CHAPTER SIX

At the arranged time, Mitchell arrived at the park bench to find he’d again been outwitted by the blind man befriended days before. There wasn’t a ‘click’ to announce Mitch’s arrival but that didn’t stop Albert greeting him on approach.

“You evidently appreciate your afternoon coffee too Mr. Atherton.” Albert could smell the strong aroma of the freshly made brews Mitchell carried. The talents of his new friend no longer surprising him, 

“They say it’s a drug Albert, and my only vice,” he lied guiding one of the cups into Albert’s hand. “Thought you might enjoy one with me.” 

Albert accepted the gesture with thanks and Mitchell joined him on the old park bench. The conversation picked up just where’d they’d left and it wasn’t long until the elephant in the room was addressed. 

“What is it Mitchell you never seem to have enough of?” Albert posed as if lecturing at a conference.

Most would predictably answer money; however Mitch didn’t dwell on wealth. Instead, he instinctively thought of Juliana and how she’d left. She always found a way into his mind, and despite the bizarre conversation, today was no exception. Mitch returned to the question and after consideration calmly replied.

“I would have to say time Albert, I never seem to have enough time. Perhaps not lately, but when I was younger and a little more ambitious, definitely.”

“And what if you could get some of that time back. Or possibly have that time again?” Albert proposed, “would that change anything?”

It was an interesting question Mitchell pondered many times recently. If I had my time again would I do things differently? Say certain things? Let others in?

Mitch kept loved ones at bay in a foolish attempt of not being hurt. Ironically, that behaviour caused more pain and heartache. He looked into Albert’s sunglasses seeing his own reflection…would anything be different if I had that time again?

“I would like to think a second opportunity would make a world of difference,” he finally said realising he hadn’t answered the question. Albert nodded slowly.

“Do you see that metal manhole cover over there Mitchell?” Albert asked before describing the plate in greater detail and where it sat on the path. His words were unnecessary. Mitchell required no descriptive of the plate. 

“Yes Albert, I know exactly the plate you mean. The Telstra one, well actually it has the older Telecom logo embedded in its design,” he added as confirmation to Albert. 

“And have you ever noticed anything odd about it Mitchell?”

Mitch decided lying was disrespectful to someone being so honest. He replied in the affirmative and described the strange events earlier in the week and the sighting of the 4WD. Albert listened closely to the tale but strangely didn’t seem bemused. It was only when Mitch finished that he contributed.

“You’re confused aren’t you Mitchell? Your rational thinking structure makes you question what you saw. Paradoxically though, you’re surprised at how honest it sits with you. Despite logic, or rather, lack thereof.” Albert’s ability to surmise a situation was incredible and Mitchell agreed with everything.

“Inexplicably that goes against everything you’ve been taught. By your father. Your teachers. Yourself! And I am guessing you’re questioning your own rationality and everything you consider to be right. Rest easy my friend, you saw what you saw. Believe me.” Albert paused before adding, “What you don’t understand is how you came to see it. That is why I imagine the universe brought us unlikely souls together.”

Mitchell absorbed Albert’s words. A preacher at the alter shining light on a minds’ dispute. He was a man without sight, but worlds of insight…what did he know?

“Do you remember when you walked across the plate Mitchell, the first time you noticed the red car? Do you remember what you were thinking?” 

“I was thinking where the hell did that 4WD came from!”

“No. I mean what were you thinking of as you stepped onto the plate?” Mitch felt silly for misunderstanding the question. He drew his mind back a week ago recalling the detail. 

“I was reflecting on a day years ago when having lunch with a friend,” Mitchell finally offered.

“Excellent. Then again, the next day when you saw the red car for the second time Mitchell, what were you thinking of when you stepped onto the plate?” Albert was more specific with the phrasing.

Mitchell thought longer this time admitting he was again thinking of ‘that lunch’. Sometimes he couldn’t help but think of that lunch. He was embarrassed telling Albert of an event he’d harboured so long. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. Albert though was soothing, his questions non-accusational. Mitch recognised the importance of telling the truth. He fully detailed the lunch with Juliana and everything that happened since. 

“Albert, it’s frightening sometimes. It doesn’t matter what day it is or what is happening. I always think of Juliana and can’t seem to shake the memory of that lunch. It drives me fucking crazy; I even fight it in my dreams. I try to forget, but nothing seems to work. Drinking doesn’t help nor does exercise. That lunch, and my beautiful Juliana, are forever in my thoughts and what I could have done differently?” The confession was brutally honest and something Mitchell never spoke of. In a way it was cleansing, bringing the two men closer with its authenticity.  

Albert paused for some time letting the realisation settle for Mitch. After sensing the conclusion wouldn’t be reached, he added, 

“It was two years ago Mitchell and I was walking along this path. Like you, my mind is uncontrollably drawn to a day in August 1968. The day I was blinded.” Albert looked eerily at the plate before continuing. “It was morning twilight, dark still on the other side of the bay, when we were hurriedly called to battle stations. I was lead gunner of Hobart’s port-side Mark-42 turret, and as always right in the thick of things. The old gal received a direct hit from the shoreline rampart and the seven-metre gun barrel, the entire structure I controlled, was ripped from the deck in a blaze of exploding fire and smoke. That was the last thing I ever saw … Of course, I tend to gravitate to that day, and always to that point.”

Albert spoke more of the day. The level of detail and vivid narrative so compelling, Mitchell envisaged being there himself; watching the action unfold. Suspecting he’d shared enough of that fateful day for Mitch to understand the relevance, Albert came back to his first meeting with the plate.

“But I digress. I was thinking of that morning in the South China Sea when I came upon the manhole cover and crossed the metal plate. It was strange, because I suddenly saw sunshine and stopped in my tracks,” Albert explained further, “contrary to what most people believe, these glasses do let in the light. I was amazed at what I saw. I was amazed I could see!”

Albert described the many houses under construction and the flurry of tradesmen toiling under the hot sun. Building what Mitchell could see right now. All by hand, employing skills and techniques now lost in a modern world. The cars were older, panel vans and utilities mostly littering the streets. Occasionally a family sedan Holden and Ford were famous for, made its way slowly though the emerging suburb. Mitchell thought of his father and how many of those cars would have carried the parts he laboured on for so many years. 

The bush was more prevalent and the city skyline in the distance very different to the one Mitchell could see. The familiar network of pathways were newly established, graffiti-less, free of fractures, ready to welcome the influx of inhabitants. Albert described the Telecom plate as a shiny checker-plate cover sitting snuggly in its rails, not yet twisted by the cracked concrete surrounds. 

“But Mitchell, the thing that frightened me most,” Albert remarked after finishing his description, “was when I looked at my hands, I saw what I imagine you see now. They were worn. Wrinkled. Marked with the ages of time.” Just like Mitchell’s first encounter with the plate, Albert was lost and equally confused. 

“I had little time to make sense of it because without warning my sight was gone. I stood in darkness again. In all, I guess I was on the plate for over an hour,” Albert added signaling the end of the story.

Mitchell didn’t say a word. He sat motionless the whole time Albert spoke, albeit occasionally spinning to the direction being described to see what he saw in comparison. 

“Bloody hell Albert. My apparition of the red 4WD is nothing compared to that! So, what does it all mean?”

“Come with me Mr. Atherton. Let me show you.”

≈

They disposed of the coffee cups and walked the short distance to the manhole cover. The blind leading the blind Mitchell laughed to himself feeling no malice given the circumstances or his nervousness. They approached the plate and Mitchell’s heart raced. Albert placed his hand across Mitch’s arm motioning him to stop. They stood on the cement, the proverbial odd couple, staring down at the rusty old plate. Albert asked if Mitch wanted to try now knowing what could happen, and Mitch hesitated before confirming.

“Mitchell, you need to clear your mind of any thoughts. Of everything we’ve discussed, and most importantly, of that day with Juliana.” No easy task given the swarm of thoughts.

“I want you to think of a day long ago, perhaps when you were younger, or even when abroad. Do that, and when you’re ready, walk onto the plate and place both feet on the metal.”

Albert’s words were comforting and relaxed Mitchell as intended. He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes slowly, and did exactly as asked. Albert waited a few seconds then called Mitchell’s name. 

No answer.

He tried again, still no response. Albert knew exactly what was happening…he just wasn’t sure when it was happening.

Albert waited patiently while Mitch embarked on his maiden journey. If not for his blindness he would have seen Mitchell standing resolutely on the plate, looking up and down the road, laughing occasionally in disbelief, shaking his head in wonder. Albert allowed the indulgence a little longer before deciding Mitchell had got the idea. He prodded with his cane finding Mitchell’s leg and rapped it hard against his shin. Mitchell understood and took a small step from the plate before breaking the silence and startling Albert.

“UNBELIEVABLE!” he shouted, “I would never have believed it if not seen with my own eyes,” he added fully appreciating the true impact the plate must have on Albert.

“So, tell me Mitchell, what were you thinking of?”

Mitch told of a time in his second year of University; his first lecture on Traffic Flow Theory & Analysis. Mitch revered his lecturer and easily recalled the day. 

“Wonderful, and describe to me what you saw,” Albert prompted.

It was July 1994, second semester and obviously colder. A strong wind reduced the temperature further and Mitchell felt the chill having dressed only in shorts and t-shirt. There were more obvious changes; the sky was darker with little sunshine, and other subtleties Mitch took longer to appreciate.  

The trees were shorter in stature and greater in number, the bushland seemed somehow younger. Not as wild, with hardly any rubbish scattered through the undergrowth. Houses wore fresh coats of paint and the vibrancy of well-manicured, newly established gardens completed the picture. Spatterings of freshly hewn bark mulch littered the front yards with patches of bright orange and yellow contrasting the greenery. It was nothing like today. Vacant blocks Mitch couldn’t remember were dotted between newly built homes and children rode bikes over makeshift jumps in the dirt…where had they come from?

The whole area looked cleaner. 

The roads looked blacker and devoid of potholes, and unrecognizable cars - older models since retired – drove past slowly. The absence of the phantom 4WD confirmed this was different to his previous journeys. But most notably, Mitch was alone. Albert wasn’t with him anymore. Albert sensed Mitchell’s excitement and let him finish the vision before commenting.

“And where do you think you were Mitchell?” he asked calmly.

“I was on the plate, looking at a scene I know very well, that somehow seemed unfamiliar,” Mitchell replied.

“NO… You were in the past.”

“Bullshit Albert! It can’t be. How?” was all Mitch could articulate given the old man’s fanciful statement.

“Mitchell, since discovering the plate I’ve learnt that whenever I cross the threshold of metal, whatever day I am thinking of, whatever event I have in my thoughts, I am somehow taken to that very point in time. I can’t explain it, won’t even attempt to. But I’ve come to control it, and more so, to enjoy it.”

Albert told of scores of trips taken over the past two years while experimenting with the portal. No matter what time he was thinking of, as he crossed the line he was propelled back to that moment. He went back decades sometimes, days on other occasions; he even toyed around with travelling back merely hours. In every case it worked and every trip revealed something new. 

Mitchell struggled comprehending everything.

“It’s a lot to consider Mitchell, I understand your misgivings. But let me suggest something more outrageous. This is real. Strip away what you believe. Trust what I’m telling you…trust what you’ve seen. My condition demands faith in the unknown; I walk through that every day and have learnt to trust what I can’t see. Ironically, Charlie’s mortar gave me that gift. But, for a few brief moments each day, I can see what’s before me in the clear light of day with my very own eyes. Don’t dismiss this skeptically because you don’t understand it. Embrace and appreciate the opportunity it affords. Because, you never know when it will be taken away without warning.”

Mitchell listened to every word genuinely believing. Most of his life he’d been the skeptic: readily dismissing the improbable and distrusting the universe and the wonders it sometimes presents. He’d been that way his whole life. But today something was different. 

He’d experienced it! Mitch was going to let this be true….because it was. 

“Albert, I don’t know about you, but I really need a drink.”

Mitch may have exposed a previous lie, but this was too heavy to consider with only coffee in his system. 

“You enjoy Scotch?”

“An old sea-dog like me. Come on Mitchell, of course I do.” Albert replied predictably.

≈

Mitchell’s house was far closer to the plate with plenty more to drink. On their way the men discussed what happened. Albert told more of his experimental journeys and Mitch recalled things he’d seen on his own trip. 

Peanut barked hearing Mitchell’s voice beyond the fence and almost toppled both men off their feet when they entered. She immediately took to Albert, sitting at his feet welcoming the attention as he scratched behind her floppy ears. Mitch noted that with interest, amazed at the man’s influence. Peanut was a friendly dog but cautious when approaching humans. She was suspicious; a result of mistreatment as a pup, and not for the first time, Mitchell drew comparison between himself and his dog. Peanut was cautious from being genuinely hurt. Mitch was cautious through fear of being hurt. He suddenly felt ridiculous. While Albert gave Peanut the attention she’d lacked for days, Mitch called out from the kitchen window. 

“Ice and water do you?”

“I sensed we had similar tastes. Two fingers will be fine thankyou,” Albert replied. Both man and dog’s ears twitched at the sound of ice hitting glass but Peanut was taken by the scratching and didn’t bother raising her eyebrow. 

“Two fingers might just be the start,” Mitch remarked passing a tumbler to Albert. “Peanut, get out of the way you stupid dog,” he added while drawing two lounge chairs together facing the backyard.

Mitchell gulped the malt liquor to steady his nerves. Albert though savoured the aroma and swirled the glass and its contents like a seasoned soul. He’d two years contemplating the plate. Mitch had just begun his excursion into the unknown. He leant his head back in the chair and sighed deeply to open the conversation.

“Ok Albert, what’s this all mean? Why have we discovered the plate and who else knows about it?

“I don’t know Mitchell. I truthfully don’t know. And I don’t really care who else knows about it. Obviously, I’ve never seen anyone on the plate and I’ve never spoken a word of it to another.” Mitchell was disappointed by the answer but really didn’t expect an immediate resolve. 

“So, what else do you know about it? Tell me everything you’ve learnt,” he added taking a second more measured sip. Peanut had settled herself at the foot of the stairs by now showing signs she was perhaps listening to the conversation with interest.

“Bear with me while I try to explain everything,” Albert began. “There are a couple of obvious things I’ve discovered. Firstly, you can’t go forward in time, how could you? The travel is based on thought, on memory. I learnt that pretty quickly. You can’t remember the future; you can’t remember a time not yet happened. You can only go backward.”

That made sense to Mitchell.

“The second thing. Straying from the plate returns to present day. This I guess makes sense because if you move, the portal is lost.”

That also made sense to Mitchell.

“Thirdly, I’ve only ever gone to the same place. The hole in time is the same on every journey - same point of entry, same place of exit.”

Harder to comprehend but Mitchell agreed with the assumption.

“Lastly, and one thing I know for sure, is that each trip lasts a certain length of time. You can’t stay in the portal forever. Against all will and desire, you only get a limited time in the past.”

A minute elapsed without addition. Mitchell sat bolt upright and trance like exclaimed,

“Ninety-nine minutes!” 

“Pardon me?”

“Ninety-nine minutes Albert. You can only stay on the plate for ninety-nine minutes.

Mitch confessed to spying on Albert when standing on the plate a few days ago. He explained noticing the time the first day purely by chance, then his plan to actually check with a stopwatch the second time. 

“Albert, each of those trips, the ones you took when I was observing from the road, they took exactly ninety-nine minutes.”

“You know Mitchell, I never thought to time myself...it never crossed my mind,” Albert said almost embarrassingly; perhaps he didn’t know everything about the plate after all.

“I did think of it. I’m the skeptic remember…. and from a life spent watching the clock.”

The two remained silent; only the heavy breathing of a now sleeping Peanut broke the void. Albert starred in thought to his glass. Mitch looked beyond the trees as if the answer lay there. Could they piece this together?

“Why ninety-nine minutes?” Albert muttered. “What can that mean?”

“I don’t know…I just don’t know,” was Mitchell’s lame reply. Not a helpful answer but all he could offer. “Fine. Let’s forget that, what else do you know?” The question brought Albert from his scotch and he continued. 

“I suppose the obvious thing is perhaps the most inexplicable. Whenever I’m on the plate, no matter what period I go back to, I can always see.”

Mitchell froze. He recalled Albert mentioning that, almost skirting over the point. But it was the most inexplicable detail thus far…and he’d heard a lot in the past few hours. It did fill in a few gaps though. It explained how Albert was aware of things around the plate obviously not seen in many years; things not even in existence before his accident. He recalled the trees, the birds and the park bench. Mitch was amazed at how well attuned Albert was to those things. It explained that if nothing else.

“Just enjoying the view Mr. Atherton,” Mitch said repeating Albert’s remark a few days prior.

“I can’t begin to understand it Mitchell so how can I expect you to? Something else I haven’t worked out is why I’m still old. I’m always old. My hands aren’t as I remember, they are aged, I told you that before. But I don’t understand why. If I go back in time to when I was younger, why aren’t I younger?” Albert said with clearly painful regret. Mitchell suggested it might have nothing to do with Albert, but rather the portal. The plate controlled the experience, not the memory or the desire.

“How come if you’re always old in the past, I guess as yourself today…how come your sight is restored?” Mitchell queried.

“I don’t know…I just don’t know,” Albert said mirroring Mitchell’s earlier reply. “Though, let me say this. It worried me for many months but then I let go. I stopped questioning it. There are so many things in life that even the brightest scholars will never explain. Oh, they try to place some scientific reasoning behind the worlds’ biggest wonders. They endeavour to justify what should and shouldn’t be, what can and cannot be. They spend their entire careers searching for answers. Some even go mad in the process. Most just give up. But either path results the same fate. In the end, there’s sometimes no reasonable explanation. Or more to the point, the phenomenon isn’t real. Mitchell, I am not one of those scholars and far less capable than any of those men. If I spent my days trying to work this out I would never find a resolve. That is for certain. So instead I embrace it. I take what the plate has given me and accept it for what it is, without explanation or rationality. A miracle.”

Albert had used his almost daily trips to his benefit and not dismay. He used the plate for joy and took what little time it afforded him to again experience the beauty of life. In a sense it was a drug. Escapism from his normal day and he truly looked forward to his walks, and plate crossings, whenever he got the chance.

“There must be more to this though Albert. It can’t be so limited?” A clear frustration appeared in Mitchell’s voice and the engineer within was evident. “You can’t tell me this, this miracle as you call it, has been created so we can only stand there for ninety-nine minutes and do nothing but look at the trees and bloody houses? No way. There has to be more to the plate. Miracle or not!”

A few more whiskeys marked the end of discussion and they exchanged phone numbers as new friends do. After bidding Mitchell good evening, Albert ‘clicked’ his way home unassisted. Mitch had little concern, Albert saw more than he ever could. He would get home safely.

Peanut woke from the closing side gate and Mitch poured himself one more for reflection. He gazed at the star filled sky trying to digest the afternoon. The old blind man, a week before not known, had opened his eyes to a world of possibility. He thought impulsively of Juliana and the missed chances with her. Is the plate what I’ve been waiting for? Mitch sung that mantra for as long as remembered but hadn’t given any thought to the actual possibility of his wishes coming true. Unexpectedly an opportunity now presented itself to make things right. He thought of the permutations. What can I do to make a difference?

He finally fell asleep and the recurring dream saw the rusty metal grate holding Juliana back removed. He hugged her. Pressed tightly against her body. They made love. 

Mitchell slept reassured of her return having a way now of making it happen. 

≈