CHAPTER TWELVE
“And how do you propose returning my sight?” Albert enquired with a discrete slur, the great Scottish export taking its toll. Mitchell had a better understanding of the plate and obviously had some explaining to do.
“Do you know why I asked you to hold my hand Albert?”
“Because I look good in green of course?” his humour was obvious if his drunkenness not. Regardless, Mitchell ignored the comment.
“No! Because when you cross the plate in the present, the you in the time you are thinking of disappears. Albert, you felt that and know it’s true. That’s why you held my hand.”
Albert pondered. He’d just described the sensation of Mitchell slipping from his fingers and Peanuts’ lead being set free. That he couldn’t deny. And if he did would debunk his own belief of co-existing parallel universes - adding to the Atherton/Einstein view that time is relative. Albert contended that if a sighted person witnessed what he had, it would surely bring to question their own sanity, but not as much if they’d somehow managed to meet themselves from the past. He had to agree with Mitch.
“That has some logic,” Albert finally added processing the notion.
“But what does it have to do with my eyesight?”
Having consumed a few scotches, Mitchell awkwardly moved to the edge of his chair to explain yet another idea he’d conceived. It was proven the past you vanished when starting a new journey, and in Albert’s case, if he travelled to a point thirty minutes before the fatal shelling from the Vietnamese army, he would be removed from the ship. As a consequence he wouldn’t get injured and therefore blinded. When the journey ended, Albert would return to the Hobart but only after the battle had been fought. In theory, nothing would happen to him.
Mitch was very pleased with himself and hoped Albert was as enthusiastic. Although the plate afforded travel of only ninety-nine minutes, and always only back to its origin, his theory opened a backdoor to change what distance and time wouldn’t.
“Very clever Mitchell. You certainly have been thinking. However, as I’ve said before, that could prove extremely dangerous and maybe less beneficial as you believe,” Albert contributed in a sceptical tone. The idea was so simple Mitch couldn’t understand Albert’s reluctance in accepting the facts. Why wouldn’t anyone want their sight back and alter the one thing that changed everything in their life?
“How so?” Mitchell asked drowning another mouthful.
“OK Mr Atherton. I understand what you’re saying but consider this. What if my actions in battle during the time you suggest I remove myself from happen to be critical to the outcome of the situation? What if they perhaps saved the lives of my comrades? The outcome would differ and those lives lost.”
Mitchell sensed this was more than just hypothesis but chose wisely not to pry deeper. It was inconsequential to the discussion and probably not forthcoming anyway. But did think it may be a cross Albert had borne since losing his sight.
“Now,” Albert continued, “let’s say today I cross the plate to 1968 and stop my accident as you’ve demonstrated possible…I survive the battle and see out the war stationed on the Hobart. Let’s also imagine I met a woman in Saigon, the love of my life no less, and we get married in… I don’t know, Paris. We settle there to live out our days together. I learn the French language, and we have three beautiful children giving us a full and memorable life.”
Alberts narrative was so believable Mitchell wondered if there was actually a girl in Saigon who’d waited for her sailor never to return. Albert finished the premise.
“As far as I’m concerned, I would return with my sight restored I suspect, back to this time and this suburb. Back to the plate.”
“Yes, Albert you would.”
“Mitchell, I’d have no recollection of that timeline?” Albert paused to let the comment make its own argument. “I would only know of my life to this point. Of my accident, of my rehabilitation, of meeting you. But I would have no knowledge of the alternate life I might’ve created had I avoided the blast. And…if I somehow managed to figure out I lived in Paris with a wife and children, and happened to find them, would I know them? No. I couldn’t even speak French! And supposing I could fake everything, would it be healthy to resume a life with a forty-four year gap? No. I’m afraid Mitchell it wouldn’t.” Albert sipped his drink confident his point was made.
He may have been drunk and had only a few hours to comprehend what Mitchell spent nights pondering, yet with clear insight and wisdom, Albert swiftly recognised the ramifications such a major change would have on an alternative timeline. Mitch as usual was in awe of the man.
“But your sight would be restored!”
“Maybe, possibly. But to what purpose? So I can spend my few remaining years sighted? Mitchell, I’ve spent the majority of my life blind. A few years to my death as a sighted man won’t change that.
“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t change the past Albert?”
“No I wouldn’t. What’s the point? Is it not better to cherish the life you have led, albeit speckled with drama the universe meant to give, than to join a life of perceived bliss you can’t even remember? There’s no point Mitchell. The past forty years are my life, and despite what could have been, I am not prepared to forego any of it.”
“Alright Albert, I understand. But you would have your eyesight back. Wouldn’t that be worth it?”
Albert sat in purposeful thought. His eyesight was something clearly valued when standing on the plate every day, but he unexpectedly replied,
“Mitchell. History is filled with brilliant people wanting to fix things but only made them worse.”
Mitch was shocked and realised Albert’s understanding of cause and affect was so deep he would rather continue his life sightless than change things consequently. He concurred forty-four years was a long time, but twenty-four months wasn’t. The conversation lulled while the friends digested each other’s thoughts. Peanut broke the silence barking for dinner, and Mitchell obliged with an unsteady balance. He re-joined Albert with two fresh glasses deciding to raise something mentioned earlier.
“Albert. Was there a girl in Saigon? The love of your life.” Albert considered the question carefully before speaking. He was torn between telling a story almost half a century old with the relevance it might have on the conversation. Albert owed Mitchell nothing, and himself even less.
“It doesn’t matter Mitchell because it didn’t happen and can’t be changed.”
The illusiveness of the answer told Mitch otherwise and he couldn’t imagine the pain it must have caused Albert. Well actually he could.
“Perhaps, but isn’t it good to have hopes and dreams?” Mitch posed more as an answer to his own quandary than in reply to the preceding comment.
“It is Mitchell, but not if they’re never going to be realised.”
They’d achieved all they would tonight arriving at a point of limited agreement. Albert ended the discussion by finishing his drink and announcing it time to leave. He assured Mitch he would have no trouble getting home, and with more on his mind than hours before, Mitchell didn’t give it a second thought.
“So what’s the point?” Mitchell probed Peanut when alone again. She was neither listening nor awake. Maybe Albert had a better understanding of the plate than he gave him credit for. His own desires were all that mattered though right now and considered Albert’s words only as a passing notion. If Juliana left him forty years ago would his thoughts be any different? What price would Mitchell put on a ‘what if’? He wanted to find out.
He was drunk but not on scotch. He was drunk on desire; and despite Albert’s logic regarding consequence of change, Mitch needed to do something for himself. To know for sure.
He let sleeping dogs lie if only in the literal sense and left the house during the darkness of night.
≈
Mitch woke feeling less than ordinary trying to piece together the evening. The afternoon had whirled by and the conversation with Albert, while animated at times, answered fewer questions than it raised. He now lay in bed brushing the sleep from his eyes recalling what he’d done.
After Albert left Mitchell decided that if he wouldn’t remove himself from a life-changing event, then he would. Staggering in the dark, the many scotches not helping; he returned to the place he’d visited almost every day in the past ten. The plate.
Mitch thought of that lunch with Juliana, everything from the early morning phone call to his night alone in bewilderment. Finally, he decided Juliana’s second phone call was the most appropriate time. The one when out the front of his office ready to go to lunch. Thinking of that moment he stepped onto the plate and quickly turned to walk from the metal surface. Night instantly turned to day blinding Mitch by the sudden light. It was September two years before and he knew the ‘other’ Mitch had just inexplicably vanished from the office.
Reeling with drunkenness he sat on the bench and waited. Had he been sober, or conscious of his surroundings, he might’ve noticed the MA / JL carved only days ago had vanished from the slats. It would be another two years before they were even considered.
Mitch imagined Juliana would be calling him by now but in haste left his phone at home. He could never confirm the call. However the past doesn’t lie nor does it change, and assumed it must be happening. Mitchell thought of Juliana sitting in the car waiting and a feeling of guilt swept over him. It was the only way Mitch could stop the event from happening given he had neither the time nor ability to make it to the office in person. He hoped it would work. His rationale the same as the one suggested to Albert; if Mitchell didn’t go to lunch with Juliana then the awkward discussion would never take place. Mitch would change the past and hopefully everything since. He wished it true but reasoned freewill could perhaps be more damaging than any exploding Vietnamese mortar. The idea seemed infallible on an alcohol base and in ninety minutes he would know for sure.
Alone on the park bench in the middle of the day, Mitch stretched across its length making himself more comfortable. It worked because he soon forgot why he’d even come out and quickly dozed off to sleep. Over an hour passed before he fell back onto the metal plate. It was night again and Mitch was a little disoriented. He slowly returned home and crawled back into bed, passing out soon after not considering the consequences of the trip.
Now it was morning and the sheath of night faded. Mitch ruefully considered his actions and questioned the wild decision. Unfortunately though it was done. He now needed to see his theory through to completion. But how? He drifted back to sleep wishing he hadn’t left the house so spontaneously.
For the second time that morning Mitch woke up. His head now decidedly clearer so he opted to call one of Juliana’s old friends. That was how to tell if his idea had worked. It would be a difficult call but one he had to make.
Among the obvious downsides of a relationship split were the affects it had on other friendships. Couples often had joint friends who found the breakup equally as hard. Mitchell’s were no different and he’d sadly lost contact with many of them. One though had never passed judgment and remained balanced in maintaining a friendship forged over years. It was that friend Mitch thought best to call. She would tell the truth and feel little awkwardness in hearing from Mitch after so long.
Elizabeth was one of Juliana’s old work colleagues. They’d spent a lot of time together outside of work and she’d become a true friend on many levels. Elizabeth always got on with Mitchell and he liked her too. They’d discussed many things over the years, learning more of each other than they’d care to admit, forming a mutual respect for one another. Mitch checked he still had her number then pressed the call button with trepidation.
“Hey Liz, its Mitchell. How are you?” It was a weak greeting but all he could muster.
“Mitchy!” came a surprised voice from the other end. “Wow, Hi, I’m OK. How are you going? Paul and I haven’t heard from you since…” her words trialled off. Mitchell agreed it had been far too long and offered a thin, unnecessary apology. The two engaged in the required small talk and were quickly brought up to speed since Juliana’s departure. Mitch didn’t call for that though; had he, the call would have been made much earlier.
“Liz, I was wondering if you’ve heard from Juliana?”
She hesitated. Although not entirely unexpected, she was taken aback by the finality of the question. Her brief pause told Mitchell her words would be truthful.
“Um, yes, I got an email from her a few weeks ago. She was in Israel and seemed to be enjoying the trip. ‘Having the time of her life’ I think she said.” Liz apologised if the detail was too much, but Mitch was thankful for her honesty. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear but did answer his question. They made some more small talk with Mitch ending the conversation with his thanks, agreeing they should all catch up soon.
“You know Mitch, I imagine it must be hard, but Juliana needed to do this. It was important for her,” Elizabeth offered attempting to comfort him. More important than me? Mitch thanked her again and promised to stay in touch.
Juliana would have left regardless. Her mind was made up and Mitch could do nothing to change that: either now or in the past. He slumped back on the bed reasoning Albert was right. What’s the point?
Israel. What the hell was in Israel?
Mitchell had lived in many countries and travelled to even more, but Israel wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t even remember Juliana mentioning it to him. She wasn’t at all religious and despised the desert. She showed more interest in Mitchell’s time in Asia and in Europe. On cold winter mornings the pair would lie in bed for hours. Mitch describing in detail the cities he’d worked in and places he’d visited. In retrospect, the level of Juliana’s intrigue made greater sense. Mitch now wished he hadn’t made such a big deal of his travels. At the time he never guessed it would spark a fire in Juliana ultimately leading her away.
He meandered with his thoughts; only concluding he couldn’t make any sense of them. His own desires tainting decisions others made. The voice of an old school friend came to mind, and like all his friends; Mitch hadn’t heard his voice in a very long time. But he could still heard his words.
His name was Andrew Hoffman, but everyone simply called him Moose. No one could ever remember how he got the nickname, and if five people were asked, five different reasons would be given. But that didn’t matter; he was just The Moose. Mitch called him Moose because he was stubborn, forthright in his belief, and unyielding unless proven otherwise. Andrew was like the animal itself, peaceful by nature, aggressive only when threatened.
Moose had a unique philosophy on life. A philosophy often lost on many yet so simple in execution. Don’t get upset by anyone’s actions. There is nothing you can do to control them, so do the right thing by yourself and let the path take its natural course. Everything will work out as intended. It was Karma at its basic level that didn’t need a study of Buddha or Nietzsche to understand. A simple rule of life letting others live in a world of their choosing and accepting their beliefs for what they are; beliefs. Learn from them, gain clarity of yourself, ergo the matrix of society.
Moose wasn’t a visionary or revolutionary philosopher. Andrew was just someone who didn’t quite understand the meaning of it all. He let life’s journey take its course until he came to understand it. It was cliché but he lived it anyway. Moose wanted to make the world a better place but it wouldn’t come from reinventing the wheel. It would come by bestowing some of his Zen thoughts on others; so it might change their lives…he wanted to be remembered for that.
And that he would. Years later, alone on his bed after a night of stupidity trying to change the past, the Moose’s words came flooding to Mitchell giving clarity where before there was none.
He realised it unlikely he could change his own past due to the nature of others’ free will. His attachment to any personal outcome made that difficult to earlier see. But that was human nature at its core, and only natural the person making the change should benefit greatest from the change. Selfishness is hard to let go when emotionally attached to a result. It was therefore more likely, and safer, to only make changes benefiting third parties not involved, or aware of the plates’ abilities. Mitch would use the plate to make a difference for others, and in turn himself. There would be no gratitude. No accolades. No reward. Only satisfaction in knowing others less fortunate would have their lives altered in some minor way for the better.
In the end, the epiphany came easily and Mitchell knew it the only way.