Time Travel Omnibus, page 407
She felt sad and rather empty, as though something had gone wrong—something that she could not quite outline in her mind. Georgette had moved up the aisle without seeming to see her, but earlier she had caught his eyes and smiled at him. Livvy thought he had smiled in return.
She heard the words distantly as they drifted back to her, “I now pronounce you—”
The noise of the train was back. A woman swayed down the aisle, herding a little boy back to their seats. There were intermittent bursts of girlish laughter from a set of four teenage girls halfway down the coach. A conductor hurried past on some mysterious errand.
Livvy was frozenly aware of it all.
She sat there, staring straight ahead, while the trees outside blended into a fuzzy, furious green and the telephone poles galloped past.
She said, “It was she you married.”
He stared at her for a moment and then one side of his mouth quirked a little. He said lightly, “I didn’t really, Olivia. You’re still my wife, you know. Just think about it for a few minutes.”
She turned to him. “Yes, you married me—because I fell in your lap. If I hadn’t, you would have married Georgette. If she hadn’t wanted you, you would have married someone else. You would have married anybody. So much for your jigsaw-puzzle pieces.”
Norman said very slowly, “Well-I’ll-be-darned!” He put both hands to his head and smoothed down the straight hair over his ears where it had a tendency to tuft up. For the moment it gave him the appearance of trying to hold his head together. He said, “Now, look here, Livvy, you’re making a silly fuss over a stupid magician’s trick. You can’t blame me for something I haven’t done.”
“You would have done it.”
“How do you know?”
“You’ve seen it.”
“I’ve seen a ridiculous piece of—hypnotism, I suppose.” His voice suddenly raised itself into anger. He turned to the little man opposite. “Off with you, Mr. If, or whatever your name is. Get out of here. We don’t want you. Get out before I throw your little trick out the window and you after it.”
Livvy yanked at his elbow. “Stop it. Stop it! You’re in a crowded train.”
The little man shrank back into the corner of the seat as far as he could go and held his little black box behind him. Norman looked at him, then at Livvy, then at the elderly lady across the way who was regarding him with patent disapproval.
He turned pink and bit back a pungent remark. They rode in frozen silence to and through New London.
Fifteen minutes past New London, Norman said, “Livvy!”
She said nothing. She was looking out the window but saw nothing in the glass.
He said again, “Livvy! Livvy! Answer me!”
She said dully, “What do you want?”
He said, “Look, this is all nonsense. I don’t know how the fellow does it, but even granting it’s legitimate, you’re not being fair. Why stop where you did? Suppose I had married Georgette, do you suppose you would have stayed single? For all I know, you were already married at the time of my supposed wedding. Maybe that’s why I married Georgette.”
“I wasn’t married.”
“How do you know?”
“I would have been able to tell. I knew what my own thoughts were.”
“Then you would have been married within the next year.” Livvy grew angrier. The fact that a sane remnant within her clamored at the unreason of her anger did not soothe her. It irritated her further, instead. She said, “And if I did, it would be no business of yours, certainly.”
“Of course it wouldn’t. But it would make the point that in the world of reality we can’t be held responsible for the ‘what ifs.’ ” Livy’s nostrils flared. She said nothing.
Norman said, “Look! You remember the big New Year’s celebration at Winnie’s place year before last?”
“I certainly do. You spilled a keg of alcohol all over me.”
“That’s beside the point, and besides, it was only a cocktail shaker’s worth. What I’m trying to say is that Winnie is just about your best friend and had been long before you married me.”
“What of it?”
“Georgette was a good friend of hers too, wasn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then. You and Georgette would have gone to the party regardless of which one of you I had married. I would have had nothing to do with it. Let him show us the party as it would have been if I had married Georgette, and I’ll bet you’d be there with either your fiancée or your husband.”
Livvy hesitated. She felt honestly afraid of that.
He said, “Are you afraid to take the chance?”
And that, of course, decided her. She turned on him furiously, “No, I’m not! And I hope I am married. There’s no reason I should pine for you. What’s more, I’d like to see what happens when you spill the shaker all over Georgette. She’ll fill both your ears for you, and in public, too. I know her. Maybe you’ll see a certain difference in the jigsaw pieces then.” She faced forward and crossed her arms angrily and firmly across her chest.
Norman looked across at the little man, but there was no need to say anything. The glass slab was on his lap already. The sun slanted in from the west, and the white foam of hair that topped his head was edged with pink.
Norman said tensely, “Ready?”
Livvy nodded and let the noise of the train slide away again.
Livvy stood, a little flushed with recent cold, in the doorway. She had just removed her coat, with its sprinkly of snow, and her bare arms were still rebelling at the touch of open air.
She answered the shouts that greeted her with “Happy New Year’s” of her own, raising her voice to make herself heard over the squealing of the radio. Georgette’s shrill tones were almost the first thing she heard upon entering, and now she steered herself toward her. She hadn’t seen Georgette, or Norman, in weeks.
Georgette lifted an eyebrow, a mannerism she had lately cultivated, and said, “Isn’t anyone with you, Olivia?” Her eyes swept the immediate surroundings and then returned to Livvy.
Livvy said indifferently, “I think Dick will be around later. There was something or other he had to do first.” She felt as indifferent as she sounded.
Georgette smiled tightly. “Well, Norman’s here. That ought to keep you from being lonely, dear. At least, it’s turned out that way before.”
As she said so, Norman sauntered in from the kitchen. He had a cocktail shaker in his hand, and the rattling of ice cubes castanetted his words. “Line up, you rioting revelers, and get a mixture that will really revel your riots—Why, Livvy!”
He walked toward her, grinning his welcome, “Where’ve you been keeping yourself? I haven’t seen you in twenty years, seems like. What’s the matter? Doesn’t Dick want anyone else to see you?”
“Fill my glass, Norman,” Georgette said sharply.
“Right away,” he said, not looking at her. “Do you want one too, Livvy? I’ll get you a glass.” He turned, and everything happened at once.
Livvy cried, “Watch out!” She saw it coming, even had a vague feeling that all this had happened before, but it played itself out inexorably. His heel caught the edge of the carpet; he lurched, tried to right himself, and lost the cocktail shaker. It seemed to jump out of his hands, and a pint of ice-cold liquor drenched Livvy from shoulder to hem.
She stood there, gasping. The noises muted about her, and for a few intolerable moments she made futile brushing gestures at her gown, while Norman kept repeating “Damnation!” in rising tones.
Georgette said coolly, “It’s too bad, Livvy. Just one of those things. I imagine the dress can’t be very expensive.”
Livvy turned and ran. She was in the bedroom, which was at least empty and relatively quiet. By the light of the fringe-shaded lamp on the dresser, she poked among the coats on the bed, looking for her own.
Norman had come in behind her. “Look, Livvy, don’t pay any attention to what she said. I’m devilishly sorry. I’ll pay—”
“That’s all right. It wasn’t your fault.” She blinked rapidly and didn’t look at him. “I’ll just go home and change.”
“Are you coming back?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Look, Livvy . . .” His warm fingers were on her shoulders—Livvy felt a queer tearing sensation deep inside her, as though she were ripping away, clinging cobwebs and—
—and the train noises were back.
Something did go wrong with the time when she was in there—in the slab. It was deep twilight now. The train lights were on. But it didn’t matter. She seemed to be recovering from the wrench inside her.
Norman was rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “What happened?”
Livvy said, “It just ended. Suddenly.”
Norman looked uneasily, “You know, we’ll be putting into New Haven soon.” He looked at his watch and shook his head.
Livvy said wonderingly, “You spilled it on me.”
“Well, so I did in real life.”
“But in real life I was your wife. You ought to have spilled it on Georgette this time. Isn’t that queer?” But she was thinking of Norman pursuing her; his hands on her shoulders . . .
She looked up at him and said with warm satisfaction, “I wasn’t married.”
“No, you weren’t. But was that Dick Reinhardt you were going around with?”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t planning to marry him, were you, Livvy?”
“Jealous, Norman?”
Norman looked confused. “Of that? Of a slab of glass? Of course not.”
“I don’t think I would have married him.”
Norman said, “You know, I wish it hadn’t ended when it did. There was something that was about to happen, I think.” He stopped, then added slowly, “It was as though I would rather have done it to anybody else in the room.”
“Even to Georgette.”
“I wasn’t giving two thoughts about Georgette. You don’t believe me, I suppose.”
“Maybe I do.” She looked up at him. “I’ve been silly, Norman. Let’s—let’s live our real life. Let’s not play with all the things that just might have been.”
But he caught her hands. “No, Livvy. One last time. Let’s see what we would have been doing right now, Livvy! This very minute! If I had married Georgette.”
Livvy was a little frightened. “Let’s not, Norman.” She was thinking of his eyes, smiling hungrily at her as he held the shaker, while Georgette stood beside her, and regarded. She didn’t want to know what happened afterward. She just wanted this life now, this good life.
New Haven came and went.
Norman said again, “I want to try, Livvy.”
She said, “If you want to, Norman.” She decided fiercely that it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would matter. Her hands reached out and encircled his arm. She held it tightly, and while she held it she thought: “Nothing in make-believe can take him from me.” Norman said to the little man, “Set ’em up again.”
In the yellow light the process seemed to be slower. Gently the frosted slab cleared, like clouds being torn apart and dispersed by an unfelt wind.
Norman was saying, “There’s something wrong. That’s just the two of us, exactly as we are now.”
He was right. Two little figures were sitting in a train on the seats which were the farthest toward the front. The field was enlarging now—they were merging into it. Norman’s voice was distant and fading.
“It’s the same train,” he was saying. “The window in back is cracked just as—”
Livvy was blindingly happy. She said, “I wish we were in New York.”
He said, “It will be less than an hour, darling.” Then he said, “I’m going to kiss you.” He made a movement, as though he were about to begin.
“Not here! Oh, Norman, people are looking.”
Norman drew back. He said, “We should have taken a taxi.”
“From Boston to New York?”
“Sure. The privacy would have been worth it.”
She laughed. “You’re funny when you try to act ardent.”
“It isn’t an act.” His voice was suddenly a little somber. “It’s not just an hour, you know. I feel as though I’ve been waiting five years.”
“I do, too.”
“Why couldn’t I have met you first. It was such a waste.”
“Poor Georgette,” Livvy sighed.
Norman moved impatiently. “Don’t be sorry for her, Livvy. We never really made a go of it. She was glad to get rid of me.”
“I know that. That’s why I say ‘Poor Georgette.’ I’m just sorry for her for not being able to appreciate what she had.”
“Well, see to it that you do,” he said. “See to it that you’re immensely appreciative, infinitely appreciative—or more than that, see that you’re at least half as appreciative as I am of what I’ve got.”
“Or else you’ll divorce me, too?”
“Over my dead body,” said Norman.
Livvy said, “It’s all so strange. I keep thinking, What if you hadn’t spilt the cocktails on me that time at the party? You wouldn’t have followed me out; you wouldn’t have told me; I wouldn’t have known. It would have been so different . . . everything.”
“Nonsense. It would have been just the same. It would have all happened another time.”
“I wonder,” said Livvy softly.
Train noises merged into train noises. City lights flickered outside, and the atmosphere of New York was about them. The coach was astir with travelers dividing the baggage among themselves.
Livvy was an island in the turmoil until Norman shook her. She looked at him and said, “The jigsaw pieces fit after all.” He said, “Yes.”
She put a hand on his. “But it wasn’t good, just the same. I was very wrong. I thought that because we had each other, we should have all the possible each others. But all of the possibilities are none of our business. The real is enough. Do you know what I mean?”
He nodded.
She said, “There are millions of other what-ifs. I don’t want to know what happened in any of them. I’ll never say, ‘What if,’ again.”
Norman said, “Relax, dear. Here’s your coat.” And he reached for the suitcases.
Livvy said with sudden sharpness, “Where’s Mr. If?”
Norman turned slowly to the empty seat that faced them. Together they scanned the rest of the coach.
“Maybe,” Norman said, “he went into the next coach.”
“But why? Besides, he wouldn’t leave his hat.” And she bent to pick it up.
Norman said, “What hat?”
And Livvy stopped her fingers hovering over nothingness. She said, “It was here—I almost touched it.” She straightened and said, “Oh, Norman, what if—”
Norman put a finger on her mouth. “Darling . . .”
She said, “I’m sorry. Here, let me help you with the suitcases.” The train dived into the tunnel beneath Park Avenue, and the noise of the wheels rose to a roar.
FACTOR UNKNOWN
Sam Merwin, Jr.
Houghton went back into Time to try to change history; but all he did was make the future worse—in potential! Then Fate took a hand . . .
DWIGHT Houghton—or rather the intricate bank of “thinking” machines that lined the control cabin in his strange vessel—had calculated correctly. Where space was concerned at any rate. The view on the panoramic ’visor screen above the instrument panels told him that. In the matter of time he could only discover the answer through contact outside.
His lips compressed, he put a forefinger against the release button, causing heavy steel lever-locks—much like the mechanical guardians of a modern bank vault—to slide back. He pushed open the oval port and stepped down into soft green turf. He was in a little clearing amid the well-tailored forest grove at the rear of the huge estate.
Through gaps in the tall pines he sighted the five-foot wall of English box that marked the boundary of clipped lawns and lush flower beds beyond the trees. Above the hedge he caught a glimpse of the half-timbered gables and brick chimneys of the great house.
Save that the world was in full fresh leaf the scene looked exactly as it had when he surveyed his arrival spot for the last time some seventeen hours earlier. Then of course it had been March-gaunt and windswept with here and there a patch of half-spent snow.
He walked slowly through the trees toward a gap in the hedge, feeling the weight of his problem. More or less unconsciously he brushed an orange-and-black ladybug from one bare well-sinewed forearm as he passed through the hedge-gap into the gardens beyond.
Houghton knew where he was—but not when. And he was not a man who enjoyed uncertainty. Although the cybernetic machinery in the vessel behind him was supposedly foolproof, he could not help wondering what time it was—what day, what month, what year.
Then, when he attained the lip of the two-hundred-yard expanse of well-barbered turf that led gently upward to the house itself, he saw the girl and stopped. The tension within him eased—for sight of her provided reassurance that the incredibly complex machinery of his vessel had not failed.
In black straw sailor, starched white blouse with leg-o-mutton sleeves and long fawn tubular skirt, she was the living embodiment of the Gibson girl. She reminded Houghton of all the drawing he had seen when, as a boy, he had rainy-day rummaged through the bound volumes of old magazines in the library of the great pile of stone, wood and stucco that lay at the head of the lawn.
She was bent slightly forward—a strand of her high-piled copper hair caressing her near cheek, a crocquet mallet gripped in her right hand. One high-buttoned shoe reposed daintily but firmly upon a green-striped wooden ball—via which she was about to bash a purple-striped ball to the lawn’s far reaches. Regarding him, her mouth was ajar, revealing even white teeth, and her smoky blue eyes were agape with astonishment.
“Hello,” he said casually, walking over to her and drawing cigarette case and lighter from the breast pocket of his shirt as he did so. “Could you tell me what day this is?”
