Move (3 page)

With the backup of the boys, I tortured Mr Kenny by barking down the corridor at him, and then running away, before he could see who was doing it. If I hadn’t been able to move, he would have caught me a hundred times. Each time he did see me, I just moved to a nearby universe where he hadn’t quite been quick enough. As a result, we were in a universe where he’d been driven crazy by my antics.

If I saw him on the stairs: woof, woof! Entering the staff room: woof, woof! Crossing the courtyard: woof, woof! Then I’d drop down below the window. Some weeks he would ignore it; other weeks he would roar with anger and run full pelt for the corner, only to see my heels as I shot out of sight down the far end of a corridor.

For his birthday I left a present on his desk. His chest stuck out with pleasure when he saw the colourful ‘Happy Birthday’ wrapping. I almost regretted what I had done; he was so
touched that his class had gone to the trouble of demonstrating their affections. When he tore away the paper to find a can of dog food, Zed and I sniggered. To his credit, Mr Kenny took the joke relatively well. Those jowls only wobbled a bit in
dismay
as he attempted a smile.

After a while, it seemed like the whole school was in on the barking. The headmaster even spoke about it at assembly and said that if anyone was caught making barking sounds in the school they would be in very serious trouble. That calmed things down for most, but not for me. I just kept on barking at him. Shrill little barks, big deep woofs. Whatever mood I was in, I’d let him have it with relish, remembering his own humiliating shouts at the swimming pool.

They never caught me. Well, in some universes they did, but those are inhabited by other versions of me. I moved to this one, the one where I finally let him see me, fair and square, near the end of term at the top of the stairs.

‘Woof!’ I barked angrily, arms folded.

‘Aha, Liam O’Dwyer, I knew it was you! I have you at last.’

He ran up the stairs and followed me into the classroom, where I had taken my seat at the back.

‘Liam O’Dwyer, you know what the headmaster said about barking in school. I look forward to hearing what your father says when he learns of the trouble you are in.’

‘Sir, take me to the headmaster right now. Cane my hand if you like, but please, don’t bring my father into it. You don’t know what he’s like.’

‘Liam O’Dwyer, you have been behind the worst breach of
discipline, the most sustained campaign of miscreancy I have ever known in all my time as a teacher. Of course your father must be informed.’

‘Sir, no. Please, you don’t understand. He’ll kill me.’ My voice trembled. ‘Please, sir. Have a heart.’

‘My mind is made up.’ Mr Kenny slapped his books down firmly on the desk. ‘There is no excuse for your behaviour this term. I shall ring your father this very evening.’

‘Is there nothing I can say to make you change your mind?’

‘Nothing.’

He sat down and with a very serious expression began to leaf through
The Lord of the Flies
. ‘Now turn to page eighty-four.’

I got up, climbed up onto the window ledge and lowered the top window. It squeaked and everyone looked at me.

‘Liam O’Dwyer, get down from there at once!’

‘I’m sorry, but my life is worth nothing once my father hears from you.’

Our classroom was on the second floor; the drop was a fatal one.

‘Get down.’ His voice was deliberately tired. ‘You are a second-rate actor and you don’t fool anyone.’

He was right. But still.

‘I’m sorry you don’t believe me.’ And I jumped out, arms flailing extravagantly.

‘Arrrrgh, Nooo!’ Mr Kenny leapt up. I could hear the clatter of his desk, flung to the side as he raced across the room and the further crashing of his frantic progress through the class. Then he was above me, staring down from the window, wide-eyed. I
looked back up at him and smiled, before straightening up.

There was a small window ledge, which I had been crouched on. It was a bit risky to throw myself out so dramatically, but I reckoned that if something had gone wrong, in the second or two it took me to fall, I could move to a universe where I didn’t crash into the playground paving.

‘You boy,’ he stood, white, trembling all over, ‘are a disturbed child and a menace.’

As I climbed back in, Zed gave me the thumbs-up.

‘Deadly, Liam. The best ever, really.’

That night Mr Kenny rang my dad for a long chat, but we were ready. For someone from an Asian family background, Zed can do an amazingly convincing impersonation of my dad, northside Dublin accent and all. He and I were sitting there playing
Gran Turismo
, the volume down of course. Zed had the phone cradled on his shoulder. Every now and again he would say, ‘terrible sorry, Mr Kenny, terrible sorry,’ or, ‘the little f…, the little eejit.’ Zed finished it off by sounding really angry, ‘
Jaysus
! You can be sure that won’t be happening again. Wait till I see the little … Well. You can be sure.’

After that window incident, Mr Kenny never again shouted at me during swimming; he really did think I was a little mad.

I am getting around to Tara. But first, reluctantly, I had better say something about girls. Naturally, being a sixteen-year-old boy I had a great desire for girls, but unusually for that age, because I could move, I also had a lot of scores. I’ll spare you the details since they are sleazy, I’ll admit, but chasing girls did teach me something about other people’s behaviour and moving.

When I search for other options to a physical event, or an event involving me, that’s easy. At every moment there are thousands of alternatives, far too many for me to comprehend them all before they fall away, time moving onwards. But the number of options that involve other people changing their actions is much narrower. I can’t move to a universe where
anything
goes. People behave in a manner that is more or less true
to their character across all the universes.

What I discovered, though, was that our friends’ characters were not always what they seemed. For example, there was a girl in our class called Hazel Cartwright. She was very proper, very aloof. She did ballet after school and scorned the rough side of the class. There was no way she would show the slightest
interest
in me. Except that, during one very dull geography lesson, I started to daydream and explore some of the more unusual alternate universes. Once I had started to look in all seriousness, I was amazed at the options involving her. There was one where all I had to do was come up to her during a lunch break when we were the only people in the classroom. In my hand I held the key to the storeroom at the back of 4D.

‘What’s that?’ she asked.

I told her.

‘Why are you showing me?’

‘Come with me now, and we’ll have thirty minutes together, in the dark.’

She said nothing more, but followed.

Then there was Jocelyn Doonan who all the boys fancied, some of the girls too. She was cool about it, not showy, just natural, and modest. She had wonderful black curly hair that she would hold to the side when she leant over her desk. Most of the time she wasn’t interested in me, although for a while it was all I did, search around fruitlessly for universes in which I got together with Jocelyn.

There was a big dance for Debbie Healy’s birthday at the community hall in Tolka Park. Tara wasn’t there, but all the
trendier people in the class were. For some really strange
reason
, Jocelyn was in a totally wild humour. I don’t know what had happened to her, but when I sought among the nearby
universes
there were an amazing number of them in which Jocelyn was with me. Then I realised there were even more that didn’t concern me, but where she was with another boy. In fact, it would have been possible for every one of the boys in the hall that night, without exception, to score Jocelyn. It was during the slow songs I could see that most clearly. All the adjacent
universes
showed her with a variety of boys. If they’d started
kissing
her, had steered her towards a dark corner, she’d have stayed with them.

At the time I was delighted that I could see this before any of my rivals. But, looking back, I feel a little sad. Whatever it was that put her in such a mood was not good. My ability to move is very limited in some ways. But if I had searched, I might have found a universe where she talked to me about what had
happened
. I feel all protective thinking about it now, when it’s too late. I can’t move to universes that have branched away from turning points that are far back in time; in fact, a few minutes is my limit.

Sixteen-year-old boys are quick to boast to each other about their conquests. A lot of it is just desperation, not to be left behind, not to be thought a failure at something far more
important
than exams or sports. With me, though, I didn’t boast at all. I never said anything about any girl, until now, writing this down. It would be good to say this was because of my respect for the girls that I was with, but since I’m being honest, science
demanding such honesty, I’ll admit my discretion came about because I very quickly learned something by watching the
consequences
of bragging.

Even if you only tell your best mate, the word gets around and girls simply will not go with you. That’s how it was for Zed. If he wanted to score, he had to go to events involving girls from St Theresa’s, because our girls had closed ranks against him. Girls don’t want to get together with someone who is
going
to boast about it, not just because they don’t want to be a conquest, but because they want to enjoy themselves discreetly, without ending up with a reputation.

After a while, I began to notice Tara. Despite that terrible day on the barge, it was easy to overlook Tara. After all, she was very quiet. As I’ve already said, around that time I had been given to speculating on different girls, testing the possibilities. One day I concentrated on her. I had become tired of the ‘beautiful’ girls, the ones who spent hours upon hours concerned with their looks. The strange thing is, with the possible exception of Jocelyn, the more beautiful the girl, the more obsessed she was that she could have higher cheekbones, or more voluptuous lips, or something along those lines. I saw the other boys
feverishly
chasing such narcissistic girls and I was slightly
contemptuous
of them.

One slow school afternoon, I was examining the girls in the class with this new perspective and I thought of Tara. Tara keeps
her hair long, in most universes anyway. As it is red, watching her you sometimes get caught in breathtaking moments where you want to be an artist and put her in a painting. Simple moments, like when her hair gathers at the shoulder, then
cascades
as she leans over to adjust the straps on her false foot, or when she smiles. She doesn’t smile often enough.

What about the fact she had only one foot? Of course, you say, what difference does it make? Today I’d agree with you. It makes none. You get so used to her limp; you’d miss it if it were gone. To some extent, it’s part of her character now. Back then, though, the lads were ashamed to fancy Tara and, if you said that you did, you’d get a slagging for being creepy, like you had a fetish. Not that I cared about their slagging. I was a lot older than them when it came to girls.

In any case, while I was scrutinising her pattern of possible behaviours, I discovered a really extraordinary quality in Tara, which was that it was very difficult to find a universe where she did a mean or selfish act. Universe upon universe, in their tens of thousands, branching away to infinity, and in nearly all the ones I looked into, they carried her onwards, a genuinely kind and caring human being. Can you see why I was impressed? What had begun as a rather flirtatious daydreaming suddenly became a fascinating and serious challenge.

One dinnertime I went up to her and asked her out.

‘Liam O’Dwyer, I think you are selfish, arrogant, cruel and vain. I wouldn’t go out with you in a million years.’

That didn’t work, so I moved to one where I hadn’t left my table and been turned down. Of course I looked around for a
universe where she had answered, ‘Why, Liam, I’d be delighted.’ But it didn’t exist. In fact, I got the same answer everywhere, with minor variations: lazy, uncaring, heartless. The best I could do was find a universe in which a fire alarm went off just after I’d spoken to her, so that I couldn’t hear her reply. This was frustrating, but it was also interesting: a challenge.

Watching Tara having to stay in the classroom on
Wednesday
afternoons when we go for P.E. was usually a slightly sad moment, because it reminded everyone of the accident. One Wednesday, I arranged to be excused from P.E. and spent the time with her. I was on my best behaviour, displaying my
sensitive
side and thought we got on fairly well. So the next day I asked her out again.

‘Liam O’Dwyer, I think you are selfish, arrogant, cruel, vain,’ she paused for a moment, ‘and manipulative. I wouldn’t go out with you in a million years.’

Busted. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Over the weekend I contemplated various schemes to get her interested in me: fires in which I would be her rescuer;
swimming
accidents, ditto. It was pathetic really, so I gave up. But I kept my attention on her and the more I saw her steady, true, path through time, the more I knew I wanted to go out with her. What had begun as a challenge was becoming something powerful and out of my control.

It really is hard to explain, but she is almost unique among all the people I know. For example, one hot afternoon in class, her desk was falling shut, just as she noticed a fly landing on the rim. To save the fly, she had to put her hand out, scaring it away and
getting a painful blow on her knuckles. It was a tiny thing, but I had to laugh. She literally would not hurt a fly, not in any of the hundreds of nearby universes in which the same incident took place. Similarly, I’d listen in to her conversations, and then search nearby universes for a spiteful comment or a jealous one. Never. No one else stands up to such scrutiny, especially me.

I haven’t really commented on this, so while I’m at it, I should point out that being able to see into different universes has a down side. I’ve seen Zed betray me, Deano blame me for something he knew I didn’t do, and much worse. Everyone has their weaknesses. At first I found this distressing. It makes you feel hurt and lonely, but after a while you get used to it. It is a very profound truth that you are on your own in this life and, much as other people might care for you at times, no one
consistently
looks after your interests. Why should they, when they often let themselves down? I learned to judge my friends not by what they got up to in the more remote universes, but on the overall pattern, on the percentages. In the vast majority of universes Zed is loyal and Deano is honest, so they are my friends. On this scale, a metaversal one, Tara stands out as the best of us all, by a long way.

Naturally, I became curious about how it was she held to her path so consistently, when the rest of us, to various degrees, had our bad moments. In part, it is just something she was born with, I suppose. Then having to catch up with us all, after the accident, to get to a stage where we stopped pitying her and
forgot
about her foot, that must have been really difficult, and it must have made her tough.

One morning, though, I overheard her talking about
Buddhism
with surprising enthusiasm, and then things fell into place. She believed that she should be trying to improve herself, all of humanity, and, indeed, all of creation. She believed life for people could be made better and that how she behaved actually made a difference.

It was a revelation; it was humbling. Up until this time of my life, I hadn’t ever stopped to think about what I believed in, and it came as a surprise to me that some people had not only thought about what they were going to do with their lives but were living them accordingly. In Tara’s case, she ascribed to some quite sophisticated ideas, which amounted to striving to be a better person by making a positive contribution to the world.

This really set me thinking, because with my ability, perhaps the world could be made a better place. Up to this time, it
suddenly
dawned on me with a flush of shame, I had used my discovery entirely for myself. But I could just as easily use it for everyone.

Next time Deano found himself struggling in French and the butt of Mr Brown’s dry sarcasm, I moved, to an admittedly rare universe where he had actually done his homework and came out of the interrogation admirably and with praise. Deano basked; I basked.

Then I really tried to do some good, some serious good. My dad works as a fitter at the Mater Hospital. In the hope of being able to save lives, I went to the Accident and Emergency
Department
there. That plan turned out to be very boring and a
little sad. The problem was that I couldn’t make much of a
difference
by the time someone came in. Seeing the lack of options for the chronically sick people was depressing. Thousands of universes and they were suffering in them all. Where I was needed was at the scene of accidents, where the options for choosing a new universe were still available. It made me think that I should become a firefighter or an ambulance driver.

If you think about it carefully, what I was trying to do doesn’t make a great deal of sense. Just because I could move to a
universe
where someone survived an accident didn’t save them in the universe I’d left behind, or all the other ones like it. But back then I wasn’t so clear of what my ability involved. In any case, I’m still rather proud of the moment. It was the first time I began to think of others and not just myself.

Not that this flash of moral behaviour led me to reappraise the whole moving thing. It was second nature to me by then. Even though I was filled with a sensation that something very fearsome and menacing was growing in power, I couldn’t stop moving. Could anyone give up an ability like that?

Trying to be a good person didn’t mean I made quick progress with Tara. It took nearly a year from my change in attitude
before
she would let me into her life. The breakthrough came about halfway through fifth year, during one lunch break when I came and sat beside her.

‘I know how to improve the karma of the people around me.’

Tara was interested in that, but sceptical. ‘How?’

‘Well, you have to be willing to believe something pretty strange.’

‘Go on.’

‘Imagine, for a moment, that you can swap into nearby
universes
.’

‘Nearby universes?’

‘Yeah. Exactly like this one, but with small differences. This eraser is blue instead of red. Sheila walks through that door now, instead of later.’

‘Right. So?’

‘So,’ I paused, ‘you keep moving all the time, to a better
universe
. Each time someone nearby makes a choice, you can move to the universe where they were kind, or considerate, or helpful.’ She was listening carefully, for the first time ever we were having a proper conversation. ‘It might take a million moves, but eventually you would be in a universe where people had only ever done good deeds. Then you would be close to
nirvana
, right? Not just for yourself, but for everyone?’