TIMEWALK (fifth and final part) 

by Richard Banks          

I get to the safe house, which is a shutdown café, and ring the bell. The door opens and Henderson greets me like a long lost brother. He claps me on the back and says the others are out back in the kitchen. I go in and look into their faces. Four of them are exuberant, pleased to see me, two stare back in disbelief. I put my back to the wall and draw my gun from its holster. There is, I say, something that some of them should know if they’re wanting to stay alive. I tell them about the lock on my door and the delayed explosion that wasn't. Cheshire says I'm lying, that I'm a Government agent, but everyone knows that's nonsense. If I was an agent there would be another ten behind me. I look at Renshaw and ask him why. He considers his answer calmly; he speaks in his usual, measured way.

         “I'm sorry, Adam, but it was necessary. You were a danger to us all. The Government was on to you. It would only have been a matter of time before they caught up with you. What then? A  drugged cigarette? I doubt it. They use torture, you know. How long would you have held out before telling them everything you know? There are millions of lives at stake. I couldn't take the risk.”

         I redirect the gun at Cheshire, ask her the same question. Her betrayal seems worse and I feel my finger tightening on the trigger.

         “Shoot me,” she says. “Do it! Our lives are unimportant. All that matters is the Cause.”

         “Is there anyone else who wants me dead?” My question is unanswered but everyone, apart from Renshaw and Cheshire, are visibly shocked at what I have said. Clearly, they were never told, were never meant to know.

         I put my trust in them and return my gun to its holster. There is silence, then Renshaw speaks. I tell him to shut up, that nothing he says can be trusted, then I realise it's him who is going to save me. He's thinking the same as me but I say it first. “Use Timewalk to send me back to where no one will find me. Do that and we're all safe. Problem over.”

         “Very well,” says Renshaw, “are we all agreed?” He looks at everyone in turn as they respond with a terse “yes” or a nod of the head. He proposes that the two of us go directly to Timewalk before the evening patrols begin, but I want someone there who's on my side so I insist that Henderson goes too. We set off and reach the Timewalk building without encountering anything more threatening than a stray cat. Renshaw lets us in and we go directly to the transmissions room.

         “When and where?” He asks.

         I tell him Bath, England, early 1800s, and he starts fiddling with the controls in a way that suggests that standard transmissions have long ceased to be part of his job description. While he's sorting himself out I help myself to some clothing from the props room. I put on something labelled 'Regency, gentleman's formal' and hurry back to the transmissions room where the usual lights are flickering on the control panel. I take up my position. Henderson bids me good luck and I'm on my way.

                                                  ***   

         It's a bad trip, I'm down on my knees and there's a pain in my head like someone's taken a drill to it. What's worse, if things can get worse, is that I am not in Bath, and unless Margate Beach has got a whole lot bigger, there's no way this is England. I'm close to passing out but if I do there might be no waking up. I fall forward onto hot sand and, as it burns my hands and head, the drilling stops. I find the strength to get back onto my knees and through eyes dazzled by sunlight, stare out at a vast desert in which the only living thing is me. My hat is nowhere to be found, so I take off the tailcoat I'm wearing and hang it over my head. I need water, proper shade and if there's a place where these things can be found that's where I’ve got to be. I stand up, pick a direction and start walking. Two hours later I'm still going. I'm desperate to be seeing something that isn't sand, but when I do it’s the bleached bones of a human skeleton. This is what happens when you stop, I tell myself, you must not, but that's easier said than done. It's mind over matter time; my body wants to shut down but I won't let it, not after everything I've been through.

         Ahead of me is a long ridge of sand, over which a small bird appears and is joined by another. They tumble and turn in the air before dipping down out of sight. I keep walking, knowing that whatever is beyond the ridge will either save me or see me dead. The birds reappear, soar upwards, circle and are lost in the glare of the sun. Out of sight, they may already be too distant to see but logic tells me they are still near. They need water just as much as I do and small birds don't fly far … or do they?

         I look down at my feet and make them climb the slope to the top of the ridge. Every step must make a foothold capable of supporting the weight of my body. A moment's carelessness will send me sliding down, but my mind commands my body and my body continues to climb. We triumph! and I step up onto a narrow plateau. Beyond it, the desert continues to the horizon but I don't care, I'm not looking that far. Down below, no further than one hundred metres, a cluster of palm trees tremble in a breeze that blows only there. I roll down the other side of the ridge and start walking again. This could be a mirage, a hallucination, me seeing only what I want to see, but maybe, just maybe, it exists. I stagger up to the nearest tree, hug it and know it's real. Ten more steps and I'm within the dappled shade of an oasis. A lion and a lamb are grazing on the grassy bank of a lake, on where a swan is swimming with her cygnets. The scene is tranquil, unworldly, but, like me, it exists. I splash down into the clear, cool water and drink from a stream that flows into it. In moments I am restored, made well again, the cares and troubles of another life forever gone.

         A crocodile glides towards me and on finding I am doing nothing more interesting than washing the sand from my face turns away towards a spur of land on which it has made a nest. Could life be better? I think not, then a question proves me wrong. 

          “What animal are you?”

         I turn in the direction of the voice and find myself looking at a young woman who has allowed nothing to come between her and the perfect tan.

         “Human,” I reply. “I am, as you are, human.”

         She sits up from the grassy embankment where she has been lying and dangles a foot in the water, sending an unhurried ripple through her reflection. “A human?” She laughs and instantly dismisses the idea as nonsense. “No, you are different. No human has skin like yours.”

         I explain that I am wearing clothes and that without them I am definitely human. To prove the point I wade over to her and open my shirt so she can see my chest.

         She points at my trousers. “And the begatting? How do you do that?”

         I reply that the trousers also come off but that I will keep them on in case anyone from her tribe should come by.

         “Tribe?”

         “Yes, other humans, your father, mother, a mate. Do you have a mate?”

         She lies back on the ground, cradling her head in her hands. The word seems unfamiliar to her and she repeats it several times while considering its possible meaning. She decides to respond with a certain knowledge of her existence. “I have Eric. He is my man and I am Eve, his wife, who was once his rib. And this place is our home, Eden.”

         This is all very odd but at the same time strangely familiar. “Would I be correct in saying that Eric is the first man and you his woman?”

         Eve confirms that my supposition is indeed correct. She turns over onto her front and says that if I want to make myself useful I can rub coconut oil onto her back. She points to a coconut in which a woodpecker is making a small incision.

         “Is this what Eric does when he's around?”

         Eve heaves a deep sigh of discontent. “You mean when he's not naming the animals?”

         “Is that what he's doing now?” 

         “It sure is. It's the old chap's orders, him upstairs. Go name the animals, he said, and while you're doing that be fruitful and multiply. But oh no. Eric can't do two things at once so he decides to name the animals first and leave the fruitful, begatting stuff to later. So off he goes into the desert to name the meerkats and I've not seen him since. Meanwhile, all the animals are begatting like mad and we ain't even got started. He'd better come back soon or the old chap will be putting the rabbits in charge.”

         There is no good way of breaking bad news, so I tell her about the skeleton in the desert and how it can only be Eric. “He is dead,” I say. There is an irrefutable logic about this but the concept of death is one she is totally unable to grasp. In the end, I say that another of Eric's ribs has also become a woman and he is doing his begatting with her. This she does understand and having never been told a lie believes every word. When she has finished sobbing I tell her the good news.

         “What's that?” she says.

         “I have been sent to take his place.”

         “What, by the old chap?”

         I think he might be listening so I say it's fate, our fate, and that it is written in the stars. This is a line I once tried on a girl I met in a singles’ bar. It didn't work then and it doesn't work now, owing to the need to explain writing. By the time that is done the romantic possibilities are thinner than air. I try another line.

         “Try and see it this way, the future belongs to us. It's a new story, the story of Adam and Eve. Don't that have a sweet ring? We'll be starting a dynasty that will change the world, no wars, no hunger, a world full of happy, contented people. We can do it sugar, you and me together.”

         Eve says she doesn't have a clue what I'm talking about but if it has anything to do with begatting I will need to do something about the trousers.

         I finish the rear side oiling and tickle the flats of her feet; she lets out a high pitched shriek which startles a sleeping leopard. Eve rolls over onto her back and draws up her knees so that each foot is placed firmly on the ground. While she's deciding whether she likes or dislikes being tickled I spread more oil onto her feet and shins. This is like the best beach holiday ever and providing I can keep her off the forbidden fruit that's the way it's going to stay.

         It's time to explain about trouser buttons and having done so she demonstrates an aptitude for problem-solving that will come in very useful when we start making stone implements. But that comes later. For now, we have other things to do.

                                                                 ***

This is both the end of the story and the beginning. This time we will get it right. 

Copyright Richard Banks