Gary and the Time Machine
Gary wanted to experience ancient Rome. He had also been quite curious about the Elysium Fields, but that was neither here nor there, as they say. Then he thought maybe the Salem Witch Trials, but those were well-documented, and lynchings were nothing so uncommon that he couldn’t find a video or two on the internet, if he really cared that much about it. So ancient Rome it was. Professor Apina marked the dial for 79 AD. “I thought it was CE, nowadays,” said Gary.
“Oh, yes,” said the professor. “It is, but it was still AD back then.”
Gary stared at the professor. “I’m not following,” he said.
“Well, Gary, just because we changed the signature to CE doesn’t mean they did.”
“They were calling it AD that early?”
“In a word — No. The formulation of your question is all wrong. We usually start with Anno Domini, which wasn’t common until roughly the 9th Century, but that’s immaterial to the stratified quanta of the mono-physical datum array.” The professor could see Gary’s eyes were watering a little for lack of blinking. “My boy, referring to it as the Common Era is only a more recent adoption.”
“But we call it the Common Era. You’re making it sound like they did too…”
“We just covered that, Gare. Anyways, they do when they have occasion to. But the Roman calendar is variable and changes according to consularship.”
“See. That makes it sound like they were calling it AD and CE.”
“Again, the questions you are asking are non-questions in this context. This isn’t a friendly game of schoolyard grab ass, Gary. This is actual time travel.”
“I-well. It’s been years since — How would you ask the question then? ”
“I wouldn’t. I don’t play grab ass, Gary. You still think our perception of time is actually how time works. Don’t be so naive to think that our present is somehow different from their future.”
“You mean we’ve been communicating these calendar changes with the past?”
“The answer,” said the professor as he reached and began to turn a dial on the time machine, “has nothing to do with your perception of time, my boy.” Just then, a virile and potent wind rose up about them as he continued to turn the dial. “Everything you know! Everything you thought was relevant! is only relevant! to the trajectory your life had been taking up till right — Now!” And with that the professor threw the main switch.
Gary had thought to speak up and put a stop to this, but he had rarely anything better to do and, well, he often wound up in interesting situations by simply relinquishing responsibility to whatever whims or fancies happened to stumble into his life. At 35 years old, trying something different now would be like teaching an old dog a new trick, he thought to himself. A faint smile alighted upon Gary’s face, much satisfied that he’d found useful occasion for that tired, old witticism. For a very brief moment, he basked in this deluded insight, and then, with a flaccid wholeheartedness, Gary blacked out.
It was well past noon when Gary woke up. He had no watch, of course, but he assumed it was at least 12 o’clock, for he was parked squarely on a grassy knoll with the sun parked squarely over head. It was not the first time he’d come-to on the bare ground in broad daylight so he was quite familiar with the particulars of the situation. As he blunk his eyes in the beaming sun, he felt an itch in his sinus. He abruptly sneezed into his hand. When he looked, as was his costume, there was a tiny ant meddling about with its antennae in a crevasse in his palm. “Were you in my hand before or after I sneezed?” he asked the tiny creature as it sorted through the spray of saliva. Without further ado, he blew the creature away into the vast distances of the hilltop, relative to the ant that is. Then Gary stood and brushed himself off.
He was quite certain he had been with professor Apina the night before, but he had no idea if he was still around somewhere or if they had parted ways at some point. Gary stood upon the little knoll and partook of the scene about him. There was quite a lot of grass about and some trees a good distance off, but no professor. He had been standing on the hill for quite some time, hatless and without shade, when he began feeling the ineffectual weight of the attitude he’d taken about his situation, and thought he had better stop standing in the middle of this field like an idiot and figure out where he was and where he was going because it seemed there were no whims or fancies about that were going to relieve him of his responsibility for himself.
Since he was not very well acquainted with the art of decision making on the whole, he figured the best way to start would be to simply dive in head first and hope for the best. If things were not destined to turn out in his favor, he could not very well blame himself. Being much the tenderfoot as he was at such tasks, he was bound to make a few mistakes.
And so he pointed himself in a direction and attempted a straight line about it. Although he found that he was rather indecisive about where he ought to be going, since he had no idea where he was, and the straightness of his line had taken a severe toll as a result, but he hoped this would not ultimately prove to be as important a factor as he had initially surmised. However things worked out for him, he was pretty sure he was trying his best. “Such is the way of specific goals and clear objectives!” said Gary aloud. He was feeling very good now.
As he made his way, he heard a soft din off to his left through a copse of trees. He thought: well, what luck, and commenced to making his straightest line yet. There was no sense in sticking to only one straight line, he thought, since the idea of a straight line was quite open to interpretation, that is, of course, if one made the portions small enough to call it straight.
After he stepped out on the other side of the copse, he realized he was on a sort of earth trodden pathway. The pathway was quite wide and heavily worn and there were many people about in sandals and brogans carrying bundles of kinder and cattle towing carts with a variety of vegetables and assorted greenery. There was not a single motorized vehicle, and as a couple passed nearby, he found they were speaking in a strange language he had never heard before. “Well,” he said to himself, “This day is only getting curiouser and curiouser.”
“It appears I am in a place I have never been before. Destiny is sure a fickle friend,” he said aloud. “Or is it?” As Gary stood there contemplating the metaphysical nature of destiny, he suddenly heard a grand “halloo!” When he looked, there was the professor.
“Well, Gary!” cried the professor racing over to him. “How are you lad? Why, I plum forgot about you, I’d been having such a fantastic morning. Where have you been?”
“I believe we are quite into the afternoon, professor.”
“Are we, now?” said the professor, looking about himself as if he were expecting the day to relinquish some crucial fact he’d missed. “Well, I suppose I’ve gotten carried away, haven’t I? I hope you aren’t too sore my friend. Let’s walk, and I will show you about.”
As it turned out they were, in fact, in ancient Rome and the professor, who had studied the ancient Roman people and whose Latin tongue was the only other language he was fluent in, had been galloping up and down the roadway chattering away with the local peasantry. Not far away was an ancient Roman town, which, unbeknownst to Gray, was quite famous in his time as well. They were both elated at the sight of the ancient peasantry’s garb and the strange mannerisms and colloquialisms of this culture that had long passed out of existence. One such saying, which the professor related straight away, was an idiom that was still used in the duo’s native present. The idiom was “baggage”, which Ovid and Lucretius both used to describe a difficult mistress. “There are many others as well,” continued the professor. “Such as the analogies of the human genitalia with that of barnyard animals, which I’m sure you can conjure the likes of without much effort.”
Gary stared. “Barnyard animals?”
“Why, you’re just like a fish in a pond, aren’t you?” replied the professor. “Just never-mind, Gary. There’s an example graffiti-ed on a famous bath house in town I’ll show you.”
“Famous in our time or … umm, this time?”
“Both, my boy!”
As they walked, they came upon a large statue in monolithic structure roughly 10 feet tall with the head of a bearded man atop and, strangely enough, about halfway from the bottom, the sculpture was adorned with a phallus.
“Well, what is this curious structure?” asked Gary.
“That’s called a Herma,” said the professor. “It’s named after the Greek god Hermes, or Mercury to the Romans. They were often erected at crossroads much like this one. Not all of them are supposed to be concerning Hermes, but most are, and, if I didn’t know better, I would say that that is, in fact, the likeness of Hermes himself, or at least what is purported to be.”
“That’s quite interesting. So, I suppose, the phallus symbolizes fertility?”
“Well, yes, it is. Quite perceptive, my boy. Although we’re very distant from the other meaning, which is often overlooked in our time given the towering monolith of modern intellectualism which refuses to acknowledge the ubiquity of, well, risque humor in Greek and Roman culture or any other culture for that matter, and, also, its capacity to make sincere critiques that can be, if done thoughtfully enough, on par with satire or other high minded aspects of comedic critique.”
“You mean like an alliteration on the burlesque bibliographies of Jupiter?” said Gary haphazardly.
“No, Gray. There you go playing grab ass again. What I mean is that it’s a phallus. A dick on a block, my boy. In our modern world, we’ve become so completely detached from the utility of humor for the public good that we feel it’s supposed to be something separate from our memorials and landmarks. All our monuments have this majestic, all-so-serious devotion to honor and memory of fallen leaders and comrades, which certainly has its place, don’t get me wrong, but, in this time, humor was a mainstay of public well-being, including in relation to sex and images of the genitals. This statue is quite literally a government sanctioned monument to what we, in our culture, would designate as obscene or morally objectionable.”
“Like comedians telling dirty jokes,” said Gary.
Yes,” said the professor, “but it isn’t a government sanctioned activity in the same way the Hermas are. In our time, the comedians are a great point though. Aside from a subculture revolving around comedians who conjoin more quote-unquote high-minded comedic critiques of culture with what would otherwise be viewed purely as quote-unquote bathroom humor, the job bringing humor to the people is much akin to the separation of church and state.”
“Quite an interesting metaphor,” said Gary.
“It’s an analogy, Gare. Not a metaphor,” said the professor. “Anyways, in my view, we achieve a further degree of enlightenment in being able to laugh at ourselves more often if our sense of humor can also include quote-unquote bathroom humor. You see, there is no logical correlation between bathroom humor, itself, and an intrinsic lack of maturity. Though we have come to associate bathroom humor more often with people who are lacking in maturity, it need not ultimately be associated with short sightedness immaturity in other areas of our lives if we invest in separating the two.”
Gary was just staring now. The professor pressed on.
“I think, there is a second step to maturity, in this context. We can grow beyond the bathroom humor we associate with the typical immaturity of youth and then again return to it’s superficial irrationality in the hopes of being able to to find another layer to personal enlightenment through greater contentment in a world that is, in all honesty, difficult enough that we should not also have to feel ashamed of dick and fart jokes on top of everything else. By being able to make a distinction between bathroom humor and our initial inclinations toward that brand of humor and the typical irresponsibility of youth, we gain a little more equanimity in our lives. In other words, make dick and fart jokes, just treat people decently and pay your bills on time.”
“I really like Romans,” said Gary. Gary was really trying to participate.
“That’s good, Gare. Let me wrap this up and maybe you’ll come away with something for yourself. You see, the Herma is no less an homage to fertility and to ward off evil spirits, which, as is evidenced by the crossroads we are now standing at, were also thought to be meeting places of ghouls and villains as in our more modern times. The ideas, you see, are somewhat inextricable to the Roman mind. The monument is a symbol, and the ideas of humor, fertility and warding off evil are wholly intertwined in much the same way the image of, for instance, Lincoln is intertwined with feelings of justice and truth without ever having to explicitly identify the emotive qualities that Lincoln’s name conjures. In relation to the Herma here, the lifting of evil spirits is synonymous with that which incites laughter or humor. To be blunt about it, that there is a hewn block of bare granite with a phallus stuck to the front of it. And that, my friend, is funny as hell. Need I say more?”
“That is quite interesting professor. Here, take my picture beside it,” said Gary filing in beside the statue.
“Easy, Gary. Stand back, now. You’ll poke your eye out.” Gary ducked, but a little too late, and the two men laughed as he staggered and braced himself against the Herma after bumping his head.
“Well, either way,” said Gary, “you sure seem to know quite a lot about Roman culture.”
“I double majored in ancient Roman studies in my undergrad along with my science courses.”
“Well, if I didn’t know better, I’d say I’ve been taken for a ride by your own devising, professor.” They both laughed heartily for a moment until Gary had finally grown quite, the truth of his statement having fully impressed itself on him.
“Gary,” said the professor as his mirth subsided. “We certainly didn’t travel 2,000 years into the past for the first time in the history of humanity to satisfy any of your half-baked fancies. This,” he said gesturing expansively to the wide world about him, “is my life’s work.”
“Why, professor. I’ve been had! Manipulated! …Swindled!” said Gary, with the old-feeling of flaccidity coming back again.
“Don’t be so melodramatic. You’re one of two people to have ever traveled through time. You’ll be famous when we get back to our present.” Gary thought about that for a moment and supposed that the professor was probably right. There was probably no sense in getting too hung up about it, and they’d probably be back in time for dinner, anyways.
Just as Gary began to feel quite inflated and convivial again, there was a sudden and great rumbling of the earth and the men and women and children who had been toiling about on the roadway fell to their knees and prostrated themselves as if in worship. A great many birds took to the sky from the trees about and the dogs began cowering, and the cattle began urinating in preparation for a sudden flight.
When all settled, Gary and the professor stood before the Herma. “Boy, this is an interesting day,” said Gary. “Time-travel and an earthquake.”
“I’m afraid that might not have been just an earthquake, Gary.”
“Oh dear. Let’s not get tangled up in another one of your word games, professor.”
“I don’t play goddamn grab ass, Gary. This is quite serious. I believe we have spent far too much time in this…well, time.”
“You’re scaring me, professor. I think we should leave. We can always come back another day. Why, we have all the time in the world now!” said Gary.
Suddenly, there was a deafening crash that was unlike any sound he had ever heard before, and, quite truly, very few people ever had, and there were none who would ever have the opportunity to relate such an extreme in intensity of such a concussive blast beyond the mortal beings who were there in the vicinity, suffering the experience with them. When the deafening concussion abated, Gary found he could not hear for a moment, and when he looked at the professor, he realized the professor’s ears were bleeding. “My god,” said the professor. “I believe my left eardrum has exploded.”
“What is happening?” cried Gary.
“It’s Mount Vesuvius,” said the professor. “I believe I have forgotten something of crucial importance. I had intended for us to be gone already, but we had been having so much fun. I didn’t think it would be any worry. I should have picked an earlier date, but I was so curious as to what the town experienced before, and it is still another mile away.”
“What town?! Before what?”
“Pompeii, my boy. Before the eruption.”
“My god professor! If this was such an important occasion, why did you ever bring me and not one of your science-y friends?” asked Gary.
“How true…” said the professor. “In any case, I do believe I’ve been blinded by the thrill of my own success to an unconscionable degree.”
With that, there was another explosion. Gary looked over his shoulder to the northwest. Thousands of feet into the sky a plume of ash and smoke rose with astonishing speed toward the heavens. It was a view the likes of which have been so rarely seen and never having been related with the kind of descriptive power capable of being made by one so near imminent catastrophe as Gary and the professor were now.
“I suppose this is it, my boy, ‘’ said the professor. “The time machine is 5 miles away and a pyroclastic flow can travel over 400 miles per hour, and, well, that mountain is fatefully closer than 400 miles.”
“The time machine is five miles away!” cried Gary. “How did I end up on that grassy knoll?”
“Why I carried you. You don’t think I would have just left you there in the baking sun like that without a good reason do you? I put you down there to have a look round. You managed quite well, I suppose, having never been here before.”
“You carried me 5 miles? I’m sorry for accusing you of manipulating me. I didn’t know you cared.”
“Just do your best to enjoy the moment, Gary. Few people in history have ever had opportunity to see such violent beauty so near.”
As they continued to look off to the northwest a great gray shadow was consuming the landscape. In the shadow’s path, the world had become utterly and terrifyingly alive in recognition of these final, bleak moments of existence. The best they could hope for now was instantaneous death. Though as history would later prove, at least one of them may not have been that lucky.
“My God. This is it,” said Gary. Then Gary thought: If I’m going out, I’m not going out staring into the sky like an idiot again. I want people to remember me for —
But it was too late.
Nearly 2,000 years later, a Ph.D candidate from the University of Naples formed a plaster cast mold of what would have been Gary’s ash entombed remains as part of her doctoral thesis. Photos of her plaster molding of Gary’s final resting place would circulate over the internet and Gary would, in fact, become very famous, though his fame would come in fits and starts as is the tendency of the peoples of the age of the internet, and much of that fame would be almost entirely restricted to the computers of bored high schoolers and vulgar humor seekers across the globe.
It was later surmised, much to Gary’s benefit, contrary to the snickerings of the high schoolers and other indecent conjecturings, that Gary had been contorted into that apparently and unabashedly obscene posture due to cadaveric spasm from sudden heat shock. Though the conventional wisdom of the posture would strongly suggest otherwise. Of course, it is not so difficult to misconstrue in the modern imaginings of that distant and increasingly forgotten culture of ancient Rome, which Gary was mistakenly thought to be a member of — for the Roman culture was thought to be much more inclined toward an intellectual conception of the sensual arts than in Gary’s native present — that in those final, frantic moments Gary had brazenly engaged in an activity that not so few of those high schoolers would champion as being quite intrepid and “ballsy” in its greedy struggle. Those high schoolers would empathize with such notions as “If I knew I were going out, I would probably do it too,” or “Geez, what is that guy doing to himself?”.
Alas, Gary would be remembered far longer than he had ever thought possible as his image was circulated over the digital cloud and would be forever accessible by all following generations never to be lost to the sands of time again but found instantaneously by a mere stroke of the keys of any computer. Gary would, in point of fact, become a part of a national monument which would be recognized across the globe for its historical importance, and all across the internet his image would be imprinted over the digital cloud with the heading: “Caption This Photo”.
Of course, much to Gary’s dismay, the captions would fatefully assume the worst.
