My Troubles With Time (26 page)

Bending down to examine my ankle, I saw that I was bleeding profusely. I took a paper napkin and held it over the bite to staunch the bleeding. After a minute I removed the napkin, only to find that the bleeding had not stopped.

The best thing to do, I decided as I applied the napkin to the wound again, was to go upstairs to the bathroom and put a bandage on it. I hobbled upstairs, finding it difficult to keep the napkin tight over the bite as I walked, then stopped abruptly. There was a light on it the smaller bedroom, which I used as my office.

I recalled that at 7 a.m. on Thursday I had been working there, writing the paper for Dr. Bolton to deliver at the National Physics Society meeting in Philadelphia. Wondering whether I would encounter myself there, I walked into the bedroom.

The room was empty! On my desk were the notes Dr. Bolton had given me and the draft of the paper for him I had been working on. I picked up the draft and read it. It looked as though the other Maynard Snodgrass had been interrupted while working on it.

I could not recall interrupting my work on the paper that Thursday morning to leave the office for any reason. Still, it was a possibility. I left the room and went to my bedroom. It was empty. I called out, “Maynard,” as loudly as I could. There was no answer.

Entering the bathroom, I found that room empty, too. I opened the medicine cabinet, removed a band-aid, and put it on my ankle where Princess had bitten me. As I straightened up, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

The face I saw bore resembled me, but there were significant differences. It was not a handsome face, but it seemed a strong and vigorous one. The expression on my mouth was determined. I looked as though I had shed some fifteen pounds. Not only was I leaner than I had been before traveling back in time to Pearl Harbor, but my body seemed more muscular.

As I looked at my reflection, I realized that the scab on my forehead resulting from the injury I had suffered landing in Pearl Harbor had vanished. Carefully, I examined my forehead. There was no doubt. The scab and all evidence of the injury had vanished without any trace.

I was convinced that the answers to the questions wracking my brain concerning what had befallen me lay someplace within Kupinski’s laws of time travel. I reviewed them in my mind, trying to decipher them.

Leaving the bathroom, I retraced my steps to the bedroom and dressed. As I did so, I kept reviewing in my mind the formulas and the prose of Kupinski’s stilted English narrative that I had read at the University of Moscow library.

In a flash of inspiration, I suddenly grasped part of what had happened. The changes in my appearance and the restoration of the time machine’s headlight to its unbroken state were in accordance with Kupinski’s third law of time travel. The brilliant Russian physicist had somehow deduced that objects which traveled in time experienced minor modifications in their molecular composition based on their molecular weight, the extent of their lateral and temporal displacement, and the rate of speed of that displacement. Apparently this effect occurred both in people and in inanimate objects.

Similarly, Kupinski’s fourth law explained why I had failed on my arrival home more than thirty hours earlier than my departure to meet the Maynard Snodgrass who I should have encountered working in my office.

According to Kupinski’s fourth law, objects displaced in time must be physically separated from their earlier or later state by a distance determined by their molecular weight. While it would theoretically be possible for me to have returned home while another version of Maynard Snodgrass was at a site sufficiently distant from me, for example San Francisco, the laws of time travel barred our both being in my house at the same time.

With two of the questions bothering me answered, I turned to the third, why I had been returned from Pearl Harbor more than thirty hours before the time of my departure. There was no answer to this riddle to be found in Kupinski’s first four laws of time travel. Possibly, his missing fifth law explained it.

Wishing that I might have the opportunity to discuss time travel with the brilliant Russian physicist, I went back to my office and sat down at the desk. I picked up the paper for Dr. Bolton and read it. It was good, the best scholarly work I had ever done. Since I knew I would not be granted tenure, there was truthfully no reason for me to do any work on it.

I thought of simply ripping it up, of the satisfaction I would feel in telling Dr. Bolton he would have to deliver a paper at the Philadelphia meeting without any help from me. It was tempting, but after some deliberation I rejected the idea. Probably, I thought, it was my Calvinist disinclination to deliberately waste anything.

Dutifully, I resumed work on the unfinished paper. Recalling what I had written the first time I had prepared it for him made it a simple matter for me to complete it well before 8 o’clock.

When I finished, I re-read the paper. I felt proud of what I had accomplished. Carefully putting the finished draft into a large Manila envelope, I went to the kitchen and had breakfast.

By the time I finished, the kitchen clock showed almost nine o’clock. Putting the breakfast dishes into the sink, I wondered what to do with the rest of the day. I was far too exhausted from my harrowing trip back to Pearl Harbor to think of using my time machine in the near future.

The thought struck me, why not go to the Physics department meeting scheduled for that morning? I had nothing better to occupy my time. It might be amusing to watch Dr. Bolton go through his act, particularly now that I knew he was not about to give me tenure.

I went upstairs to my bedroom and changed into the suit I had worn to the meeting. Repeating my actions exactly, I even put on the conservative tie I had foolishly hoped would impress the Department Chairman.

Taking the Manila envelope in which I had inserted the paper for Dr. Bolton, I headed for the door when I heard a ripping sound coming from the living room. Rushing there, I found Princess busily pulling out the stuffing from the one stuffed chair that she had not previously attacked. She turned when I entered the room and stared defiantly at me, as though daring me to hit her again.

The thought of beating her was tempting, but I found myself unable to hit the animal. Still ashamed for having struck Princess earlier, I turned and started to leave her to continue her efforts at destruction when I stopped, feeling an irresistible impulse to rid myself of her. I put the Manila envelope down on the coffee table and went downstairs to the basement.

It took me a few minutes of searching among the storage containers, but I finally found the cat carrier Dr. Peabody had used to gift me with Princess. The cage lay where I had put it on the day I acquired the cat; Princess had proved to be so obnoxious that I had never thought of trying to take the animal with me on any of my infrequent excursions.

Carrying the cat cage and a large beach towel that I had also found in the basement, I returned to the living room. Princess had resumed her destruction of the chair and gave me no heed as I approached. Calmly and with great deliberation, I threw the beach towel over her and quickly engulfed her in it before the startled animal could escape.

Princess fought desperately, but the towel was thick enough to protect my hands from her efforts to bite and scratch me. I shoved the squirming cat into the cage, removing the towel and securing the door of the container. Princess had managed to scratch my hands several times as I removed the towel, but I considered the wounds worth it to see the last of her.

I washed the scratches in the bathroom, then left my house carrying the Manila envelope in one hand and Princess in the other. Several people I passed on the street turned to look at me, attracted by the violent protest noises emanating from the cat carrier.

Before reaching the campus, I turned off down the street where Dr. Peabody lived in one of the residences owned by the university. I knew the address from the occasions on which I had delivered things to her from the Physics department office at the behest of Dr. Bolton. She had never deigned to invite me in, but it was clear even from the outside that it was not only larger but in a much better condition than my house.

Arriving on her porch, I rang the bell several times. She opened the door and stared at me, a look of annoyance on her face. She was wearing a bathrobe; quite possibly, I thought, I had awakened her from sleep.

Opening my mouth to apologize, I was startled to hear what came out.

“Hi there Gertrude,” I found myself saying in a cheerful voice, so confident that it could not possibly be mine, “Isn’t it great to be up early and enjoy the morning.”

Before she could answer, I thrust the cage containing Princess at her. She instinctively took it, freeing me to quickly step back.

“It was very nice of you to lend me Princess when I needed something to cheer me up,” I said. “Now that everything is going so well, I thought it only proper to return her to you so that you may enjoy her company.”

Peabody attempted to return the cat carrier to me, but I remained out of reach. “I must be going now,” I added, then turned back. Once again, I was amazed at what came out of my mouth. “Gertrude,” I said, “Your hair looks a bit greasy. You might want to wash it before you come to the department meeting.”

Her annoyed expression gave way to one of loathing. “Now see here, Snodgrass,” she said in an icy voice. Ignoring her anger, I smiled. “See you at the meeting,” I said, and walked away at a rapid pace.

As I headed toward the campus, I thought about what I had done. If there had been any lingering chance that I might someday be granted tenure at the university, it was gone now. Peabody would certainly veto it in the unlikely event Dr. Bolton proposed it. Uncharacteristically, I found myself relegating the matter to as one of minor importance, actually whistling a cheerful melody as I turned on to the quadrangle.

A group of students chatting at the steps to Guggenheim Hall greeted me as I passed them. “Great day, isn’t it,” I responded, smiling as they stared in amazement at my jaunty manner. I walked rapidly up the stairs to the second floor and into the Physics Department office.

The first thing I saw was Joy, standing at her desk with her back to me. The tight dress she was wearing left little to the imagination about her magnificent body. She was on the phone offering the tickets Dr. Bolton was unable to use to that night’s basketball game.

I stood silently, ogling Joy’s back for a few seconds. Although I was reliving a scene that had occurred prior to my trip back to Pearl Harbor, I found myself enjoying the experience as much as I had the first time. Walking toward Joy, I started to clear my throat loudly to alert her that I was in the office.

Suddenly, my right hand moved forward, caressing Joy’s shapely rear.

“Oh, Bobby,” she said coyly, “Not in the office.”

Bobby! She had to be referring to our chairman, the celebrated Dr. L. Robert Bolton. Angered at the thought that the sanctimonious Bolton was enjoying Joy’s physical attributes which had so far eluded me, I pinched her rear. My action was partially involuntary, but less so that the caress had been.

“Oh, not so hard Bobby,” she said, turning around. She stared in amazement when she realized I had been the source of the contact. “You! How dare you!” she shrieked, the coyness gone from her voice. Then she slapped me so hard across my right cheek that I recoiled backwards.

I started to apologize profusely. To my amazement, I heard my voice saying, “You have a magnificent ass, Joy. That slap was well worth it. How about another, if I let you hit my left cheek?”

As if that wasn’t enough, I stepped forward, grabbed and kissed her. I ducked, avoiding her attempt to slap me, and picked up the basketball tickets from her desk. “You don’t have to make any more phone calls, beautiful,” I said. “I can use them.”

I then headed toward the door to Dr. Bolton’s office.

“Stop!” she yelled again, “Where are you going? He’s tied up.”

“Oh, Bobby’s always glad to see me, “I said smugly, ignoring her protests. It was amazing, I thought, how easily I was adapting to my new persona.

Even the great Kupinski could not have realized how much someone’s personality might be altered by traveling in time.

Entering Dr. Bolton’s office, I was amused to see him standing on the rug in front of his desk, golf club in hand, practicing his swing. He was startled by my unexpected arrival, but quickly recovered his composure.

“Didn’t Joy tell you I was busy?” he snapped.

I started to apologize to him; then stopped. Leisurely, I plopped down in the chair in front of his desk, swinging my leg over its side. “You look like a duffer,” I found myself saying, “You really ought to improve your stroke.”

“Now see here Snodgrass…, he began.

I interrupted him before he could finish. “I thought you’d be in a hurry to see your speech for the National Physics Society.”

He started to frown, but his eagerness to see the speech overcame his anger. “All right, let me look at it,” he said, leaning the golf club against the desk and sitting down.

Opening the Manila envelope, I inserted my hand to pull out the speech I had so laboriously prepared for him. Acting on their own volition, my fingers instead extracted the scribbled notes Dr. Bolton had given me purporting to contain the material for me to use. As I handed them to him, I had to struggle to keep from laughing at what was about to happen.

It took a minute for Dr. Bolton to realize just what I had given him. When it sank in, he looked at me, his demeanor one of cold fury.

“Is this your idea of a joke, Snodgrass?” he said.

“Why Dr. Bolton,” I replied, sounding as contrite as I could,

“Those are the notes you gave me for your paper.”

I stopped and smiled at him. He waited for me to continue, but I remained silent, acting as though I had fully answered his question.

Eventually, he realized I was not about to say anything more.

“God damn it,” Snodgrass!” he thundered. “Where’s my paper?” His normally sonorous voice was uncharacteristically shrill. It struck me that the pompous Chairman of my Department sounded like a fishmonger.