Tear In Time (17 page)

  Deep
in thought, the old doctor lightly stroked his long white beard as he watched
the flames of the fire playfully dance on the logs. Without taking his eyes
from the fire, he made a casual statement.

  “You
know, you said something in your description of the events this time that was
different from your previous explanations. You mentioned that you squeezed
through the doors of the elevator. I didn’t see the doors, so I can only assume
they were closing on you when you went through them.” He thought for a moment,
then asked, “Were the doors closing when you walked through?”

  “No, I
don’t believe they were. I do remember pressure, though, as I stepped beyond
the doors. It felt tight on my body, almost taking my breath away,” David
replied. He looked away from the fire, into the darkness as he thought about
his statement. Turning back to the doctor, he continued, “That’s got to be it.
Maybe the doorway wasn’t a door at all. Maybe it was a hole I passed through.”

 
“David, I just had a thought. We are looking for something tangible to locate:
a door or a hole, something you could walk up to and somehow step through, back
to your time period. What if what we’re talking about here really isn’t
anything tangible? We’ve got to ask ourselves what made this hole open. Was
there some kind of disturbance with your world and my world that tore open a
moment of time? Maybe this war and the tragic death of that young child somehow
formed a connection that tore a hole in time and allowed you to pass through
it,” Dr. Morgan speculated.

 
David’s eyes stared at the old doctor intensely, nodding his head as he
considered this new twist of logic. The more he thought of it, the more it made
sense to him.

  “A
tear in time… a tear in time,” David repeated over and over as he stared into
the fire.

  Both
men stared at each other from across the fire as they contemplated the depth of
the statement.

 
Shaking his head, David said, “Doc, if it really was a tear in time that I
traveled through, that was a unique set of circumstances. It probably couldn’t
be reproduced again in a million years. I might be stuck here forever. Shit!”
he exclaimed, as he stood up and paced about the fire.

  Dr.
Morgan stood and faced David as he approached him. “David, I know the solution
might seem far away, but we have to ask ourselves, why did it happen there and
not anywhere else? I believe there must be some kind of energy at that location
that helped to tear open time and allow you to pass through. I have confidence
that once we are back there, we will find the answer,” Dr. Morgan said, placing
his hand on David’s shoulder in reassurance.

 
Regaining control, David replied, “Sorry, doc. You’re probably right. Maybe
it’s not that complex. Maybe time opens there all the time and nobody has
noticed it before because that was the first time anyone has been there to
notice it. Maybe it WAS the first time it tore open because of a set of unique
circumstances, but that is not to say we can’t somehow replicate those
circumstances again. There is a lot to consider here, and being negative won’t
help with the solution,” David finished, extending his hand. As the two shook
hands, David added, “One thing’s for certain: the only way I’m giving up is if
someone shoots me.”

  With a
slight grin, Dr. Morgan replied, “Well, let’s hope we don’t have to resort to
that.” He paused a moment, then continued, “Now, how about a taste of medicinal
spirits? I don’t know how you are faring, but my mental state is in disrepair.”

 
Sitting back down by the fire, David replied in a stern tone, “As a trained
doctor in advanced modern medicine, I must inform you that the consumption of
alcohol to suppress psychological and emotional stress will only bring
temporary relief of systems. I strongly recommend against a small
prescription.” Pausing for effect: “Only generous proportions will have any
meaningful effect, I’m afraid,” David said, now smiling, “Better plan on
leaving the bottle.”

  “Quite
right, lad, quite right,” Dr. Morgan replied, with a reserved smile.

  For a
while, the two sat by the glow of the warm fire and imbibed in the clear,
potent spirit. With their disposition softened, the topic of conversation
turned back to the lighter side of time travel.

  “What
do you think the folks back in your time will say about your adventure?” Dr.
Morgan asked.

  “They’ll
probably call me a lunatic and feed me huge quantities of mind-altering drugs,”
David replied.

  “Hmm,
a most satisfying remedy to be sure, lad, though to be labeled a lunatic could
be most disconcerting, I’m afraid. Maybe you should confide in only the most
reliable associates,” Dr. Morgan recommended.

  “Then
again, I could accept the prescribed treatment and write a book about my
adventure, selling millions of dollars in books. I could take a lot of abuse
for a million bucks, you know,” David replied in jest as he rubbed his dirty
finger across his unshaven face.

  “Bucks
for abuse. Hmm, an interesting occupation,” Dr. Morgan joked. “Reminds me of
ole Handy Nelson,” now chuckling to himself.

  “Who’s
Handy Nelson?” David asked, mildly interested.

  “Handy
Nelson, where do I begin? He’s an interesting fellow I met years ago who
visited me on occasion for medical treatment,” the old doctor replied,
continuing as he squinted at David for dramatic effect. “He had a peculiar idea
of what constituted a respectable occupation.”

  “What
was he, a stage coach robber? Snake oil salesman?” David replied, pulling from
his limited knowledge of history of the old west.

 
“Neither, lad,” Dr. Morgan replied. “Ole Handy Nelson started off with a highly
respectable occupation. He was a soldier in his youth, albeit a poor one. He
had a particular attraction to the effects of the grape,” he stated with
playful disdain.

  “You
mean he was a drunken soldier?” David clarified.

  “So
was reported, lad,” Dr. Morgan replied. “In any case, his real decline came
after a wound he suffered during a skirmish with the Apaches. From what was
reported, he lost the tip of one of his fingers. High command apparently used
this as an excuse to discharge him from service, an act that was agreeable to
both constituents. Unfortunately for old Handy, he really wasn’t prepared for
the responsibilities of civilian life. He tried his hand at ranching, farming
and, of course, bar keep, an occupation aligned with his affinity to alcohol.
Unfortunately, he drank as much as he sold, much to the frustration of the
saloon owners. With his alcoholism out of control, he resorted to begging for
his survival. When that proved unsuccessful, in an act of desperation he turned
to petty thievery, spending a short time in the local jail. With his release,
he immediately headed straight for the local saloon, but without a cent in his
britches, they turned him away, telling him ’his hands weren’t worth the drink
they held in them’. In a macabre retort, ole Handy offered his bad finger for a
bottle, thinking it wasn’t of any use to him anyway.”

 
“You’ve got to be kidding. Don’t tell me he let them cut off his finger for a
bottle of booze?” David said in shock.

  “Not the
whole finger, lad, and not just a bottle of booze. As it turns out, the deal
was a piece of the finger for a week’s supply. What a stir it caused from what
I heard. The whole town turned out to see the spectacle,” Dr. Morgan replied.

 
“Nobody tried to stop it? What were they, a bunch of savages?” David said, with
obvious contempt.

 
“Apparently the overpowering lure of witnessing something so macabre outweighed
their sense of propriety. Man, woman and child attended the grisly show, and
with a swing of an axe, Handy Nelson was able to support his habit for another
week,” Dr. Morgan concluded.

  “So
that’s how he got the name Handy?” David asked, now intrigued.

 
Shaking his head, Dr. Morgan replied, “Not exactly. It took a few more
amputations for him to acquire that nickname. You see, after that first
amputation and after the booze ended, he was right back to where he started.
After a few days sobriety, he figured the painful nub was of no use to him
anyhow, so he proposed the same deal once more, only this time he bartered more
wisely, for a couple of weeks instead of just one. By now, you can probably
predict how this ended.”

  “Are
you saying the moron actually let someone cut off all his fingers for booze?”
David said in shock.

  “Not
all of them… about half, as I recall. To wit, that was certainly the strangest
occupation I’ve seen so far – bucks for abuse, as you named it. An apropos
usage, I’d say,” Dr. Morgan replied, bringing the story around full circle.

  “Did
you actually know this Handy Nelson fellow?” David asked.

  “Know
him? I was the surgeon that tried to salvage those gruesome little nubs,” Dr.
Morgan admitted.

  “You?
Doc, didn’t you try to convince him against such lunacy?” David questioned.

  “Yes,
David, I did. When that didn’t work, I finally sent him to the local preacher,
hoping he could turn him away from the bottle with a little spiritual
cleansing,” Dr. Morgan defended.

  David,
now impatiently waiting for the end of the story, exclaimed, “Well, doc,
whatever happened to Handy? The suspense is killing me here. Did the preacher
help him?”

  “The
preacher offered him a bottle of booze for a digit,” Dr. Morgan replied dryly.

  “The
PREACHER?” David replied in a burst of laughter, “Offered booze for fingers? What
a freaking hypocrite. So much for piety and compassion.”

  He
thrust his head back as he laughed aloud. With his shoulders shaking and his
chest heaving, he gasped for air. Suddenly, there was no sound to be heard from
David. Holding his stomach, his mouth stretched wide open beyond any normal
human range, David had run out of air in laughter.

  On the
other side of the fire, the old doctor sat motionless at first, but then slowly
the corners of his mouth began to turn up. As he watched David laugh
uncontrollably, the sight became infectious. He felt the contractions in his
stomach as his body instinctively reacted to the sight of another human
laughing. His shoulders shook slightly and he felt pressure in the back of his
throat. Like a hiccup, he felt it: the first sign of his uncontrolled laughter
that started as, “Hmm, hmm, hmm.” Again and again the low hum sounded through
his slightly parted lips, until he could stand the strain no longer. In a loud
bellowous roar, Dr. Morgan joined in with David, each one’s laughter feeding
the fire of the other’s laughter. Back and forth, they continued until their
laughter was interrupted by a large spark from the fire that sent smaller
sparks high into the sky. As they wiped the tears from their eyes, they
regained controlled and considered the story that prompted their fit of
laughter.

  David
continued to chuckle to himself as he sat back from the fire. Shaking his head,
he said, “A preacher. Why am I not surprised?” Thinking about ole Handy Nelson
once more, he asked, “So where is he now? Is he dead? Is he alive? Is he still
a drunk or did he run out of digits, hence forcing sobriety?”

  “Funny
thing happened to ole Handy. It seems his association with the preacher wasn’t
all bad. He ended up finding the Lord and becoming a preacher himself,
somewhere out in California. I hear the grapes make wonderful holy wine out
there,” Dr. Morgan said with a hint a sarcasm, then added, “I suppose as long
as ole Handy can preach a good sermon, he may drink his fill of the holy wine.”

 
“Unbelievable. After losing most of his digits, he finally finds a job that
actually PAYS him to drink. Man, you can’t make that stuff up,” David said,
shaking his head.

  “Why
would you think I’m making this up?” Dr. Morgan asked, unfamiliar with the
usage of David’s statement.

 
“Sorry, doc, it’s just a figure of speech. I’m just amazed at the irony of it,”
David replied, apologetic.

  “Quite
alright, lad, quite alright. I have to agree. Very ironic,” Dr. Morgan
concurred.