Bearing an Hourglass (33 page)

But all this walking and skulking about was making Norton tired. He wanted to rest his feet—but didn’t dare. Then his eyes fell on his ring. “Sning!” he said happily. “Will you warn me if I start to lose concentration?”

Squeeze.

Gratefully he sank onto a bench. Oh, that relaxation felt good to his legs!

Fifteen minutes later, Sning gave him a good, hard double squeeze. He snapped alert. “Thanks, Sning,” he said. “I needed that. Stay on the job.”

In this manner he endured till 8
A.M
. Then he got up and walked some more. He had to make it to just after five in the morning; he was halfway there.

He spied another demon and avoided it. They were really cruising the area! Fortunately, they were handicapped by having to proceed backward. But they would probably be thickest at the time and place of the capsule nullification; how would he get there without being caught by them?

It was getting harder to keep time on track. He had to concentrate more intently, making up for the slowly fading power of the Hourglass. He felt as if he were running a marathon; the miles were passing, but his strength was depleting. Would he be able to make it to the end? He had to! But it was not going to be easy. He had not practiced willing before; he had no muscles for the purpose and wasn’t sure even how to tell the nature of fatigue of the will.

He went to the public facility for a routine call of nature. His own biology was forward, but the other men were retreating from the urinals with distinctly uncomfortable expressions. They had no real choice about using the facilities, but he couldn’t blame them for not liking what happened there. Normal processes did not seem aesthetic when reversed. There was probably some philosophy to be gleaned from that realization, but right now he was too busy keeping time moving to cogitate on that. He used the facilities, hoping no one would notice that he was not reversed, then backed away, adopting the appropriate disgruntled expression.

Sning squeezed his finger more frequently, but he made it to 7
A.M
. without significant incident. Two more hours!

Now doubt was seeping in, clogging the channels of his concentration. Could he make it to 5
A.M
.? His effort
of will was not the same as a physical effort, yet he felt himself tiring. The Hourglass continued to fade, so that he had to fill in with more will, and his will was becoming exhausted. The park clock began wavering again, and the people and vehicles performed a strange kind of dance, moving backward and forward and backward again as the flow of time fluxed. Sning’s squeezes were almost continuous, and these, too, were losing effect. Norton was sweating, though he was standing still. This was awful!

“Sir, may I pleh uoy?”

Norton looked dully at the speaker. It was an attractive young woman who leaned toward him and away from him as time wavered. “No, I—” he began, then felt a surge of dizziness.

She caught his arm, steadying him. “?era you ilL” she asked solicitously. “Here, tis nwod. m’I a nurse.”

Her speech was phasing backward and forward, too, as time changed. He had to get it back on track! He put forth a special effort, and the normal backflow resumed.

“?ytilaer degnahc siht ti sI” she inquired, “.sselmrah s’ti tub ,ot tsujda ot drah s’ti wonk I”

Norton was getting better at comprehending backward speech, though this was far from perfect. The woman had caught on to the fact of the backward flow of time and was trying to reassure him. She assumed that it was the shock of reversal that was making him ill. Well, in a way it was.

“Thank you,” he said.

She glanced at him, startled. “?aisahpA” she inquired.

Oops—he had dazzled her with his own backward speech. She thought it was aphasia. Well, again it was close enough. “Yes,” he said.

“!suoires si sihT !nam roop uoY” she exclaimed.

Norton scraped a section clear in the dirt beside the bench and leaned down to scratch a message with his forefinger.
IT’S ONLY VERBAL
, he wrote.

She rummaged in her purse for some paper and a pen.
CAN YOU READ THIS
? she wrote.

He nodded yes.

“,thgir lla er’uoy sseug I nehT” she said. She stood, ready to depart.

Then Norton spied another demon. The creature was walking rapidly backward; no chance to avoid it.

Norton put his face in his hands, hoping he would not be recognized.

“!kcis er’uoy, hO” the girl exclaimed, bending to assist him. She had a nice figure, and her body helped conceal him from the gaze of the demon. But time wavered again as he lost concentration. He corrected that, and the demon retreated on past.

“,uoy evael dluohs I kniht t’nod I” the woman said.

The truth was that he appreciated her help, misguided as it was. He borrowed her pencil and paper.
WHAT’S YOUR NAME?

“.agleH ?eman yM”

“Agleh,” he repeated carefully, and she smiled. He was conquering his verbal aphasia!

Agleh took him to her apartment at the edge of the park and made him comfortable on her couch, from where he could see her wall clock. She was perplexed by his being so intent on the clock when he had a watch of his own, but she humored him. She was, it developed, a single girl, working at a local hospital, and this was her day off. She had a tender heart and could not refrain from helping people who were in trouble. He told her his name, Notron, and explained that he wasn’t really sick, but was pursued by demons. She looked at him with increased sympathy and didn’t argue. He wasn’t sure that was a good sign, but let it go.

She offered him breakfast at quarter to seven. Norton tried to demur, but she insisted, certain that food would be good for him. But she had for the moment forgotten the new reality of eating.

She brought dirty dishes from the sink and set them on the table, then sat down and delicately disgorged a poached egg and a glass of milk.

Norton did not eat. He could not, for she had given him nothing. Why should she? She had adjusted nicely
to living backward and was replaying in reverse her morning meal; she expected him to do likewise.

Norton sighed. He had not intended to deceive her about this matter or his nature. Words were unlikely to persuade her, so action would have to do.

He took her pristine egg and milk before she could prepare them and return them to her refrigerator, and he consumed them both. They were very good, for he was indeed hungry.

Agleh stared. Then she laughed. “!drawkcab er’uoY” she exclaimed.

“I’m backward,” he agreed.

“?—woH”

He wrote it on her pad.
I AM CHRONOS, THE INCARNATION OF TIME, MY LIFE PROCEEDS BACKWARD
.

She looked again at the empty dishes, and again at him. She shrugged. “—siht tub ,yad ym ni cigam nees d’I thguoht I” she exclaimed. “!esle gnihtemos er’uoY”

“Sey,” he agreed, again speaking carefully to get it right. He brought out the Hourglass, with its white sand flowing upward, and showed her how the instrument followed him when he set it down in mid-air.

“?taht ees I yaM” she asked.

He handed her the Hourglass—but when she tried to take it, she could not. Her hand passed right through it. To her, it was a ghost-object.

That surprised him as much as it did her. He remembered how the Bem had grabbed it in the globular cluster. Had it been in a different state then?

Agleh looked at the empty dishes. He knew what she was thinking: where had that food come from? She had uneaten it and he had eaten it; when time went forward again, it would be the other way around. When and how was that meal ever prepared?

She glanced again at the shining Hourglass. “… xodaraP”

I AM IMMUNE FROM PARADOX
, he reassured her in writing. Then, in the course of the next half hour, he clarified his nature for her, including the manner in which his presence
changed reality. She was not reversing her life precisely now, for he had not been with her on her forward living through the morning. Now she was living backward, but interacting with him. She could remember her recent future—since meeting him.

“!thgir s’tahT” she exclaimed, “!rebmemer od I”

He explained how he was trying to balk Satan’s ploy, but had run low on willpower to keep the reversal going. Now, thanks to her support, he was doing better; time wasn’t wavering.

I’M IN
YOUR
REALITY
, she wrote, getting it straight. Actually, she put a new sheet of paper on the pad, with the words already there, then went over them from right to left with her pencil, and they disappeared as she did so. When the sheet was blank, she brought another to set over it, with new words. At first she had been startled, watching herself do this, but now she accepted it as a matter of course. Norton realized that his way of writing must appear similarly strange to her.

However, the novelty of this situation carried Norton only so far. The power of the Hourglass was still fading, and it required horrendous mental effort for him to keep time flowing backward. At six-fifteen time wavered again.

Fortunately, Agleh now understood. “!nataS thgif tsum uoY” she said, “.uoy pleh lliw I” Her backward expressions were organized only by phrase or sentence; beyond that, his time frame took over. Probably, he realized, the rest of the world was speaking completely backward; near him, the effect was distorted by his own counterlife. That could also account for the way people seemed to become aware of their situation in his presence; elsewhere they might not know that there had been any change at all. He was sure that his presence would have generated many minor paradoxes, like eddy currents in the contrasting time flows, if he had not been immune.

But he did not see how Agleh could help him, generous as her offer was. He tried to explain the problem: his will had to brace the Hourglass, and his will was giving out.

Her brow furrowed in concentration as he collapsed
the Hourglass and put it away. “,emiT” she said, “.emit era yllaer uoY”

CHRONOS
, he wrote again,
IT IS AN OFFICE
.

She glanced at him sidelong. “?nam lamron a era uoy nehT”

“Sey,” he agreed wryly.

“.drawkcab gnivil tuB”

“Sey.”

She wrote again:
BUT OUR WILLS ARE THE SAME
.

He shrugged, not seeing the relevance.

LET MY WILL SUPPORT YOURS
, she wrote.

Norton’s mouth fell open. Was that possible?

They tried it. Norton relaxed his will, and when time wavered, Agleh concentrated on the objective. It worked—but her will was only a fraction as effective as his. She could buttress him, but could not carry the load alone. Still, that was a great help; it extended the period he could operate.

She touched him, putting her hand on his arm, but proximity did not seem to make a difference to the Hourglass. She was doing all she could, simply by sharing his will.

But now they were standing close together. Agleh ran her tongue over her lip. “?ekil eb dluow ti tahw rednow I”

Norton frowned. “What
what
would be like? Satan’s victory?”

A slight flush crossed her face. “—wonk uoy—namow a—nam A”

Norton figured it out. A woman—a man. Now it was his turn to blush. One moving in one direction in time; the other, the other. Was it possible?

“,rednow I” she repeated, licking her lips again.

She was a pretty woman, and though he had known her only briefly, he liked her and sincerely appreciated her help. He wondered, too—what would sex be like in such conditions?

But then time wavered badly, the sand shifting back and forth in the Hourglass. Agleh’s support had tided him through almost an hour, but this thought was distracting!

“,emit rehto emoS” Agleh said. She was as quick as he to realize that if her will could support his, it could also detract from his.

“Some other time,” Norton agreed ruefully. He found himself disappointed, but the flow of time did firm again. He benefited from her support—to a degree.

She backed away from him. Then she shrugged and came back. He half-spread his arms, concentrating on the Hourglass so that time would not waver. She came into them with a kind of half-turning motion, as if being reeled in, and slowly brought her face up to meet his. Gradually they kissed, and it was like any other kiss: pleasant but not strange. They were in phase for this.

Time wavered. He concentrated to return the flow. Then he lifted his head and looked at her face for a moment before releasing her. She opened her eyes and stepped away from him.

They had kissed, and it had been backward for at least one of them—and yet the same.

“?efil ruoy ni nemow rehto neeb evah erehT” she asked.

“Other women,” he agreed. “But the one I loved—died.”

“,deiD” she repeated.

“I think she was—like you.”

“.uoy knahT”

“I—” he began, but hesitated. Then he used the paper to explain, though it took a while: that he not only lived backward but didn’t even belong in this period of time; that his normal existence was eight years in her future; that in due course he would return to this present time but would have to hurdle it, so as not to reduplicate himself. Thus this meeting of theirs was all there was or could be. If he encountered her in his normal progress, they would be traveling in opposite directions. There was, literally, no future for them.

But, she inquired alertly, what of his prior life, before he assumed the office of Chronos?

Norton did a quick reassessment. Eight years ago, in his original life, he had been thirty, in one of the duller
periods of employment. He had finally given up the mundane existence entirely, to hike the parks and tell stories for his supper. But suppose he had met a woman such as this? Would he then not have met Orlene?

And not have caused Orlene’s death?

“Here is my address of that time,” he said abruptly, writing it out on the paper. If such an encounter turned out to be paradoxical, then it simply wouldn’t occur; he didn’t have to worry about that. “But I’m younger then, and know nothing of my future as Chronos. Maybe it would be better not to tell me.”