hope that some trace of your sweet fragrance clings to them until I can get them to her; that would delight Tamara. You say this pair is old? Maureen, by any chance are they about six years old?”

“I
told
you I was sentimental, Theodore. Yes, this is the same pair. Old and faded and worn and I’ve replaced the elastic—but the same pair; I picked them to wear for you.”

“Then I want one of them for
me!
”

“Beloved Theodore. I planned to offer you both of them. That’s why I suggested a new pair for Tamara. Very well, dear, one for you, one for her. As soon as we’re home. I’ll trot upstairs, and when I come down, I’ll have a present for you and will tell you not to open it until you’re back at Camp Funston. You just say thank you and go straight to your room and put it into your grip. I see a light on the front porch, so now I must push my skirts down and be the prim and proper Mrs. Brian Smith. With a smoldering volcano inside her! Thank you, Staff Sergeant Bronson. You have given my son and me a most enjoyable evening.”

“Thank
you
, pretty little pussycat in green garters and no bloomers. Will you grab the Teddy bear and the Kewpie doll while I carry our chaperon?”

Ira Johnson and Nancy were not yet home. Brian Junior relieved Lazarus of the limp child and carried him upstairs. Carol went along to put Woodie to bed after exacting a promise from “Uncle Ted” not to go to bed before she came back. George wanted to know where they had gone and what they had done, but Lazarus put him off with a promise and used the chance to repair to his tiny bath and repair himself.

Hair a bit mussed—Thank God respectable women did not use lipstick. Uniform slightly wrinkled, nothing damning about that. Five minutes later, refreshed and certain there were no feathers on his chin, Lazarus returned to the front of the house and offered George and Brian Junior an account of the evening truthful in everything he said.

He had just started when Carol came down and listened too; then Mrs. Smith rejoined them, moving regally as always and carrying a little package wrapped in tissue paper. “A surprise for you, Sergeant Theodore—please don’t open it until you are back at camp.”

“Then I had better put it into my grip right now.”

“If you wish, sir. I think it’s bedtime, dears.”

“Yes, Mama,” agreed Carol. “But Uncle Ted was telling us how you knocked down all the milk bottles.”

“He says you should pitch for the Blues, Mama!” added George.

“All right, fifteen minutes.”

“Mrs. Smith,” said Lazarus, “you ought not to start your stopwatch on us until I get back.”

“You’re as bad as the rest of my children, Sergeant. Very well.”

Lazarus put the package into his grip, locked it from long habit, and returned. Nancy and her young man arrived; Lazarus was introduced while looking over Jonathan Weatheral with real interest. Pleasant young fellow, a bit on the gawky side—Tamara and Ira will be interested, so let’s photograph him by eye, be able to sketch him, and remember any word he says.

Mrs. Smith urged her prospective son-in-law into the parlor while cutting Nancy out of the herd; Lazarus resumed describing what they had done at the amusement park while Jonathan looked politely bored. Mrs. Smith returned, carrying a laden tray and said, “That fifteen minutes is up, dears. Jonathan, Nancy wants you to help her with something; will you see what it is? She’s in the kitchen.”

Brian Junior asked if he could put the car into the barn. “Sergeant Uncle Ted, I haven’t let your car sit out at the curb at night, not once. But I’ll get it out for you, first thing in the morning; it’s kind o’ tricky, sort of a ‘Z’ turn, you have to back and fill.”

Lazarus thanked him, kissed Carol good-night, as she was clearly expecting it. George couldn’t seem to make up his mind whether he had outgrown kissing or not, so Lazarus settled it by shaking hands and telling him he had quite a grip on him. At that point Mr. Johnson got home, and the good-nights started over.

Five minutes later Mrs. Smith, her father, and Lazarus were seated in the parlor over coffee and cake, and Lazarus was suddenly reminded of the first night he had been invited in. Save that the men were now in uniform the tableau was the same; each was seated in the spot he had been in that night, Mrs. Smith presided over the “company” coffee service with the same serene dignity; even the refreshments were the same. He looked for changes, could find only three: His elephant was not back of Mrs. Smith’s chair, the prizes they had won at the amusement park were on a table near the door, and sheet music for “Hello, Central, Give Me No Man’s Land” was open on the piano.

“You were late tonight, Father.”

“Seven recruits, and I had just the usual sizes for them, too large and too small. Ted, we get what the Army doesn’t want. Proper, of course. We now have Lewis guns for the machine-gun companies and enough Springfields to go around; we are beginning to look less like Villa’s bandits, I’m not complaining. Daughter, what are those things on that table? They look out of place.”

“The Kewpie doll I won myself, so I’m thinking of giving it a place of honor on top of the piano. The Teddy Roosevelt bear was won by Sergeant Theodore; perhaps he’s taking it to France with him. Electric Park, Father, and I don’t think it cost Sergeant Theodore more than twice what the prizes are worth for us to win them; we had a lucky night—and a very gay one.”

Lazarus could see the old man starting to cloud up—in public with a bachelor? With her husband away? So he spoke up:

“I can’t take it to France, Mrs. Smith; I made a deal with Woodie—don’t you remember? My Teddy bear for his elephant. I assume it’s a firm deal; he carried it from then on.”

Mr. Johnson said, “If you didn’t get it in writing, Ted, he’ll hornswoggle you. Do I understand that Woodie went to Electric Park with you two?”

“Yes, sir. Between ourselves I expect to leave the elephant in Woodie’s custody for the duration. But I’m going to dicker with him first.”

“He’ll still hornswoggle you. Maureen, the idea was to give you relief from the children. Especially Woodie. What in Ned possessed you to take him along?”

“We didn’t exactly take him along, Father; he was a stowaway.” She gave her father an accurate account, save that she left out certain things and did not include a timetable.

Mr. Johnson shook his head and looked pleased. “That boy will go far—if they don’t hang him first. Maureen, you should have spanked him and fetched him home. Then you and Ted should have gone on with your ride.”

“Oh, fuss, Father, I did have my ride and a very nice one; I made Woodrow sit in the back seat and keep quiet. Then I had a gay time at the park, a bonus I would not have had if Woodrow had not invited himself along.”

“Woodie had some justice on his side,” Lazarus admitted. “I
did
promise him an outing at Electric Park, then never kept my promise.”

“Should have whacked him.”

“It’s too late for that, Father. And we did have fun. We ran into some people from church, too—Lauretta and Clyde Simpson.”

“That old witch! She’ll gossip about you, Maureen.”

“I think not. We chatted while Woodie rode the miniature train. But you might remember that Sergeant Bronson is your eldest sister’s son.”

Ira Johnson raised his eyebrows, then chuckled. “Samantha would be surprised—if she were still with us. Ted, my eldest sister was thrown by a horse she was trying to break…at eighty-five. She lingered awhile, then turned her face to the wall and refused to eat. Very well, I’ll remember. Ted, this is better than blaming my gay-dog brother and still harder to check on; Samantha lived in Illinois, wore out three husbands, and one of them could have been named Bronson for all anyone here would know. Do you mind? Gives you a family of sorts.”