The Power of Forgetting (54 page)

‘What?’

‘It’s just like
being drunk. It’s just bypassing the inhibiting parts of the brain.
You have to give yourself a good hard slap if all else fails!’ and
he grinned at me.

‘Do I really
look like that?’

‘Yes. Except
now you look a little scruffier.’

‘So why didn’t
you feel… err, freaky?’

‘I am part of
two… two sides; well, of many sides. Your sister Karis would
understand.’

‘My
sister?’

‘I wish to make
it possible for you to see inside your mind and what will be. But
even though this is tempting I cannot. There are things that cannot
be known yet. And you… as in you of the future made sure that it
wasn’t resting in this mind so I would not be tempted to tell you
right now.’

‘The lesson of
self-knowledge?’ I asked.

‘Indeed. You
will be able to create this side of yourself as a separate person,
with a full history.’

‘But what must
happen when I want to not be two… again?’

‘I return to
you; and am reabsorbed. I am not a separate person. Not another.
But the same…’

I put the cup
down to one side then, and felt strung by a welling up of
loneliness. He had said nothing of anyone else. And all the people
in the garden were strangers.

‘Yes.’ He said,
‘One and the same. And now it is time to go. You just needed to
know that you will be back. And it will not always be confusion and
lack of information. There is some clarity to be had for you
later.’

‘So where am I?
I mean the real me?’

‘Nearby…. And
in answer to your next question… no, it is not a shared
consciousness. It is rather like a catch up when one touches hands.
A bit like flipping pancakes while discussing art theory. Both
require concentration, but different kinds of concentration.’

‘Knitting and
philosophy.’ I said.

‘Karis.’ He
said, but seemed sad.

‘I won’t ask.
But tell me; the purpose of all this deception is what?’

‘Deception?’ he
said softly, ‘it’s not a deception. Not in the sense you mean it
anyway.’

‘What
then?’

Instead of
replying he stood and simply twisted his wrist round a little.
Instantly it was night time and the only light in the room was the
fire light.

‘Shit!’ I said
and jumped up. He moved towards me; ‘it’s okay.’ He said,
‘look.’

In the blink of
an eye we were back to the softly sunlit room again.

‘So I must not
touch you?’ I asked.

‘That would be
unwise.’

‘I don’t want
to create a paradox.’

‘No… that’s not
it.’

‘What?’

‘This whole
thing about paradoxes…. There are different schools of thought on
this; but personally I think that it is overrated. The fabric of
time is a lot more resilient than most people give it credit for.
Nature fills in the gaps left by any events that don’t quite match.
It would take someone of particular skill to spot that minor bad
seam.’

‘Another
traveller?’

‘More
precisely, another traveller of the same level of skill. It is easy
to misinterpret what is seen.’

‘Oh….’ I felt
this was getting off the point. I wanted to know what would happen
if I did touch him. Skin to skin; that is why the refusal to shake
hands is seen as one of the marks of a traveller. Not conclusive….
but taken with other evidence would make a diagnosis much more
certain. I did know some things; so to touch his hand would be
considered the most reckless thing right now. You betcha!

I stepped
forward and linked his hand firmly between both of mine, lacing the
fingers together so that withdrawal would be very difficult.

He was
startled, but did not struggle. In fact, he was very still indeed.
His head started to droop forward to his chest, and the weight of
his arm bore down on mine as he relaxed his arm.

‘Jared!’ I said
loudly.

His head
snapped up, and he blinked slowly; ‘You are not like him, not
yet...' He was speaking slowly, as if he was drunk and trying not
to show it.

‘How? I said,
bending down as he started to sag. I looked for a chair. He
stumbled backwards as I pulled him to the nearest one.

‘Sit down
Jared.’ I said, and pushed a little to emphasize my instruction. He
sat down, but then looked up at me. Why did I want to drag the
truth from this man? I was being cruel, and yet he did not
complain. I could feel that flow of transference, like the tingle
of charge in the presence of lightning. I wanted to comfort him
then, as even though his expression did not change, his eyes
glistened and spilled and there was a flush high on the cheekbones.
He blinked and stared at me like a child does, uncomprehending,
hurting. I could not shift through the images I was receiving, it
was like a kaleidoscope turning round and spinning over and over
again. He shut his eyes tight, and made a kind of choked sound in
his throat. I saw clearly for a moment the marble hall, and I heard
the rushing of a loud roar of the wind. I saw in my mind’s eye his
face again; this time his hair was shorter, and he was clean
shaven. He was kneeling on the floor, and he wore only something
wrapped around his waist… it was a bit like when you get out of the
shower and wrap a towel round yourself, but this was cotton, and it
was a warm earth red colour. He was waiting patiently. And then it
was as if I saw through his eyes. And I felt…. An extreme
lightness…as if the world was new. And the light around grew; there
was someone else stood there…. But it was me again… this old me…
yet somehow different. For now, I saw through his eyes; I looked up
to myself. There, carrying a knife in one hand, dressed all in that
deep indigo. And he (Me?) had a pile of clothes on the floor by his
side, ready to give to the other whose eyes I was seeing though.
The one in the long coat came and knelt by this man, and gripping
him firmly on the shoulders whispered something in his ear. The
sound was like a phrase tripped over in Welsh, difficult to
pronounce and hard to understand. And it was within that that the
weight of self-knowledge rested, pieces of it poured and entered
this one’s mind. He felt burdened. Yet the weight was lighter than
the lightest memory. And still it poured, and he was crying out.
But the other who was me placed his hands one on either side of
this one’s head and spoke softly this time. Reassuringly he slowed
the infilling of the self to this new one. He held the man when it
was done and wiped his face with a cloth. The outward self thus
created suffered when it was made, and the pain was because it
seemed there was a mind that was still in its sweet innocence and I
had poured such things into it as you would be ashamed to tell if
the person before you was a little child…. Yet he was; a new born,
and a soon created man. And I had made him….

There I was,
holding this precious image, the replay of the moments of inception
complete. He was weeping like a child does, softly and
unselfconsciously, eyes closed. I felt terrible. A replay; and a
violation of the moment of birth…. as it were. I tried to release
him, as I was sorry, but he clung to me.

The still room
was visible around me again. And I was with my other…. a self that
I had in some future time created. And what to do? Should I regret
my window into this mind? Had I, in some sense as yet unimagined
changed my own future? No. because I did not know how it was
possible…. How was it?

‘I’m sorry….’ I
said, ‘I am so sorry….’ And I knelt on the floor before him. And I
saw the soul of my eight-year-old self, bewildered and shocked and
I understood how it is from the outside. And what the difference
is, and how I must remember some compassion for another in every
way, because within the heart of another is fear and loneliness and
a terrible longing for meaning that can only be answered by the
creator.

‘I’m…. sorry.
Please…. please Jay…’ I said grappling with this new consciousness
of pity.

He calmed then,
and looked at me for the first time. And with this there was real
common ground.

‘You have me.’
He said.

‘That is my
future self, surely?’

‘In all times
and in all places,’ he said, ‘it has to be. And the last part is
found.’

‘The last part
of what?’ I asked him as he dropped his head and rubbed his face
with both hands. I waited for a moment patiently, realising that
the intellect and the thoughts and the adult form were the same,
yet within was invested something that was pure, untouched by the
dark. If my future was to make this man…. Was I to be a better Man
too?’

‘It is well,’
he said as if divining my thoughts, ‘it was necessary, and we
understand each other better now.’

‘But where is
he?’ I asked.

‘Your future
self?’ he was calm again.

‘Where is he?
Is it here?’

‘No, not in
this place. Another place, but not far.’

‘Another place
in time?’

‘Yes. A little
distance. And no, I am not able to take you. He told me not. He
said that this was the thing that must not happen. Because we will
not be able to prevent a paradox event in those circumstances… he
said that you would want to change things and that you would not be
able to. And he said that you should be mindful of it….’ He stared
at me again, and gripped my arms rather firmly just above my
wrists; a tight pinch like the clinging of a child. His hair had
grown that much from the vision. So…. He must be at least six
months old…. Knowing the speed my hair does grow.

‘It has been
less than a year.’ He said.

At this I got
off the floor and sat next to him, ‘oh shit!’ I felt old and really
crumpled. A year… added on to whatever personal time had gone
before that. And what was it? There was no way to know…. aging
processes in the children of angels do no occur in some cases. I
suppose I was always conscious of that but hadn’t thought of it
until now. And the elemental side by nature is always as it is….
only compelled by the force of the humanity which prevails upon it
to consent to any decrease in vitality.

‘You must leave
soon.’ He said, ‘And you will not see me like this until the time
we meet.’

‘I made you…’ I
said dully.

‘Yes.’ His
voice was very quiet, thoughtful, and still then.

‘Forgive me.’ I
said to him.

‘There is
nothing to forgive. When I see him tonight…. He will take these
moments into himself and be… these moments. We are talking to
ourselves Jared. And thus you see that we are many things. And this
is why you were as you are from the beginning. Just as it should
be. There is nothing wrong with that at all.’

‘There isn’t?’
I asked my voice lighter.

‘Not at all.’
He was smiling again now. And I knew that expression. It was the
best thoughts, the best moments, that half smile and it reassured
me.

‘You must leave
now,’ he said quickly and quietly.

‘What is
it?’

‘She’s
coming.’

‘Who?’

‘Janey.’

‘She’s
here?’

‘Yes.’ He
stood, offering me his hand, ‘she is one I must perhaps not see.’
He pulled me to his feet, but sounded uncertain.

And then our
private audience was at last broken in on. The door opened wide and
in rushed Mr Charles, hotly pursued by Janey, in rampantly cross
mode.

‘Now you just
come here! You rat! You knew he was here and didn’t tell me!!’

‘Sir!’ Mr
Charles addressed Jared who now stood just as before a few feet
from me.

‘Yes, Charles
what is it?’

‘Oh…My….
God!!!’ Janey came to a sudden stop, taking in the scene in one
startled glance.

Mr Charles was
speaking, rather too fast, and trying to keep the semblance of
order, and explaining to Jared what had happened. I saw Jared
smile, ‘It is fine.’

‘Oh…. Oh…but
sir?’ Mr Charles was flustered.

‘No, it’s not
going to happen.’ And this he led him to the door and ejected him,
closing it firmly behind him. I couldn’t help feeling a little bit
smug that Mr Charles had been made to bow to me in the end. But I
needed to pay attention. Janey’s eyes all the while had swivelled
round to Jared… my other self, as if hypnotised. She seemed to be
trying to think of something to say, perhaps something cutting,
angry and critical. Having seen her verbally attack Hanson on
occasion I didn’t doubt that however weird it might be, she was
capable of being as loud and aggressive as possible. But Janey
seemed choked by all the things she could say, a plethora of
emotions flitted across her face… she was speechless. I reckoned
that it was a first.

‘Jay?’ she was
looking at me, ‘what the hell is going on here?’

‘I think that
we should go.’ I said.

‘No way.’ She
took a step towards him. He seemed unnerved by this development and
stepped back nearer the fireplace until his back was against the
mantel piece and he couldn’t go any further.

‘You….’ She was
quieter, ‘I know you.’ And she held out her hand to touch him. He
flinched away from her touch trying to avert his eyes. But she went
closer and caught his chin in both hands.

‘It’s alright…
don’t be scared.’ She said. I knew that voice… divided by time
only. She spoke to me in the past like that. But it had not been
recent. It was an old way, from when we were children. He looked at
her.

‘Ah….’ She said
to herself, ‘he is so much like the boy…. perhaps you are alright
after all?’

‘What?’ I said,
and she turned and looked at me, and she was crying.

‘Janey! What is
it?’ I had not seen her cry…. Not ever that I could remember.

‘It’s alright….
It’s alright. Stay where you are.’ She raised a hand as if to say
“stop”. He meanwhile was looking bewildered. I was absolutely
certain that this bit of Janey; was a part of the mind that he had
been kept from knowing. I thought about saying something else to
reassure him. But Janey was quicker than me. She dragged him to a
chair, and pushed him down. He didn’t struggle or resist, just like
with me. And yet he had been so forceful in ejecting Mr Charles
from the room a moment a go.