top. He didn't notice my gaze. I realized that I was feeling resentful of
him he was so damned sure of himself, even to the way he was making himself
at home in my car. Was that the way I was? I found myself studying his
mannerisms.
Suddenly he turned to me. "Relax," he said. He turned to look me
straight in the eye. "I know what you're going through. I went through it
too. The way to do this is at least, I think so is the first time you go
through something, just watch. The second time, you know what's going to
happen; that's where the arrogance comes from. Only it isn't arrogance. It's
confidence." "I guess this is happening a little too fast for me."
"Me too," he said. "I know this is a weird thing to say, but I missed
you. Or maybe I missed me. Anyway, it'll work better this way. You'll see."
He pushed the button on the dashboard and the convertible top lifted off and
began folding back. "Put on a tape," he said, indicating the box of
cassettes on the floor. He started to name one, then stopped himself. "Want
me to tell you which one you're going to choose?"
"Uh no, thanks." I studied the different titles with such an intensity
I couldn't see any of them. It would be impossible for me to surprise him no
matter what tape I chose, no matter what I did, he would already know, he
would have done it himself.
Of course, he had been through all this before. He had every reason to
be sure of himself. When I became him, I'd probably be cocky too. Perhaps a
little giddy you couldn't help but feel powerful if you knew everything that
was going to happen before it happened. Of course he should be the one to do
the talking.
Later I'd get my turn; but right now I was feeling a little unsure,
both of myself and of the situation. I could learn by following his lead. I
put on a tape of Petrouchka and concentrated on the road.
I'd never been to the race track before. It was bigger than I'd
expected. Don steered his way into the parking lot with surprising
familiarity and arrowed immediately toward a space that shouldn't have been
there, but was.
Instead of seats in the bleachers, as I had expected, he bought a
private box. Grinning at me, he explained, "Why not? We deserve the best."
I wanted to point out that it wasn't necessary; besides, it cost too
much. Then I realized he was right; the money made no difference at all. We
were going to make a lot more than we spent, so why not enjoy? I shut up and
let myself be awed by the great expanses of green lawn. Under the bright
sun, the wide sweeping track seemed poised in midair, a curve of stark and
simple elegance. The stands loomed high above us and I was properly
impressed.
We ordered mint juleps from the bar nouveau riche I thought, but didn't
protest and made our way to our seats. Don made a great show of studying the
paper, which I thought was funny it was today's race results he was poring
over. "Yes, yes . . ."he muttered in loud tones of feigned thoughtfulness.
"I think Absolam's Ass looks pretty good in the first." He looked up.
"Danny, go put a hundred dollars on Absolam's Ass. To win."
"Uh " I started fumbling in my pockets. "I only
have sixty " And then I broke off and looked at him. "A
hundred dollars ?" On a horse? A hundred dollars?
He was eying me with cool amusement. There was a crisp new bill in his
hand. "You want to get rich?" he asked. "You have to spend money to make
money." I blinked and took the bill. Somehow I found my way to the betting
windows and traded the money for ten bright printed tickets. The clerk
didn't even glance up.
Absolam's Ass paid off at three to one. We now had three hundred
dollars. Don ordered two more mint juleps while I went to collect our
winnings and put them on Fig Leaf. This time the clerk hesitated, repeated
the bet aloud, then punched the buttons on his machine.
Fig Leaf paid off at two to one. We now had six hundred dollars. And
another mint julep.
Calamity Jane also paid off at two to one. We were up to twelve hundred
dollars, and the clerk at the window was beginning to recognize me.
Finders Keepers came in second, and I looked at
Don in consternation. He merely grinned and said,
"Wait " I waited, and Harass was disqualified for
bumping Tumbleweed. Finders Keepers paid eight to
one. Ninety-six hundred dollars. The betting official
went a little goggle-eyed when I tried to put it all on Big
John. He had to call over a manager to okay it.
Big John came in at three to one. Twenty-eight thousand, eight hundred
dollars. I was getting a little goggle-eyed. The track manager personally
took my next bet; with that much money at stake, I couldn't blame him. I
made a little show of hesitating thoughtfully as if I couldn't make up my
mind, partly to keep him from getting curious about my "system" and partly
because I was getting nervous about all the people who were watching me to
see which way I would bet. Apparently they were betting the same way. Word
of my "luck" seemed to have spread. (I didn't like that I'd heard somewhere
that too much money on one horse could change the odds. Well, no matter. As
long as I still won. . . .)
As I climbed back to our seats, I thought I saw Don leaving, but I must
have been mistaken because he was still sitting there in our box. When he
saw me, he folded the newspaper he'd been looking at and shoved it under his
seat. I started to ask him about the odds, but he said. "Don't worry about
it. We're leaving right after this race. We're through for the day."
"Huh ? Why?”
He waited until the horses broke from the gate; the crowd roared around
us. "Because in a few minutes we're going to be worth fifty-seven thousand,
six hundred dollars. Don't you think that's enough?"
"But if we keep going," I protested, "we can win almost a milllion
dollars on an eight-horse parlay."
He flinched at that. "There are better ways to make a million dollars,"
he said. "Quieter ways. More discreet. "
I didn't answer. Evidently he knew something I didn't. I watched as
Michelangelo crossed the finish line and paid off at two to one. Don scooped
up his two newspapers and stood. "Come on," he said. "You go get the money.
I'll wait for you at the ear.
I was a little disappointed that he didn't want to come with me to
collect our winnings; after all, they were as much his as they were mine.
(I'm getting my tenses confused they were all mine, but it seemed like
ours.) Didn't he care about the money?"
No matter. I found my way down to the windows to
turn my tickets in that is, I tried to turn my tickets in.
There were some forms to be filled out first, and a notification for
the Bureau of Internal Revenue. And I had to show my drivers license for
identification and my credit cards too. The track manager was beaming at me
and kept shaking my hand and wanting to know if I would please wait for the
photographers and reporters.
At first I was pleased with the idea, but something inside me went
twang just a warning sensation, that's all, but it was enough. "I don't want
any publicity," I said; now I knew why Don had beaten such a hasty retreat.
I shook off the track manager and collected my
check for $57,600 as quickly as possible. It felt like a
mighty powerful piece of paper; I was almost afraid to
put it in my pocket. I must have walked out to the park-
ing lot like my pants were on fire. I was that nervous and
excited.
Don was sitting on the passenger side, looking thoughtful, I was too
giddy to notice. "You want to see the check?" I asked, waving it at him.
He shook his head. "I've already seen it." Then he pulled it out of his
pocket to show me his check for $57,600. He'd had it with him all the time!
I blinked from one to the other. They were identical, even down to the
last curlicue on the signature.
"Hey!" I said. "Two checks!" Why don't we cash
them both?"
Don looked at me. "We can't. Think about it. If you cash yours, how do
I get it back so I can cash it?"
He was right, of course. I wanted to hit myself for being so stupid. It
was the same check. He I we just hadn't cashed it yet. He slipped it back
into his pocket; I did the same with mine. Well, at least it was nice to
know I wasn't going to lose it.
* * *
I drove home. Don was strangely quiet; I noticed it almost immediately
because I had gotten used to letting him do all the talking. (There wasn't
much point in my saying anything; he already knew it, and anything I needed
to know, he would tell me.) But now he had lost his former exuberance. He
seemed almost brooding.
I was still too excited by the whole experience. I couldn't stop
talking. But after a bit I began to realize it was a one-sided conversation.
I trailed off, feeling foolish. (He'd heard it all before, I had to remind
myself After all, he'd said it too.)
"Well," I said. "What happens now? Do you go back
to your time?"
He looked at me, forced himself to smile. "Not yet.
First we go out to celebrate. Like rich people."
Of course. Its not every day you make $57,600.
We stopped at home to change clothes. (There was a bit of hassling over
who was going to use the bathroom first and who was going to wear whose
favorite sport jacket, but eventually we compromised. Even so, this was
something I might have trouble getting used to sharing my life. I like to
live alone, and this business of another person even when it's only yourself
sharing your apartment, your clothes, your bathroom, your razor, your
toothbrush, and even your clean underwear, can be unnerving. To say the
least.)
The restaurant was called simply The Restaurant. It was supposed to be
one of the best places in the city, but I'd never been there before, so I
didn't know. Don, of course, was quite familiar with the layout. He
presented himself to the maitre d' and announced, "You have a reservation
for Mr. Daniel Eakins . . .?"
Yes, he did when had Don arranged that? and
led us to a table on a balcony overlooking a splashing
fountain. Fancy.
We started off with cocktails, of course, and an hors d'oeuvre tray
that was meal in itself, and then had another drink while we studied the
menu and wine list. I went goggle-eyed at the prices, mostly out of habit,
but Don merely announced, "Last night I had the steak. Today I'm going to
try the lobster."
His "last night" was my tonight. I had steak.
It was still early in the evening. We were in a quiet and empty corner.
Somewhere a violinist was teasing a Bach concerto until it giggled with
delight. I sipped my drink and studied Don; I was beginning to find his
selfassurance attractive. (I knew what that meant. I wanted to be the same
way and I'd begun to imitate him.)
He was studying me too, but there was a detached
smile on his lips. I could tell his thoughts were not running the same
course as mine and I wondered what he was thinking about. I kept looking at
him and he kept looking back at me.
Finally I had to break away. "I can't get used to this," I said. "I
mean, I thought I'd be doing all this alone. I didn't realize that you'd be
here "
"But why should you have to be alone?" He'd
started to answer my question before I'd finished asking
it. "You'll never have to be alone again. You'll always have
me. I'll always have you. It makes more sense this way. I
don't like being alone either. This way I can share the
things I like with somebody I know likes them too. I
don't have to try to impress you, you don't have to try to
impress me. There's perfect understanding between us.
There'll never be any of those destructive little head games that
people play on each other, because there can’t be. I like me, Danny; that's
why I like you. You'll feel the same way, you'll see. And I guarantee, there
are no two people in this world who understand each other as well as we do."
"Um " I said. I studied the pattern of bread
crumbs on the tablecloth. Don's intensity scared me. All my life I'd
been a loner; I wasn't very good at talking to people, and when they tried
to get too close to me, I backed away in a hurry.
(Uncle Jim had arranged for me to visit an analyst once. It hadn't
worked. I wouldn't open up to him. The most I would admit was a feeling that
I wasn't living my life, only operating it by remote control.) So now, when
Don opened his thoughts to me
but I couldn't reject him. He was me. How could
I put up a psychological barrier between myself? I couldn't, of course,
but it was the candidness of Don's admissions that made me uncomfortable.
Abruptly, he was changing the subject. "Besides, there's another
advantage," he pointed out. "With me along, you'll never be taken by
surprise. Whatever we do, I'll have been through it before, so I'll know
what to expect, and you'll be learning it at the hands of an expert guide.
Whatever we do."
"I've always wanted to try parachute jumping," I offered.
He grinned. "Me too." Suddenly he was serious again. "When you go, Dan,
you have to take me. I'm your insurance so you can't be killed." "Huh?" I
stared at him.
He repeated it. "When you're with me, you can't be killed. It's like
the check this afternoon. If anything happens to the earlier one, the later
one won't be there beside it it won't exist. It's more than me just being
able to warn you about things my sitting here across from you is proof that
you won't be killed before tomorrow night. And I know that nothing happens
to me" he thumped his chest to indicate which "me" he was talking about
"because I've got my memories. I've seen that nothing will happen to me
tonight, so you're my insurance too.
I thought about that.
He was right.
"Remember the automobile accident we didn't have last year?"
I shuddered. I'd had a blowout on the San Diego Freeway while traveling
at seventy miles an hour. It had been the left front tire and I had skidded
across three lanes and found myself the wrong way, with traffic rushing at
me. And the motor had stalled. I just barely had time to restart the engine
and pull off to the side. It had been fifteen minutes before my hands
stopped trembling enough for me to attempt changing the tire. It was a mess.
For weeks afterward I'd kept a piece of it on the dashboard to remind me how
close a call I'd had. I still had nightmares about it: if traffic had been
just a little bit heavier . . . the sickening
swerve-skid-bumpety-bumpscreeeeeeech
I figured I was living on borrowed time. I really should have been
killed. Really. It was only a miracle that I hadn't been.
I realized my hand was shaking. I forced myself to take a sip of my
drink. I looked at Don; he was as grim as I was. "There's too much to lose,
isn't there?" he said.
I nodded. We shared the same memory. There was a lot we didn't have to
say.
"Dan," he said; his tone was intense, as intense as before. His eyes
fixed me with a penetrating look. "We're going to be more than just
identical twins. We can't help it. We're closer than brothers."
I met his gaze, but the thought still frightened me.
I'm not sure I know how to be that close to anybody. Even myself.
* * *
We ate the rest of our dinner in silence, but it wasn't an
uncomfortable silence. No, it was a peaceful one, relaxed.
I had to get used to the situation, and Don was letting me. He sat
there and smiled a lot, and I got the feeling that he was simply enjoying my
presence.
I had to learn how to relax, that was the problem. Other people had
always unnerved me because I thought they were continually judging me. How
do I look? What kind of a person do I seem? Is my voice firm enough? Am I
really intelligent or just pedantic? Was that joke really funny, or am I
making a fool of myself? I worried about the impression I was making. If I
was shy, did they think I was being aloof and call me a snob? If I tried to
be friendly, did they find me overbearing? I was always afraid that I was
basically unlikable, so I wouldn't give anyone the chance to find out; or I
tried too hard to be likable, and thereby proved that I wasn't.
And yet
Here was this person, Don, sitting across from me
... he wasn't unlikable at all. In fact, he was quite attractive.
Handsome, even. His face was ruddy and tanned (well, that was the sun lamp
in the bathroom, but it looked good); his eyes were clear, almost glowing
(that must be from the tinted contact lenses); his hair was carefully styled
(that was the hair blower, of course) he was everything I was always trying
to be. His voice was firm, his manner was gentle, and he was in good
physical condition. Perhaps I had been too hard in judging myself.
Yes, I liked the look of this person. He was capable, assured, and
confident. He projected likability. Friendliness.
And something else. There was that same kind of longing no, maybe
desperation was the word in Don; that feeling of reach out, touch me, here I
am, please that I so often felt in myself. Under his assurance was a hint of
helplessness? need? And I could respond to that. I enjoyed his presence, but
more than that, I sensed a feeling that he needed me. Yes, he needed to know
that / liked him.
I realized I was smiling. It was nice to be needed, I decided. I was
glowing, but not with the liquor. Not entirely. I was learning to love no, I
was learning to like myself. I was learning to relax with another person.
No. I was learning to relax with myself. Maybe it was the same thing,
actually.
We spent a lot of time drinking and thinking and
just looking at each other. And giggling conspiratorially.
Our communication was more than empathic. We didn't need words he
already knew what I was thinking. And I would know the rest, if I just
waited. We simply enjoyed each other's existence.
After dinner we went to a nearby bar and played a few games of pool. It
was one of the few things we could do that wouldn't be boring the second
time around. Most kinds of spectator entertainment, like a movie or a show
or a baseball game, wouldn't work two nights in a row, but participation
activities would work just fine. Swimming, sailing, riding; I could learn
from watching my own technique. (I wondered if I could get a poker game
going let's see, I'd need at least five of me. I doubted it would work, but
it might be worth a try.)
We got home about eleven-thirty; we were holding each other up, we were
that drunk. Don looked at me blearily. "Well, good night, Dan. I'll see you
tomorrow no, I'll see you the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I have to see Don
and you have to see Dan " He frowned at that, went over it again in his
head, looked back to me. "Yeah, that's right." He flipped open his belt
buckle, set it, double-checked it, closed it, and vanished forward into
time. The air gave a soft pop! as it rushed in to fill the space where he
had been.
* * *
' i
After he left I stumbled through the apartment, wondering what to do
next another trip through time? No. I decided not. I was too tired. First
I'd get some sleep. If I could.
I paused to pick up the clothes that I'd scattered on the floor this
afternoon when we'd changed for dinner; I realized I was picking up his
clothes too wait a minute, that meant that he'd left wearing some of my
clothes.
I looked in the closet. Yes, the good sport jacket and slacks that he'd
borrowed were missing. So was my red tie. But the sweater and slacks that
he'd discarded were still there.
No, they weren't they were in my hand! I blinked back and forth between
the clothes I was holding and the clothes in the closet. They were the same!
I'd lost a jacket and slacks, but I'd gained a sweater and a pair of pants
identical to the ones I already owned. I had to figure this ' t.
Ah, I had it. The jacket and slacks he'd borrowed had traveled forward
in time with him. They'd be waiting there for me when no, that wasn't right.
I'd be going back in time tomorrow that is, I'd be coming back to today,
where I'd put them on and take them forward with me. Right. They'd just be
skipping forward a few hours.
And the sweater and the other pair of pants the duplicated ones
obviously, that's what I'd be wearing tomorrow when I bounced back, leaving
only one set in the future. The condition of having two of them was only
temporary, like the condition of having two of me. It was just an illusion.
Or was it?
What would happen if I wore his sweater and slacks back through time?
The sweater and slacks that he brought from the future would then be the
clothes that I would leave in the past so that I could put them on when I
went back to the past to leave them there for myself, ad infinitum . . . and
meanwhile, my sweater and slacks would be hanging untouched in the closet.
Or would they?
What would happen tomorrow if I didn't wear either sweater or pair of
slacks? But something else entirely? (But how could I? I'd already seen that
I had worn them.) Would the pair that he brought back cease to exist? Or
would they remain would I have somehow duplicated them?
There was only one way to find out . . .
I fell asleep thinking about it.
* * *
The morning was hot, with that crisp kind of unre-
ality that characterizes the northern edge of the San Fernando Valley.
I woke up to the sound of the air conditioner already beginning its days
work with an insistent pressing hum.
For a while I just stared at the ceiling. I'd had the strangest dream
but it wasn't a dream. I bounced out of bed in sudden fear. The
timebelt glittered on the dresser where I'd left it. I held it tightly as if
it might abruptly fade away. All the excitement of yesterday flooded back
into me.
I remembered. The race track. The restaurant.
Don. The check. It was sitting on the dresser too, right next to the
belt $57,600!
I opened the belt and checked the time. It was almost eleven. I'd have
to hurry. Don would be arriving no, I was Don now. Dan would be arriving in
three hours.
I showered and shaved, pulled on a sport shirt and slacks and headed
for the car. I wanted to go to the bank and deposit the check and I had to
pick up a newspaper
Actually, I didn't need the newspaper at all, I could remember which
horses had won without it, but there was a headline on the front page of the
Herald Examiner: FIVE-HORSE PARLAY WINS $57,600!
Huh ? I hadn't seen that before. But then, Don hadn't shown me the
front page.
The story was a skimpy one and they'd misspelled my name; mostly it was
about how much I had bet on each horse and how it had snowballed. Then there
were some quotes from various track officials saying how pleased they were
to have such a big winner (I'll bet!), because it helped publicize the sport
(and probably attracted a lot of hopeful losers too.) Finally there was even
a quote from me about what I was planning to do with the money: "I don't
know yet, I'm still too excited. Probably I'll take a vacation. I've always
wanted to see the world. I'd like to invest some of it too, but I have to
wait and see what's left after taxes." Faked, of course. I hadn't spoken to
any reporters at all; but apparently some editor had felt the story wouldn't
be complete without a few words from the happy winner.
I was both pleased and annoyed. Pleased at being a "celebrity." Annoyed
that they were putting words into my mouth. Maybe today we'd do it
differently. Could we?
Suppose we didn't stop at $57,600 suppose we
went after an eight-horse parlay. That would be worth
almost $750,000! Hmm. I thought about it all during
breakfast at the local coffee shop.
Afterward I went to the bank and withdrew two hundred and fifty dollars
from my savings account so we'd have some money for the track today. I
couldn't deposit the big check yet, because I needed it to show to Danny, my
younger self, this afternoon.
I got home with time to spare. I decided to change into some cooler
clothes then I remembered the sweater and slacks. What would happen if I
wore something else instead?
I went burrowing in the closet, found some lightweight trousers, a
shirt and a windbreaker. They would do just fine. Now, what else was there I
had to take care of?
Nothing that I could see. I scooped up the check
and put it in my pocket; I didn't want to leave it lying
around. Dan would be arriving at
There was a soft pop! in the air.
I turned to see a startled-looking me.
"Hi," I said. "I've been waiting for you."
His eyes were wide; he looked positively scared.
"Relax, Dan " I said. He jumped when I spoke.
For a moment, all he could do was stare. His face was a study in
amazement. "You're me "
I suddenly realized how silly this whole tableau was. I thrust the
newspaper at him. "Here. I believe we were going to the races . . . ?
"We?"
That's right he didn't know!! "Well, it's no fun going alone, is it?
"Uh "
"It's all right," I said. "I'm you I'm your future self. Tomorrow
you'll be me. That is, we're the same person. We've just doubled back our
timeline."
He blinked. "Oh."
He looked so confused, I wanted to touch him to reassure him, but I
remembered how scared I had been. He'd probably jump right out of his skin.
I smiled at him. "Okay, let's do it this way. I'm your twin brother." There
was so much I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell him everything that Don
had told me last night, but it wasn't the right time yet. He was still
looking at me too hesitantly. Instead I reached out and took his hand, shook
it firmly. "Hi," I said. "I'm Don. I'm your brother." After a bit he
returned my grip. I knew how scared he was but I also knew how curious he
was about to become.
We bounced back in time in his "today." (I snuck a peek in the closet
when he wasn't looking. There was only one sweater and slacks of course, I
hadn't brought them back with me. But there were duplicates of the trousers,
shirt and windbreaker I was wearing now. So you could change the timestream
. . . !)
On the way out to the car, old lady Peterson surprised us surprised
Danny, I should say; I'd been expecting her. "This is my brother," I said
quickly. "Don," I touched his arm. "This is Mrs. Peterson." To her: "Don
will be staying with me for a while, so if you think you're seeing double,
don't be surprised."
She smiled at us. "I didn't know you were twins "
"We've been living separately," I answered, remembering quickly how my
Don had explained it. "So we could each have a chance to be our own person.
Don's been living up in San Francisco for the past two years."
"Oh," she said. She beamed politely at Dan. "Well, I hope you'll like
it in Los Angeles, Don. There's so much to do."
He went kind of frog-faced at that. He managed to stammer out, "Uh yes.
It's very exciting."
I couldn't help myself. I started giggling; when we
got to the car I couldn't hold it in any longer. "I wish you
could have seen your face " I said. Then I realized.
"Well, you will tomorrow." He was half glaring at me.
"'Uh yes. It's very exciting,'" I mocked. "You looked as
if you'd swallowed a frog."
He stopped in the act of unlocking the passenger-
side car door. "Why didn't you let me explain?" he asked.
"She's my neighbor."
"She's my neighbor too," I pointed out. "Besides,
what would you have said? At least I've been through this
once before." I opened my door and got into the car. I
could see this twin business was going to take some getting used to.
Already I was noticing the differences between the Dan of today and the Don
of yesterday. Sure, it was only me but I was beginning to realize that I
would never be the same person twice in a row. And I would never be viewing
myself through the same pair of eyes either. Dan seemed so uncertain; it was
as if he was a little cowed by me. It showed in little things his easy
acquiescence of the fact that I would drive, for example. All I had done was
point him at the passenger side of the car while I headed toward the
driver's side myself, but he had accepted that. Not without some resentment,
of course; I could see him eyeing me as I unlatched the top, preparatory to
putting it down.
"Put on a tape," I said, pointing at the box of cassettes. I started to
name one, then stopped. "Want me to tell you which one you're going to
choose?" I realized that was a mistake as soon as I'd said it. "Uh no,
thanks," he muttered. He was frowning.
I could have kicked myself. I'd let myself get carried away with this
wild sense of power. I hadn't been considerate of Dan at all. Belatedly, I
remembered how I had felt yesterday. Resentful, sullen, and most of all,
cautious. Poor Dan here he was, flush with excitement, filled with a feeling
of omnipotence at the wondrous things he could do with his timebelt and I
had stolen it all from him. By my mere presence, my know-it-all attitude and
cocksure arrogance, I was relegating him to second fiddle. Of course he
wouldn't like it.
As he put on the tape of Petrouchka, I resolved to try and be more
considerate. I should have realized how he would feel no, that was wrong, I
did know how he felt; I simply hadn't paid it any mind.
Thinking back, I remembered that as Dan, my arrogance had bothered me
only at first later, as I had gotten used to the idea of "Don," I had begun
to see the wisdom of following his lead. Or had that been my reaction to
Don’s suddenly realized consideration of me?
It didn't matter. There was bound to be some confusion at first, on
both sides. What counted would be what happened later on, over dinner. I
remembered how good I had felt last night in Don's presence and I looked
forward to it again tonight. I would make it up to Dan. (The reservations I
hadn't made them yet! No, wait a minute; it was all right. I could make the
reservations any time. All I had to do was flash back a day or so; I could
do it later. Boy, I could get used to this )
I found my way to the track easily enough; I'd been watching Don
yesterday. Today Dan was watching me. Now, if I remembered correctly, there
should be a parking place, right over . . . here. There was, and I pulled
neatly into it.
I bought a private box and had no trouble finding it. Dan was properly
impressed with how well I knew my way around; actually, I was trying not to
be so cocksure, but it wasn't easy. He was such a perfect audience to my
newly discovered self-confidence.
After we'd gotten our drinks, I remembered how
Don had pretended to study the newspaper yesterday and how funny I
thought that had been. So I did the same thing. I frowned and muttered
thoughtfully, and Danny giggled in appreciation. Maybe he was starting to
warm up to me. "I think Absolam's Ass looks pretty good in the first," I
announced. "Danny, go put a hundred dollars on Absolam’s Ass. To win."
He started fumbling in his pockets. I pulled out some bills from mine.
"Here," I said impulsively, "make it two hundred."
He blinked and took the two hundred-dollar bills I
was holding out. "You want to get rich?" I said. "You have
to spend money to make money."
He went off to place the bet, leaving me to wonder what I had just
done. Don had given me only one hundred dollars. I had given Dan twice as
much. I had changed the past again!
First the sweater and slacks, now the amount of the first bet, yet I
remembered it happening the other way
Paradox? A pair of paradoxes? I finished my drink thoughtfully, then
finished Danny's.
Absolam's Ass paid off at three to one and we had six hundred dollars.
I went and got two more drinks while Danny went to bet on Fig Leaf. I found
myself wondering if I could change the past so easily, maybe it wasn't as
fixed as I thought it was, maybe Fig Leaf wouldn't win this time. But on the
other hand, I hadn't done anything that should have had any effect on that,
had I?
Fig Leaf paid off at two to one. We now had twelve hundred dollars. I
had another drink. Ginger ale. For some reason, this was getting scary.
Calamity Jane came in on schedule too. We doubled our money again.
The next race was the fun one. I'd forgotten about Harass bumping
Tumbleweed. When Finders Keepers came in second, Dan looked at me in
confusion. "Wait " I grinned. After Harass was scratched, we were worth
nineteen thousand, two hundred dollars. I felt great. We could keep this up
all afternoon and we would end up with $750,000 no, twice that; I had
doubled our original bet. We'd take home a million and a half! "Go put it
all on Big John," I said. I must have been getting a little dizzy.
Dan went off, but almost immediately, he was back. No I stood up in
surprise this was Don. "What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Sit down," he said. He looked grim.
"What's the matter?"
He handed me a newspaper. It looked like todays Herald Examiner. I
opened it up
The headline blared: IDENTICAL TWINS TAKE
TRACK FOR $1,500,000! And in smaller type: Track
Officials Promise Full Investigation.
I looked at Don. Confused.
He looked back. Angry. "Don't be greedy," he said. "Quit before it gets
too big."
"I don't understand " I started to stammer.
"I've come from the middle of next week," he whispered. "Only in that
future, we're in trouble. Big trouble. We won too much money here at the
track today, so I've come back to tell you not to win any more. They're
going to get suspicious."
"How about one more bet?" I asked. "Michelangelo
will make us worth a hundred and fifteen thousand, two
hundred dollars."
He frowned. "Even that might be too much." His
eyes blazed; he gripped my arm. "Dan, listen to me
you don't want publicity! None at all! Don't let them
take any pictures and don't talk to reporters." He looked
at his watch. "Dan will be back any minute. I've got to
go. Read the newspaper if you have any doubts " Then
he left. I watched him as he strode away, then I looked at
the Examiner. The story was pretty ugly. I folded up the
papers and shoved them under my seat just as Danny
returned.
He started to ask me something about the next race, but I cut him off.
"Don't worry about it. We're leaving right after this. We're through for the
day." "Huh ? Why?"
I waited till after the horses broke from the gate. Sure enough, Big
John broke first to take an early lead. I said, "Because in a few minutes
we're going to be worth fifty-seven thousand, six hundred dollars. Don't you
think that's enough?"
,"But if we keep going," he protested, "we can make
a million and a half dollars on an eight-horse parlay."
I winced. I thought of the newspapers under my
seat. "There are better ways to make a million and a half
dollars," I said. "Quieter ways. More discreet."
He didn't answer. I waited till Big John crossed the finish line and
paid off at three to one. I scooped up my newspapers and stood. "Come on," I
said. "You go get the money. I'll wait for you at the car."
I think he wanted me to go with him, but I had to
be alone for a while. I had a lot to think about and I was
suddenly in a very, very bad mood.
Oh, it wasn't the money I'd already realized that if
I could make fifty-seven thousand, six hundred dollars in one day at
the races, I could easily turn that into more in the stock market. And there
were other ways I could make a fortune too
It wasn't the money. It was the implications of the visit from Don.
This Don, the new one, the one who had given me the newspaper where had
he come from? The future obviously, but which future? His world was one that
no longer existed no, never would exist. We were leaving the races without
taking the track for a million and a half dollars.
I reached the car and got in on the passenger side. I didn't feel like
driving back. I started to toss the papers into the back seat, then stopped.
I looked at them again. One had a small story on page one: FIVE-HORSE PARLAY
WINS $57,600! The other: IDENTICAL TWINS
TAKE TRACK FOR $1,500,000! A banner headline.
Both newspapers were dated the same, yet they were from two different
alternate worlds.
The $57,600 world was mine; I knew the events in it because I had lived
them. The $1,500,000 world was Don's, but he had talked me out of the
actions that would eventually produce his future.
Where had that future gone? Where had that Don gone? Had they both
ceased to exist?
No. I still had the newspaper. That proved something.
Or did it?
I had the paper in my hands it was real. But you couldn't take it back
I mean, forward to the future it came from because that future no longer
existed. Shouldn't the newspaper cease to exist too? The "Don" who had come
back in time to talk me out of the actions that had produced the time he had
come from what had happened to him?
Where was he now?
If he stayed here like the newspaper he wouldn't disappear. (Were there
actually two of me now?) In fact, he couldn't disappear, unless he could get
back to his own future, except that future didn't exist anymore, so he
couldn't do that.
Now, wait a minute. . . .
If he bounced forward from now, where would he
end up? His world's future? Or this world's future? If he
went back to his world, he'd have to disappear with that
world, wouldn't he? Or would he? But if he disappeared,
then he wouldn't exist and couldn't come back to warn
me. So, he had to exist. Where was he? Unless maybe
his original world didn't disappear at all. Maybe it just
got left behind.
So, where was Don?
Was he waiting for me in tomorrow?
If so, then he wouldn't be my future self anymore.
He'd be a different duplicate.
No. The whole thing didn't make sense. It didn't seem logical that
every time I went back and talked myself out of an action that I would
create a duplicate of myself
But it seemed the only answer. Every time I changed the past, I was
creating an alternate world My head was starting to hurt.
Now, wait a minute I had already changed the
past! I had worn different clothes and I had given Dan
two hundred dollars to bet instead of one hundred. And
the newspaper I had brought with me
The newspaper, of course! It had been staring at me all the time.
FIVE-HORSE PARLAY WINS $57,600!
But it wasn't a five-horse parlay not anymore! It was only a four-horse
parlay! We hadn't stayed to bet on bet on Michelangelo. We'd doubled the
first bet. It was only coincidence that we'd ended up with the same amount.
But the important thing was: I had changed the past. Just as Don had
come back in time to change his past, so I had done the same thing to my
past, though not on so large a scale. I remembered my past differently I
remembered different clothes, a different bet and a five-horse parlay. I
remembered it the way it had happened to me and then I had changed it.
So where was my Don the one I had gone to the races with? Where was he?
The situation was exactly the same: I had changed the past and
destroyed the future. So where was he?
Well, that was silly. He was me. He hadn't disappeared he was right
here. I had simply done things differently this time around.
Ouch.
That meant that the Don who had come back in time with the newspaper
was me too. (Of course but would I have to go back in time