Share it:

Late one afternoon, two young men in their late twenties sat at a small sidewalk beer garden discussing the problems of the world. At a nearby table sat the only other customer, an old man with a gray and black beard. He was balding and had his hair combed weirdly in a pathetic attempt to obscure that fact.

Having solved most of the world’s problems and feeling a bit playful, the young man named Marble called, "What’s happening Scrapiron? You anti-social?"

The old man looked behind him expecting to see the reciprocant of the salutation. Seeing no one, he looked back puzzled.

The young man named Pete said, somewhat facetiously, "Come on over and tell us about the good old days and we’ll share our pitcher."

Flattered and pleased to be invited, the old man slowly strolled over and seated himself across the table from the handsome pair. Groping for something to say to the two young strangers, he opened with, "You fellows students?"
When the young men stopped laughing, Pete allowed, "We both attended State U. but dropped out."

Marble hastily added, "Not ‘cause we couldn’t hack it but ‘cause of all that irrelevant crap. We just do our own thing now. You oughta try it. What’s your bag Scrapiron?"

"I’m retired now and don’t do much except drink some beer and observe people. In my younger days I was an engineer and spent most of my life in South America and the Middle East."

The injection of far away places into the conversation intrigued the young men and, thusly encouraged, the old man began to spin tales of adventure. Although his stories were exciting, it was apparent that the infamous "generation gap" made the old man seem a bit straight by modern standards. This occasionally engendered minor disagreements, but nothing serious.

From time to time, one of the young men would lament his forte in life. Even though they had found their formal studies irrelevant, their chosen life style was not totally satisfying either, at least not so much so as it had been five years earlier. Listening to the old man’s adventures and accomplishments made the young men a bit uncomfortable. Finally, Pete reminded Marble of an obligation, obviously thought up on the spur of the moment.

Having been trapped by lonely old men before, they were not surprised when he asked them to stay a while longer and offered to buy the next pitcher. Free beer not all that easy to come by, they relented saying that one more pitcher would not make them too late.

When the old man returned to the sidewalk table with a fresh frosted pitcher, the garden had begun to fill with more young people stopping by on the way home from work and/or starting out the evening’s festivities. The old man poured each mug full and began, this time speaking quietly, almost furtively.

"If you could be and do anything you wanted, what would be your pleasure?" Marble answered, "Archeology would be a trip, boogying around the world, grubbing out the goodies of those ancient dudes. Now that could turn me on."

The old man then turned toward Pete who said, "The briny man, that’s where it’s at. Floatin’ around the world exposing ol’ Neptune’s secrets."

The old man asked simply, "Why have you not pursued these worthy aspirations?"

Feeling criticized, Pete said in defense, "Too much irrelevant crap was required." Marble added, "And who wants to blow his good years in a drag just so he can swing when he’s old and cold?"

The pitcher was almost empty and the young men were getting even more uncomfortable with the conversation. They felt that the old man was judging and comparing them.

The old man sat in silence for a minute or two and then leaned forward as if to keep what he was about to say from the ears of those sitting nearby. "Do you believe in magic?" he whispered.

This seemed a strange shift in conversational gears.

Pete answered, "I’ve seen some weird things that did not compute but knew they were tricks. Guess it’s still magic, right?"

"Not exactly my young friends. I hope you will allow me to demonstrate. If you can spare the time this evening, drive down the beach after 10:00. About seven miles from the pier, you will find a gap in the sand dunes. This was where the hurricane Carla broke through several years ago. Watch this gap and sometime around 11:00 a light will project from a hole in the pack sand. Do not be frightened, but approach it, one at a time, and look into the lighted hole. You will receive advice of sorts. Then some back tomorrow and tell me of your adventure."

The young men chortled as they sped away in their battered old blue VW bus. "Ol’ Scrapiron didn’t seem bonkers. Musta been the beer."

Their conversation seemed a bit stilted as they stopped by the drive-in grocery for a half gallon of wine and some cheese for dinner. It was not until they drove into their front yard parking place of the old house they shared with their respective mates, that discussion really began. The grass was tall and the decay of the antique house weighed heavier on their sense of pride than usual.

The girls giggled as the young men told them about the old man’s strange proposal.

Pam theorized, "The old man is obviously a *** and is setting up a rendezvous. One at a time indeed."

Linda teased, "Maybe he’s just testing your metal. Anyway, you’re both pantywaists if you don’t take us to look for the unholy light."

By 10:00 the wine was almost gone and there was a mild suspense in the air. "Well, are we going to boogie?" Linda said with her hands on her lovely hips. "Why not?" replied one of the bottle braves. "It’s a beach night anyway. No light, we can skinny dip."

They stopped by the Wine Taproom and had their bottle refilled and started off down the beach, switching from the packed sand near the surf to the soft sand and back just for variety.

About six miles out, they began to peer into the rimlight for the gap in the dunes. At last it appeared. "The damn thing is three hundred yards across. Why haven’t we noticed it before?" queried Pete.

"No search light though. Just as I thought." laughed Marble, "The old man has really put it on us."

"Crud", answered a cuddling Pam, "Let’s give it until 11:00 anyway."

A large tree had drifted onto the beach and was half buried in the sand parallel to the surf. They took up positions on the trunk with their backs to the sea and began to pass the wine bottle. Before the bottle had made its second circuit, a spot in the dune gap began to glow. This slowly gained intensity until it did indeed look like a super market search light. There was no sound other than the chorus of gasps.

"Man, it’s a trick, but a damn good one." advised Marble. The girls suggested a hasty retreat, but Pete countered, "What if old Scrapiron is watching? We can’t give him the satisfaction of booing us off."

"I’m not running. I’m going to pipe it." Marble said with a sort of childish pride. Hanging on to Marbles’ arm, Linda said excitedly, "You’re not leaving us. We’re going too."

"Scrapiron said one at a time. We gotta do as he said if we’re gonna win this damn game. I’m making the scene alone."

As Marble approached the hole, he could see that it was some five or six feet across and perfectly round, artificial looking. The light was intense but did not diffuse normally in the atmosphere. The closer he got, the faster his heart raced. A time or two he nearly ran in panic, but he could hardly do that with his sweet, friends, and maybe the old man watching.

When he was just a few yards away, he dropped to his knees and crawled to the edge and peered over. When the light hit him full face, he was transfixed, as if he had placed each hand in a sort of painless bear trap. The intensity of the light began to key down as if it were on a rheostat. As his eyes adjusted, he could see a scene. There were ruins of some ancient structure in the background and the foreground was criss-crossed with straight trenches full of busy workers. Some were scraping the trench walls with trowels and some were pushing wheelbarrows of sand to waiting workers with large wire sieves. There were card tables set up with microscopes, typewriters, and other equipment being used by bearded men and handsome young women. Fascinated by the mechanics of this grand hoax, Marble scanned every inch of the scene for evidence. Considering the semi-desert conditions of the scene and the clothing of some of the workers, the film being used must have been taken somewhere in the Middle East.

Then, in the distance, he saw a plume of dust headed toward the excavation. It was obviously a field vehicle but as it came to a rapid stop, Marble realized that he had never seen such a machine. It seemed to float just above the sand, a sort of hovercraft.

The man who nimbly alighted from the vehicle wore matching khaki shirt and trousers and a plantation-type straw hat. He was bearded, in his forties, and had such an air of confidence. It was apparent that he was the honcho for several of the young people vied for his attention, requesting that he visit their positions, apparently to examine their discoveries. Suddenly, cold perspiration sprang from Marble’s face and neck. The honcho was not only familiar, but he looked like himself, with perhaps fifteen years added. He tried to scream for the old man to cease the game, but no sound was forthcoming. Someone must have turned the rheostat up slowly for the light became so intense that it blotted the scene. Then, just as it had increased, it began to dim once again, as if for a second act.

Now the same fortyish man was standing at a podium, hands grasping the edge far apart, not unlike Marble’s grasp on the side of the hole. After recognition of the speaker, the field of view broadened until Marble could see that the podium was on a stage and there was an audience of several hundred people. A very weak audio increased until he could hear his older image speaking. He was outlining his theory concerning the place and time of the origin of civilization. His words were eloquent and he spoke with commanding authority. The audience was spellbound and, with the final statement, there came a roar of applause. With this, the light began to fade until it was too dim to make out any images at all. It was as if he was released from the traps or whatever it was that held him immobile. He could then hear the voices of his friends calling, "Marble, you all right?"

"All right....I think."

As he approached the trio standing by the old log, he called ahead, "Pete, get your ass over there before the light’s gone."

Pete took off in a dead run and Marble sat on the log and took a long pull on the wine bottle. The girls excitedly questioned him but he could barely hear their voices. All he could do was ponder what had happened. It was not just a show. He had participated. He remembered being there. He remembered being at the podium and feeling the elation spawned by his adoring audience. Even more baffling was the fact that his head was crowded with memories of many other adventures that he had not witnessed in the light, or for that matter, even imagined in his wildest dreams. He had a sort of wisdom-knowledge that only comes with years of experience. How can this be?

Pete’s first scene was of an older him standing on a ship deck directing the raising of a huge coring rig from the seafloor. He was bearded and balding and deeply tanned. He knew immediately what the project was even though he had never had a course in geology or oceanography. He was seeking evidence of past climatic change via the recovery of fossil remains of tiny planktonic sea life. Fade-outs and fade-ins showed himself in all sorts of stimulating situations: lecturing to a class of enthusiastic students, peering at a screen of a huge machine that he recognized as a scanning electron microscope, although he had never seen one before. Not only that, but as he watched he felt the excitement of the image displayed. It was long sought after proof of a theory of his that had been doubted by his colleagues. In a word, he was a scientist, a finished scholar, not just dreaming or fancifying.

When, at last, the light began to fade, he could hear the girls now screaming their questions at Marble, who apparently had been sitting in silence since his return. When Pete returned to the bus, the girls’ questions were immediately directed to him. All he could say was, "You’all take the bus and leave Marble and me here tonight. If we haven’t made the pad by morning, drive back down the beach till you find us."

At first they refused, but when Marble also insisted, they left, half mad, half frightened.

The rest of the night was spent with the young men laying in the sand discussing deepest philosophy and science. They spoke of things they had never before thought of, paleomagnetism, continental drift, evolution of the human brain via hybridism, and all in words they had never heard. Even so, they understood each other completely. They also related experiences in graduate schools they had never attended and adventures in far away places in such detail that they insisted the experiences were real.

At last dawn arrived and they had apparently fallen asleep. The sand was damp, which no doubt accounted for their stiff and sore joints. When they looked at each other, they did not see the grousing young men who just yesterday were bemoaning the evils of the world. Instead they saw the two older men who stared in the pair of adventures in the light.

Pete broke the silence, "We’ve aged. That old bastard tricked us out of our youth. Must be the devil himself."

As they walked back up the beach, not really expecting to meet the girls, each time they passed the site of an old pier or beach house they remembered, it would be remodeled, dilapidated, or gone. The time had indeed passed.

When they saw a vehicle approaching, hope was renewed that it would be the girls. But alas, as it neared they could see that it was a machine like the one Marble had seen in the light. When the two young couples in the vehicle spotted Pete and Marble, they veered toward them shouting, "There’s Professors Brantley and Lucas."

"Well, that’s it. The time is gone and we have traded our youth for our dreams." said Marble ruefully.

They recognized the foursome as their own students and climbed aboard. They sat in silence as the vehicle was piloted back up the beach. Neither the boys or the girls wore anything but shorts and Pete and Marble did not feel too old to admire the young boobs. They understood all the students were saying. They remembered the experiences they related. Even the wheel-less vehicle did not hold them in awe. They had lived the missing years even though it had taken but a single night or perhaps a single minute. The old man, Pam, and Linda seemed far less real than the present which, according to the license plates, was 1988.

Marble finally said to the driver, after calling his name, "Drop us off at the Moby Dick Beer Garden."

"Moby Dick?" answered the young man.

"Never mind the name. It’s the bar on the corner of McCarthy and Box."

"May we join you?" asked one of the girls.

"Please don’t take offense, but Professor Brantley and I have a few things to discuss. We’ll buy a few pitchers later this afternoon."

There was often a fog along the coast this time of the morning but it seemed heavier than usual. The streets were completely clear, however, and Pete asked if they knew that the fog removing device had been developed by a class mate of his in graduate school. No one seemed surprised.

As the vehicle settled down across the street from the old beer garden, Pete and Marble gasped, for there in front was parked the battered, old blue VW bus, as it had been some fifteen years before. The students wanted to look at the antique, but the professors insisted that they return to the university and check their experiments. They reminded the students that they were going to underwrite a beer drink later.

As they strolled across the street, neither of the scientists was surprised to see the old man sitting at the same table with an almost empty pitcher of beer. He was no older than when they first met him.

"Sit down my young friends and tell me of your adventure."

"You old sonofabitch! You charged us too much." Pete raved.

"Now, now fellows. Let me get a fresh pitcher and we’ll discuss this."

The fog was thicker than they had ever seen it and the dampness was hardly conducive to beer drinking, much less at 9:30 a.m. Even so, they sat and waited for the old man to fetch the pitcher. It would be worth an afternoon hangover to berate the devil for cheating them.

Pouring the first mug, the old man said, "Now what seems to be the trouble? Didn’t you see the lighted hole?"

"You know damn well we did" Pete and Marble said together.

"Then did you not receive advice?"

"Advice!? Is that what you call ripping off fifteen years of our lives?"

"Easy now. Be cool. You are no older. You have merely had the experience I promised. I called it advice but it is not exactly that. The main problem with decision making is that the pleasures of the present are manifest while the future rewards of endeavor are vague. Everyone should have all the facts before making life changing decisions but, alas, most do not. You have seen the rewards first hand. You known both sides and it is up to you to decide what it will be. Your two lovely ladies are waiting inside. You are very lucky young men and I am sure they will stick by you whatever you decide."

With that, the old poured what remained of his beer into a paper cup and disappeared into the thick fog. The door to the bar opened and Pam and Linda appeared. "Where have you been? We drove twenty miles down the beach........"

Copyright 2007 Thomas P. Wood, Jr.
{moscomment}