The Revolution Will Not Be Re-run, The Revolution Will Be Live

 I didn’t leave my apartment that day. I knew, no matter what, there’d be a strong reaction.

I decided not to vote.

Lofty promises were tossed around for months. Rhetoric and mythos used to sum up humanity’s problems like a beautiful mist veiling intentions. I believed in the words and their meaning, but I always somehow snapped out of my reverie.

The fact that someone directly addressed something sensible and humane tipped me off. All I saw was a parent making empty promises to a child. The child will go with it, imagine infinite possibilities, and then forget them. Or even worse, the child will remember and remind the parent who will simply reply, “That’s life, kid.” And continue to barrage the child with their ambivalent terms like, Hope and Change.

I hope the president understands his promised children. And I hope the children don’t forget his promises.

Nine o’clock came rolling around and I didn’t even have to turn on my TV. You could hear the sounds of cheering and exhilaration coming up Broadway like a tidal wave.  A crescendo of sound enveloping you with joy.

In that moment, I felt sure I was wrong about everything. I wanted so badly to be. Please let me be a cynical bitter bitch who is proven wrong. I was overwhelmed. Millions upon millions of us were in this city and we could all agree. Yes! No more war! Please. Keep your promises.

Cars began an impromptu parade down Broadway. Tenants with kazoos or horned instruments wailed out into the streets.

I decided to go down to the street. See what was happening. It was just after 10. As soon as I stepped out I found that all the celebrating was on the balconies and roofs. The streets, at least on 151 and Broadway were eerily quiet. I walked just to my street corner to the bodega.

I passed a twenty-something kid, expecting to say some niceties but he shot me a vehement look. The clerk from the bodega came out, a goofy Yemenese guy named, Mo, he came out cheering, “Yes! Yes! We won.” The kid pounced on this,

            “What you mean, we?

            You from fuckin, Yemen, Mo.” The clerk seemed to already know the boy and laughed himself nervously back in the bodega.

            “Yeah,” the kid said, “Obama’s bringin our brothas back from Afghanistan.” He was looking at me poignantly. His tone made it sound like a bad thing.

I could see the kid was mad, but he didn’t know why. Like me, he was poised for negativity. For a riot. He was used to bad news all the time.

How could either of us, in Harlem, be angry or suspicious on this symbolic night of all nights?

I returned to my apartment feeling dejected of relief, suspicions returning.

All of this effort, to vote. Of all things, to vote. To pick a person based on the town they grew up in, and the color of their skin. To vote on things that the candidate has no control over, desirous that he we will control them. To ask this one man to do it all. For us. Why?

The sheer force of the energy that night was so powerful. Proof to me that all of our energies are being misdirected. I could only wonder what we could do for ourselves if we didn’t rely on a system.

Thebox IV

This month's story could probably be read alone but if you'd like to catch up, the prequels are, "Thebox," posted 5/1/11, "Thebox II," posted 9/1/11, and "Thebox III," posted 1/1/12. 


Tam awoke with a start. A few days had passed since he’d officially met Agent Kalarni. Any reassurances Tam felt had faded since their meeting.   

            He couldn’t shake the night's frustrating dream. It took place in the hotel’s dining room. Tam walked in excited to meet with Kalarni, he was assured in his mind. Thinking about home, yes it was home, and his sister. Until he turned the corner and saw Kalarni and Nina kissing passionately. Both stoic people were making out like a couple of teenagers. Tam’s heart pounded out of his chest and he rushed out of the dining area frantic. Up to his room. The phone rang with a blaring ting ting. On the other end was Nina. She played his mind like a harp, her voice on the phone hypnotic as she informed him there was nothing strange happening at all. The truth was never verbalized, it hung like a fume between them on the phone. She conned him into dinner and Tam spent the rest of the dream trying to get to the dining room to meet her. But obstacles kept coming. He always almost, almost got there, then he snapped out of the dream.

            When he awoke the dream felt so real that he restrained from calling Nina to their usual breakfast together in the dining room. Instead he dressed and strode to dine alone. As he turned the corner he saw the dining room empty of either Kalarni or Nina. It was the first time he’d felt upset about anything since he’d come to India. Only half a week had elapsed, since meeting Kalarni, and he found himself constantly looking over his shoulder, checking. There could be others, after all. Tam knew for sure that Kalarni had observed him at a teashop for weeks before approaching him. A strange move for a friendly agent to make. Tam had been briefed on a considerable prevalence of rogue agents traveling back in time. Perhaps Kalarni was with another agency who’d hacked the HSA’s security code and verification.

Tam picked at his plate of English breakfast with such paranoid thoughts. Thoughts much heavier after weeks of relief. He’d been happier, more than anything, to board a capsule that would place him out of the agency’s watchful eyes. He’d grown tired of the surveillance required of him for the two years prior to this mission. He found himself abysmally conscious of the cameras, until the very end, when he’d stupidly spoke candidly with his sister Rosemary at dinner. Actually, she’d said enough in the first few sentences she spoke that it was useless and more suspicious for him to stop her from talking. Plus, that night way back when he last saw his sister, he felt he had nothing to lose. Unfortunately, he’d been consumed with the thirty percent chance that he might die during time travel. He was living that night, which was a simple dinner with his sister, like it was his last.

            Here he was in India, back in time, where the agency’s cameras could not record his every move only to meet Kalarni and find he still had to watch his back.

Tam had become friendly with all the dining staff during his extended stay at the hotel. It went noticed amongst the busboys that two tomato slices, one egg and the country beans had gone completely untouched on Tam’s plate. They muttered with concern. He left his usual generous tip and walked in an anxious daze through the hotel’s lobby. He passed right by Nina. She stopped, assuming he would see her but he barely brushed past her. She scowled, half-thinking he was putting her on. She called after him,

            “Tam!” No response.

“TAM!” He disappeared into a crowd of guests arriving for a wedding being held at the hotel that day. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, perching her head back before spinning on her heel toward the dining room.

Tam managed to mechanically hop the bus in a rush and take a seat. It would’ve have taken him five minutes to walk there but he wasn’t thinking. He was on his way to the University of Mumbai. He had to get some real research. He felt obligated to it, after disposing of the chemical testing materials.

He tried to research, a few days before, at the Asiatic Society with a pass the agency had created for him to enter. The guard at the library furrowed his brows right off when Tam presented his pass. It was the first agency imperfection, yet. Just trying to enter became a huge production, four additional guards appeared and a manager of some sort came to speak with him. Tam was very nervous, but he played the overly confident part and mixed in dull threats and it got him through. Once through, he found virtually nothing of use as far as information.

He almost gave himself away by speaking to Nina about his humiliation.

 She raised her eyebrows in surprise when he’d suggested he’d gone there for some research. She was very inquisitive as to how in the world he was granted permission in to such a guarded collection. Tam had to quickly utilize some acting skills again, and gloss past what he’d said before,

“Oh no! Of course I didn’t get any research, I have a colleague with a very important father and after a lot of begging we were granted a very short tour.”

“Ah,” Nina said and laughed, “that sounds more like it. They’re very secretive, kind of cabalistic, really.” She hinted that they were very limited in what information they chose to make available.

Tam arose and prepared to hop off the bus which never fully stopped in Mumbai. It only slowed to a slight roll before charging off again. He approached the library's entrance and a man began harassing him,

            “Sir, sir. Please take me as your guide for touring.” Tam did what Nina expressly forbade him to do. Made hard eye contact with the guide.

            “Sir! Pleased to be at your service I can tell you all the details of this place. Come, sir.” Tam was despondent and followed him even though he did not want the tour. His head felt heavy and sore, he could tell he’d been grinding his teeth heavily the night before. The man’s voice bellowed so much that Tam almost objected, but once inside the beautiful edifice he couldn’t make out anything the guide said. He always directed his voice in the wrong direction. The guide didn’t seem to register this and went into a lyrical that he’d no doubt said over and over again thousands of times. He was rushing Tam through the tour trying to make his money as quickly as possible. Tam interjected just as they approached the Rajabai clocktower.

            “That’ll be all then. How much?”

            “Hah sir, okay, it is 200 rupees.” Tam knew if Nina were here she would declare the guide, besharam and haggle the price down. But again, Tam paid without argument and the guide scurried off.

Tam had come to the university library with Nina, once. Her tour was much better than the guide’s. She insisted Tam return here to continue his research when he told her about his visit to the Asiatic Society. She’d taken a random class at the university and gave him her pin code to access the brand new electronic database. But Tam was more excited by the print materials. In about fifty years, most libraries and with them print materials and texts would be destroyed by wars.

While in the future, Tam had been granted access to secret reserves of literature and print materials via the agency. And although he didn’t have access to them he’d become aware that there were others around the world. He hadn’t considered the vast amounts that had been destroyed. He took for granted that the agency had all the answers and complete information. During the time that the libraries would get destroyed, there would be wars everywhere. So much history and craftsmanship would be in ruins or under water. The beautiful Nestor Hall would be gone to smithereens. In a fog of missiles and bombs all over the world, covert agencies would make exorbitant amounts of oversights and sack their most vital of resources, libraries, before they could make copies. Hence missions like the one Tam was now on.

Around mid-afternoon Tam finally eased in to study-mode and forgot his anxieties about Kalarni and the agency. He’d found quite a few articles about the group he was sent to research and perform tests on. They were a harmless bunch and he felt very confused as to why any time would be wasted on them. Not even remotely worth spending money on time-travel to destroy them. In his notes, he wrote, They appear to be absolutely harmless. Their mission to promote love, wasn’t a false front. They were essientially modern Gandiites. There's no evidence of ties with any enemy groups.

Before leaving the library, Tam wanted to check on two newspaper clippings that had been cited under one of his searches. They were both in Marathi newspapers. He had to ask for help on this, as he was fluent in Hindi but not Marathi. He approached a clerk who helped him. Both newspapers made very brief mention of the activist group, and suggested attending meetings. The last few lines the clerk read to Tam from the second article, sent his heart beating fast again.

            One of the members was once a part of an anti-imperialist activist group. They are remarked to have gotten the most word out amongst voters about a law banning the presence of pharmaceutical companies from the state of Maharashtra.

But this law was overturned a few years later.

            “What was that member’s name?” Tam demanded. The clerk reread the article, searching.

            “Ah, it says, R. Pandey.”

            “R. Pandey! Can you query that name please?” he demanded again. The clerk abided and helped him, although he could’ve done it himself.

            “Hmm,” the clerk said after some time, “nothing comes sir. There are matches but they are for others with the same initial.”

            “What? How can this be? If he was so revolutionary. There must be a match there.” The clerk looked surprised at his determination.

            “This kind of protesting was very common in the 60s, sir. Perhaps so common it wasn't a priority in the news.” Tam thanked him and gathered up his things to leave.

 He was sensible enough to walk instead of taking the bus on his short walk back to the hotel. He passed the Oval playground where some children were playing and an occasional hysterical scream rang out. He loafed around watching their boundless energy.

            Tam was reluctant to head back toward a possible meeting with Kalarni. Finding out this minute detail about the law banning a company, especially a pharmaceutical one, would be a red flag at the agency, a detail that would’ve been pounded over his head during his training sessions. This is something that would be indicative of what they’d termed, negative subversive behavior, which was always dealt with harshly by the government. But it got dropped. There was the mild possibility that the agency had no idea. His instincts told him it was a surprise that the agency had not intended for Tam to ever know. Of course they knew. The newspaper article was dated many years after Tam was supposed to have landed. He would’ve stayed a short time and never been able to read the article. They, the omnipresent force like an invisible fog, had kept certain things from Tam. This angered and scared him to such high levels that he was in a state of waking shock. He’d been manipulated. After that much training and agony, it could only be that the agency was using him. He was just a pawn. That’s why they’d suddenly dropped the test box on him. They’d never trained him or informed him of anything but a duty to research. Yet they hadn’t even gotten him access to this crucial library and a few others. It didn’t make sense for a research mission. The day before he was to leave they slid in and told him to take the test box.

            He almost wished he’d played along better at the time, so that he could find out more about what it was that the agency was trying to accomplish.

The sun was fully down now and Tam began to walk briskly back to the hotel. Any shred of naivety was gone for him now. He longed to get back home to his sister, but he knew she’d been killed. And that his current employer was somehow the murderer of his last family member. He decided he was going to abort the mission and the agency. He was going to abort the future. Defect from the whole thing. And stay in India.

            He stopped into a shop on the way and bought some sleeping tablets. In order to get out and go North he needed time and assurance that Kalarni would sleep for at least eight hours.

Once he entered his hotel room he saw he had a message from Kalarni to meet for dinner in the hotel’s dining area. Tam began to pack his things, in a wild manner, his mind was in a million places. He went to his clothes, then jumped to his toiletries and on a sudden notion pounced to the telephone to call Nina’s room.

            “Hello?” she answered on the second ring.

            “Nina, it’s Tam.”

            “Hi Tam, I’ve been wo-”

            “Look, I’m sorry to cut you off but, isn’t there a driving service you mentioned, that comes at any hour?” Nina responded with a panic in her voice,

“Tam, what’s going on? Is everything okay? What happened?” He inhaled and exhaled deeply, Of course she has no clue what is going on, he thought.

“Kalarni and I got into a tiff about work and a I’m eager to take off in the night and leave for a few days.” The line was silent for a long moment, before he added,

“I’d like for you to come with me. I’m going to Agra,” he laughed sheepishly, “Lame me, to see the clichéd TajMajal.” Again a moment of silence.

“Well, I can get you that number, for the service,” she said, “I don’t know if I can go. I mean I want to, I’m touched by the invitation, but I’ve got a lot of stuff I’m finishing up right now.

I don’t know.” Tam sighed.

“Alright, well I’ve got dinner with Kalarni, so I’ll give you a call after that and see how you feel, huh?” She smiled, a huge smile,

“Okay,” she said and they hung up.

He smashed up seven of the sleeping pills in order to douse Kalarni enough. He washed his face with some cold water and left to go dine. Tam was just about to set foot on the elevator when Kalarni intercepted him. He looked dejected and worried.

            “What happened?” Tam asked him. He looked around him and said,

            “We should go back to your room.” Tam worried there might be remains of the sleeping pill box and packing around.

            “Isn’t your room, just there?” Tam suggested.

            “Yeah, whatever. Let’s go.”

Once inside, Kalarni went straight to the black label whiskey.

            “You should sit down, man,” he directed Tam. He sat on one of the chairs in the parlor. Kalarni sat facing him. He placed a highball glass in front of Tam. Tam raised his hand waving it side to side, saying no.

            “We’ll see about that,” Kalarni said this with what Tam detected was a bit of sniveling.

            “Come on, out with it, the suspense is killing me,” Tam said this with a sardonic tone but he was very nervous. Kalarni sighed.

            “Look, I know we’re supposed to head back to our capsules in a couple days, and I just wanted to prepare you.”

            “For what??”

            “The possibility that we aren’t going to get back.”           

            “What? Why?”

            “Because the capsules don’t work.”

            “But you’ve returned successfully from these missions.”

            “Exactly. That’s how I know something is awry.” Tam furrowed his brows in skepticism. Kalarni continued,

            “Look, I’m not here to shadow you. I really got sent back to assist you, which is standard. Only to come here and find there’s no need for me, never was, even if you’d gone forward with the test box.

            It’s all bunk. I don’t know what their angle would be with us, why they’d get rid of us this way.”

            “How can that be? We could hypothetically stay and make detrimental changes with our knowledge.”

            “Look man, I’ve been on the special forces for years now. I know how it works. I know how they set people up, because I’m usually the one who finishes things up.

            They’re getting rid of us.” Tam reached out to the whiskey-filled highball glass in front of him and took a swig. His face became contorted with twenty different emotions as he searched the floor with eyes. He was cataloguing his own moves, trying to find any sign of defection.

            “Why? I’ve devoted my whole life to them. I have nothing else. I’ve never betrayed anything,” Tam said like an innocent child.

            “What about your friends? Your family maybe? Anything even mildly subversive?” Tam thought of his sister’s confession before he’d left.

            “No man. Clean as a whistle,” Tam lied, taking another swig of the whiskey, this time finishing it.

            “Yeah,” Kalarni sighed, “I mean honestly, I can think of a few things that would’ve put me on their radar. And, you landing in the wrong year, that doesn't help.”

            “Why would they waste the money?? Why wouldn’t they just kill us in present day and save the trouble?” Kalarni chuckled and grimly asked,

            “Why wouldn’t they get some free research?

            You see, you don’t understand. I think that maybe we were always meant to come back and get them information. And then, we are a liability to them because of what we know.”

            “So just leave of us,” Tam guessed, “But wouldn’t our extended stay here cause a rift in the whole thing?” Kalarni shook his head, with condescension,

            “They’ve done tests.”

            “Yeah but how are they going to get the information we’ve obtained if they leave us here?”

            “They’ll send someone back to get it, and then return him to the future.”

            “So what happens to that guy??” Tam asked angry now, “Isn’t he now a liability?” Kalarni gravely refilled both of their empties. Tam was expecting an answer to his question and when a moment passed with nothing, he said,

            “I mean it. What happens to that guy, Kalarni?”

            “Tam, I was that guy. They get rid of him. This is what I’m trying to tell you. I know how the agency handles things.” Tam took another generous swig.

            “This is treason!” Tam said, “It goes against at least five of the InterIntel rules, and--”

            “There aren’t any rules,” Kalarni said.

Tam suddenly felt exhausted, he wanted to go to his room and sleep. He’d have to cancel dinner. Kalarni, however, was in the bathroom getting ready to dine.

Tam didn’t know what to believe. He sat back in his chair to take a little nap. His mind was racing. He could easily make the best of being trapped back in time. He was pretty sure he could have a life with Nina. But could he reproduce in this time? She’d surely want children. It was so beautiful in the north. He could live the way people were meant to live. Maybe even travel and see the rest of the world. There was plenty of sunlight everywhere.

            But then he thought of his sister Rosemarie. He couldn’t help but wonder at what had happened to her, if she was still alive. Without hesitation he resigned himself over to going to the capsule he’d buried and just checking the equipment out.

Kalarni was in the bath, still, now was the perfect time. Tam reached his arm to add the crushed sleeping pills to Kalarni’s drink, so that he could at least make a short trip out to the capsule that evening unbothered, unwatched. But he could not move his arm. His body was weighed down. His feet felt like cinder blocks, he could not move. What was happening? Was it the single malt?

            His eyelids were heavy but it was even more painful when he closed his eyes. He could hear Kalarni was opening the door and coming back to the parlor, he couldn’t close his eyes.

Kalarni walked with the gait of a cowboy as he entered the parlor again. He had a sinister smile on his face.

            “How’s that scotch?” Tam’s body felt unusually heavy, he concentrated and with all his might tried to lift himself from the chair. Nothing. His heart was racing, yet his body felt like a stone statue connected forever to the ground.

Kalarni stood in front of Tam, facing him. He pulled out a compact communication device. Tam knew it very well, it was a common walkie-talkie like gadget, from the future. Tam had been briefed again and again during his training by the agency that these devices did not work in the past. The familiar Command Central contact beep emanated from it.

            “Agency.” A familiar voice at Command Central responded.

            “Yeah, Kalarni, here,” he held Tam’s frozen gaze, “Reporting mission completion.” The now horrifying, customary HSA sign-off bleeped through the device. A series of bleep and beeps in a specific rhythm. Kalarni had beat him at his game, and played it much nastier. Tam’s plan was only to put Kalarni to sleep for a bit, not  kill him.

Even as his eyelids fluttered to close for the last time, Tam had hope that he could come out of the heavy feeling that came over him. He continued plotting his escape.

Thebox III

There are two prequels to this month's story. "Thebox," posted 5/1/11, and "Thebox II," posted 9/1/11. 

The time capsule was designed to crash into the earth, so that more than half of it would be buried upon landing. Tam’s mission once he landed was to climb out of the top, bury the capsule completely, and begin walking to the nearest road. Then he was to flag down a passing vehicle and inform them his auto had fallen into a ditch. Part of his training included a fluency in Hindi.

        The capsule was designed to air-condition until Tam shut it down. This was in advance of the journey being so strenuous that he would go unconscious once he landed. He awoke with a start. He’d slept seven hours. There was an incessant beeping coming from the main console. He’d slept right through the irritating sound. He yawned and cleared his eyes. Focusing, he could see that December 26, 2007 was flashing again and again. Tam pushed a button.

Tam this is an emergency message. You’ve landed in the wrong year. I repeat, you’ve landed in the wrong year. It is December 26, 2007. You’ve been briefed as to what to do in the unlikely event.

“Fuck!” He’d said it aloud, to no one.

Please do not panic. You’re to continue on to Mumbai. You must try to find a similar group of activists to observe. But the experiment itself is to be performed at your discretion. You must, however, go to the Asiatic Society in Mumbai and find out as much information as possible about the group.

Good luck, Tam.

Tam exhaled a huge breath and shook his head. Of course, he’d messed it up. Prior to entering the capsule, as part of his training, he was repeatedly informed of the possibility that he may be dropped in the wrong year. The agency had perfected landing in the correct geographic location with no problem. It was the year that was problematic.  Still, only ten percent of missions had landed in the wrong year. So this would be a major upset.

His head felt like he’d gone on a seven-day bender. He opened his drug kit and injected himself with vitamins, electrolytes and adrenaline. He had to bury the capsule. The sun was five hours away from coming out. He was worried but as he began to dig he found the soil very easy to work with. Half of the capsule had been buried in the crash landing so it took him under two hours. He had to inject himself with more vitamins and adrenaline to get through this last leg of his journey to the hotel. He sucked down one of the raw juice and protein drinks provided for him. He was most concerned that he would be too tired at this point, when he’d have to socialize and speak in Hindi, but he was very energized. Slaphappy, he began walking. He walked an hour before there was ample vegetation. The place where the capsule landed must’ve been a dead lake. As soon as he reached the first row of trees, he stopped to hide the shovel in a tree. He grabbed what appeared to be a pen from his pocket protector. In fact, it was a miniature spray paint. He made a horrible attempt at stenciling a lotus blossom on a tree so as to mark the spot where he’d left his shovel. He took a deep breath. He could smell something sweet. That must be honeysuckle, he thought. He continued walking while inhaling deeply and closing his eyes each time, before exhaling. He passed farms with crops that he didn’t recognize. His senses were being peaked at every level. Nature as the earth was meant to be. Tam’s entire life, he’d never seen such a thing.

All the produce of the future was grown from artificial lighting. There were people in the future who romanticized, like Tam. Some farmers were renowned for making it feel like historical times. They would emulate a farm as authentically as possible, indoors of course with artificial lighting, but replicating a traditional 1800s farm. Tam could now say without assumption, There’s nothing like the real thing. He was walking it, breathing it. There was a mist hanging in the trees, like a thick sheer veil. It hung over fields of yellow flowers. 

He got to a highway in two hours. He was supposed to land in the year 1965, when the highway was much further away. He was shocked to see asphalt on it. The highway had four lanes. All far more advanced than he was prepared for. The only instruction he’d been given about this decade was that it was a time of serious advancements for India, it would go down in history books as the Indian Boom. This decade that Tam had landed in, marked the beginning of it.

It was around 5 a.m. when Tam found a teashop many drivers stopped at for breaks. He asked the clerk if he could somehow hitch a ride to Mumbai. The clerk smiled in surprise. Tam thought his accent must be bad, but the clerk was amazed at his fluency. Tam spoke in English instead,

“Hello sir, I’m in need of a ride to Mumbai. My car broke down and fell in a ditch.” The clerk furrowed his brow. Tam had a strange accent, not like any American accent he’d ever heard.

            “Where is your driver?” the clerk asked him.

            “Driver?” Tam repeated. No American would be driving himself between Pune and Mumbai.

            “The car fell in a ditch,” Tam told him, this time in his sparkling Hindi. The clerk gave the customary whatever head gesture assuming that something was lost in communication.

            “I will ask around for you, sir. You’re tea is coming.”

Although there were many drivers stopping at this teashop it took quite sometime for the clerk to find a ride for Tam. The clerk told him,

            “It is difficult, sir. Most of the cars are full capacity. This is just a place to take some tea and rest from the drive.” Tam was very gracious. He strolled and found behind the small food shack there were more chairs. He took a seat near a tree. He was again in awe of the lush trees. The sun was an hour away from rising but already the light was coming through, bleeding from the horizon. He was mesmerized.

The clerk found a boisterous man to deliver Tam to Mumbai. Tam stayed awake chatting with him for an hour. Once they arrived, however, Tam was dead asleep. He awoke at his hotel, to the elated driver exclaiming,

            “Stay put. Doctor is coming!” The driver was so worried that he'd called a doctor. When the doctor arrived, he did nothing more than furrow his brow at Tam’s strange American accent. In the days that followed, Tam gathered that a good amount of Americans were present in Mumbai and Dehli at this time and  Tam’s American accent stood out as eccentric. Only his American accent. His Hindi was impeccable, so he began to only speak in Hindi to protect his cover.

Tam did not leave his room for two weeks, per instructions from the agency. He felt ready after a week, but the room service and television grew on him.

            He found that landing in the wrong year hadn’t affected him much. In fact, he’d been over briefed in a sense, but that could only come in handy for him. It was very tongue-in-cheek, but Tam also gathered that Americans were viewed as ignorant. And Tam could always coast on this, if he accidentally gave himself away.

He’d primarily only dealt with bellhops and maids until the day he finally emerged to have breakfast in the hotel’s restaurant. From the moment he was seated he was accosted at all angles with five-star service. Right this way, sir. Right away, sir. Tam wasn’t accustomed this kind of pampering. In fact, he’d never in his adult life been able to relax this much. From what he'd seen so far, his hotel was one of the swankier establishments in Mumbai. He  stared excitedly at the menu. He could feel someone watching him. Far across the room, he spotted a young woman observing him. She quickly looked away when he caught her. She looked up again and held his gaze, smiling. Again, that night at dinner he saw her in the dining room. He muttered to the waiter to seat him adjacent to her. He was curious she was very pretty. He ordered and sat waiting for his food. Their eyes met and she chuckled.

            “It’s you again,” she said. Tam wondered if she was safe. He still had to be on the lookout for rogue agents. The HSA had no doubts that other countries were participating in time-travel experiments. But Tam trusted this girl’s ease and genuineness.

            “I’m sorry,” she said, “You just look so bewildered.” She had a British accent. He cleared his throat,

            “India can be overwhelming.”

            “Ha! The understatement of the year.

            And what in particular, is overwhelming you?” she asked.

            “The sights and sounds. It’s hard to say.” Tam hadn’t left his room but he’d been glued to looking out the windows which offered a lot of action to observe.

            “It can be very claustrophobic,” she said.

          “I don’t know. It’s not that. It is chaotic but there is so much life.” She raised her eyebrows in surprise. She’d assumed overwhelming had a negative connotation. She was intrigued, questioning whether he was as goofy as she thought. They chatted for quite sometime. Tam’s stomach was grumbling.

               “This food is taking forever,” he said. She laughed,

          “Yea most places make the food to order here, so it takes a long time. Plus they are just laid back compared to you rush rush Americans.” Across the room Tam spotted the silver platter approaching his table. He was enjoying Indian food, he'd never been this excited about food in his life.

        “Would you like me to take you around Mumbai, sometime?” she asked. He was surprised she offered. She seemed kind of full of herself.

              “Sure. That would be very nice.”

              “My name is Nina.”

              “I’m Tam. Nice to meet you.” He smiled sweetly as she insisted on another criticism.

          “What a strange name. What kind of name is that?” He’d forgotten to go with  the name Tim, more common at this time. He was saved by the arrival of his food. And the arrival of her bill. She excused herself and Tam dug in on his beloved buttered chicken.

Tam began to spend a few hours a day with Nina. She was staying at the hotel indefinitely. He presumed she came from money to be able to handle the expense. They got along very well. She aggressive and him easygoing. She was confused by his aloof and obliviousness at times. Tam felt she asked too many questions. She inquired many times about Tam’s parents. Until one afternoon finally he said with brevity,

            “They died when I was very young.” Nina softened.

            “I knew there was a beautiful sadness in your eyes.” They’d spent the afternoon walking.

            “You’re far from home on this continent it must seem like another planet,” she said. He looked down at the ground sadly pondering his sister for a moment. He wondered if he would ever get back to see about her.

They continued to walk and he inhaled deeply as they passed a flower vendor. Strings of mums used for offerings to the gods. How amazing, he thought, that their gods require flowers, incorporating nature.

            She smiled at him.

            “Taking all those smells in?”

            “It is amazing,” Tam said. He didn’t sense her facetiousness.

            “Mumbai has been voted the fourth most polluted city in the world,” she said.

         “Hmm, yes.” He furrowed his brow, he’d forgotten that to her things were getting worse and worse.

            “I don’t know,” he said, “It’s not so bad.”

            “I do love the smell of the mums, and the paan.”

         “Everything is so bright here,” he said innocently as they passed a storefront of a sari store. On display were huge silk hues of mauve, burgundy, yellow, and fuchsia. Nina was touched by his awe. She was born and raised in London. She’d never traveled to the states. She was beginning to think it was horrible based on Tam’s exuberance.

            “It is pretty here. I love the banyan trees bursting through sidewalks. Wait until you take a drive. North or south, it's stunning,” she said.

            “I had a very friendly guy give me a lift here from Pune. He seemed to know everything. I’d recognized some folk song and he got very animated. He gave me lessons on Indian classical music. He was very commanding, he dominated the conversation. I just kept nodding and listening. He made one point over and over. ‘Sir, you must see all of India to know this music. You think you have heard it but not until you see it, then you listen again.’” Tam and her laughed.

            “He’s right,” she said.

“Hmm, well I got a small taste of it when the sun came up. A slow song came on, with a shehnai playing. The fields were dewy.

It was-- I don't even know how to describe it.” 

Tam couldn't tell her that as soon as he stepped out of the time capsule he felt energized. He couldn’t say that in only one hundred years the world will change drastically. From reading books the world’s snowballing history always made sense to him. But once he was in history he found himself wondering how it could’ve been poisoned. He could see there was no lack of crime with the overpopulation but there was no lack of feeling and compassion, either. He couldn’t believe that it had survived this long and that soon it would be virtually gone.

            He’d been in India a month and he was still in awe. This country was bleeding soul out of every crack, pore and orifice. He could sense in Nina the struggle of east and west. He could see in her eyes a little less life, while the eyes of the Indians sometimes made him want to weep because of their beauty. Not because he felt sorry, but because they were so big and innocent. Different hues of brown. He’d never seen eyes like that in the future. He was unaccustomed to having such passionate thoughts and feelings. Tam had never cried in his life. But since he’d been in India he’d on occasion had the slightest welling of a tear in his eye.

            Tam suspected that the eyes in the future were different because of the computers. If people stared at natural things all day their eyes would form a different softer more serene shape.

That was in fact how Tam first spotted Agent Kalarni, as he later came to know him. He could plainly see that his eyes were not like the others. It was striking because Kalarni was one hundred percent Indian. Only in his bloodline. Kalarni had spent his life in America. And although he was from the future, he’d perfected his accent to match this time period. He was such a phenomenal actor that Tam doubted himself. He’d observed Kalarni at the nearest teashop.

One morning as Kalarni finished ordering his tea, Tam recognized that he was the same man he’d seen in the HSA headquarters. The day before he entered the time capsule, he’d gone to HSA headquarters and saw an angry man rushing out of the building. Tam really thought himself nuts. But he saw Kalarni each morning at the teashop, and each time, the memory flashed in his mind, the look of frustration on Kalarni’s face as he huffed out of the headquarters. Then, he’d hear Kalarni’s impeccable American accent and think himself insane.

Eventually the mystery man made eye contact with Tam. Tam was surprised when he approached him one morning and took a seat at Tam’s tiny café table.

            “You don’t mind do you?” He looked sinister with beady eyes of the future. Tam was visibly ruffled.

“Uh, no. I’m almost through.” The man continues gazing at Tam in an abrasive manner.

“You look interesting to me. Can I ask you,” he searched around him, “Do the letters H-S-A have any meaning to you?” The man then moved his hand close to Tam’s forearm. He then followed a custom performed only by men of the future. He lifted his left hand’s index finger and pressed it into Tam’s forearm. This was an electronic verification, with a custom HSA encryption. Tam was relieved.

“The name is Kalarni,” he said. He looked less sinister. Upon seeing a familiar face, Tam was overwhelmed with realizing how lonely he’d felt. Beautiful as it was, it wasn’t home or familiar. He was alien, and not because he was American.

“They sent me out the day after you,” he said. Tam said nothing feeling nervous. He smelled a rat. He’d dropped into the wrong year where population was bubbling over, surrounded by a billion people and this one person was an enormous threat to him.

“Look. Don’t worry. No one goes alone on missions. This kind of thing is standard with the agency. I know this is your first serious mission.” Tam wanted to ask questions but he was still suspicious.

“Have you bothered with your test box?” Kalarni asked.

         “It was a shaky landing and the test box had a leak. I had to dismantle the whole thing.” Tam lied. Nothing was wrong with the test box. He’d destroyed the it because he didn't want to perform the tests. 

“Yeah that kind of thing happens a lot. They are still fine tuning it,” Kalarni said. Tam was relieved that his lie was feasible.

            “So are you on research recon?” Kalarni quipped. He was referring to the Asiatic Society’s extensive library. Tam nodded his head in response, resenting Kalarni’s implication.

            “That’s the worst. I hate it if there's no test. It’s like what’s the point right? They really need to get their shit together.” Tam felt waves of disgust pass over his belly as he thought of the “tests” he was supposed to have performed. He fought off nausea and pushed back his seat excusing himself.

            “It’s been nice meeting you but I’ve got to get a start on my day. Should we meet at the hotel for dinner?”

            “Sure. Sure. See you then.” Kalarni smiled what seemed a genuine smile as they parted ways.

Their encounter was bittersweet for Tam. Kalarni’s presence was two-fold. On one side there was the fact that Tam could not defect. Tam was being shadowed by Kalarni. Shadowing was customary at the agency, but he assumed that people were briefed about it ahead of time. This was very strange to him. One of biggest perks was that the agency could no longer stream constant video and audio of his life. He could be free, for this short time. He should have known. But he wasn't doing anything suspicious. He'd fantasized about staying in India, a silly fantasy he’d been toying with. He couldn’t fathom going back to the dead lake to get that stupid capsule up and running.

            On the other side of it was the fact that Kalarni’s presence was a guarantee that Tam would have to get back to the capsule and get “home.” Just having a familiar accomplice made him feel secure that he would get to the future again, and his first thought at this was relief. Strange thoughts to evade his mind considering he’d spent a blissful month in Mumbai’s streets. But no matter what the fantasy, Tam knew he would make it back to the capsule because of his sister, Rosemarie.




Tune in next month for the final climactic installment of this series, "Thebox IV."

A Thief's Code

The widower finally spoke to Dez and Lily after repeated encounters with them in the hallway of his building. Dez and Lily were moving in to the apartment directly below the widower. The widower saw Dez arduous at work carrying heavy boxes. Boxes filled with records. Dez seemed to be the only person doing the move.  He carried a bulky loveseat couch on his own. All this time, Lily was nowhere to be seen. The widower wasn’t so much nosy as he was bored. He’d spent the entire day on the sidewalk outside of the building. The first Saturday of every month there was swap meet on the outside of the park. The sidewalks lining the park were covered with old ladies selling chotchkies, costume jewelry and used clothing.

The widower had a twelve-year-old son who had recently become obsessed with records. His son had walked the swap meet many times in search of a goldmine amongst the flotsam, a crate of old records. He suggested they set up a table at the next swap meet.  The widower was happy to set up a table and get rid of junk accumulating in their three-bedroom apartment. But when the day arrived the young widower sat bored for hours. No one was interested in what he had for sale. All cheap remnants of his younger days with his wife. He felt a comfort sitting amongst the nostalgic debris. He considered abandoning the swap meet and taking it all back inside to the safety of the extra bedroom. It didn’t matter. After four hours only one person had come to their table asking irritating questions, buying nothing. It wouldn’t have taken much to catch his attention. Dez kept passing the widower and his son with crates of records and bulky wardrobe boxes.

The widower had come from the bathroom in his apartment, when in the passageway he heard a shrill irritating voice. Lily emerged from the stairwell wearing scant clothing, but everything was perfectly in place. She was talking loudly into a wireless headset,

            “These morons and their swap meet are destroying our move!” She paused as whomever she shouted at through the headset on her face must’ve responded. She sighed.

            “I know. Why would they have it on the first weekend of the month?” She’d noticed the widower and smiled a warm smile. She waved before passing and almost bumped in to her beau, Dez.

            “Sheez baby, get off that goddamn thing!” Dez scolded her.

            “I’m on the headset!”

            “Come on. Can’t you help a little bit?” The widower passed them in the stairwell and they all made eye contact and smiled.

            “Hi.”

            “Hey.”

            “Hi!” she’d said it very bubbly. Her demeanor was completely changed. She kept chatting.

            “My name is Lily. This is Dez. Do you live in the building?”

            “I live one floor above.”

            “Which unit?” she pressed.

            “I’m in 5C.”

            “Just above us! You must love having that patio. I told the management company I would kill for it.” Dez was quiet and seemed complacent.

            “Well I’ll have to apologize ahead of time for any loud music you might hear. I have a twelve-year old boy, and we fight over the record player,” the widower said changing the subject.

            “You have a turntable?” she furrowed her eyebrows playfully, “A man your age?”

            “Hey, sheez Lily,” Dez had interjected.

            “I’m sorry,” she said.

            “No it’s okay.” 

“Dez collects some stuff too, for like, rap songs,” she said.

“Cool. I’ve just gotten my son into hip-hop as well.”

“You got him into it?” she asked incredulously. The widower laughed,

“Yes, he’s into new school. I had to teach him where it began. He loves it. He’s starting to listen to soul music now too.”

“It’s no surprise,” Dez said.

“Oh my god Dez! You’re gonna be just fine here.” She winked at the widower.

“He loves music. Always going on and on about it,” she said rolling her eyes.

Her phone rang and a pop sang out, You ain’t gonna take my love, Ahhhh, no love. She answered her phone, speaking again to the air. Dez began to bicker with her and the widower parted ways with them.

He began to see Dez sitting on the stoop of the building regularly. One afternoon, after doing errands the widower came back to an empty stoop. He took a seat. The stoop of any building that lined the park was deemed by many to realtors to be a luxury. Since the late 90s the park had undergone a massive botanic overhaul. After twenty years, the trees had filled out. It was summer so the park was spattered with bits of red and pink from the pre-autumn blossoms that would soon be gone. The widower read the paper for some time before music began to blare from the building. It sounded operatic. He looked up and realized it was blasting from his fifth-floor apartment. His son was at the records again. Lyrics came blasting out, What is soul? Mama! I don’t Know! What is soul?! At this point he was sure it was the band, Funkadelic blasting from his living room above. Unable to read, he took a stroll around the park. When he circled and approached the building again there was no more music. Dez was on the stoop again.

            “Hey man. How’s it goin. I was just in your apartment.”

            “I heard the music out here.”

“That’s a great turntable. Good job on the maintenance. Where did you find that? If you don’t mind my asking.”

            “That was actually my father’s.” Dez raised his eyebrows in surprise.

            “Good man.

I lent Jay an album. You should check it out,” he said smiling and looking down at the ground. 

            “Then he must’ve showed you Maggot Brain.”

            “Mmm Hmm,” Dez said nodding, “Incredible grab.” The widower shook his head a bit.

            “It was a frivolous purchase.” The widower left out the detail of how expensive the album was. A year after his wife died, he went to Atlantic City. It was their favorite getaway together. He’d sentimentally used only thirty dollars in chips to play at the roulette table. Thirty dollars for her thirty years. The widower was prepared to go spend a sentimental thirty bucks and get drunk. He wasn’t prepared to win three grand. His drunken evening lasted into the next morning. There was record expo being held at one of the hotels. The widower perused the aisles of the stalls containing original issue, mint condition vinyl. He was drunk and emotional, moved by each album his wife would’ve liked. He’d seen Maggot Brain from a hundred feet away, displayed up above the others. As if, the vendor felt sure it wouldn’t be sold. The widower thought of his lovely sweet wife bought the record in a frenzy that alarmed the vendor. The cost was twenty-five hundred dollars.

           

The widower shook this memory off and continued to tell Dez about the album.

“The first song opens with that seven-minute guitar solo--”

“I know! It’s sick. Eddie Hazel was incredible,” Dez said excited.

“Ahh. So you know it.

I heard somewhere, Eddie Hazel was told by George Clinton to think of the saddest thing in the world. And play.” The guitarist supposedly thought of his mother dying. The widower was affected by this detail. It made perfect sense to him. When he heard the solo he could hear an entire lifetime. Pain and joy, the cloudiness, the clarity.

“It’s a shame how young he was when he died,” Dez said.

“Who? Eddie Hazel?” Dez nodded his head. The widower was surprised Dez knew so much about him.

“How old are you?” Dez began to graze the hair on his chin with his fingers.

            “Oh I’m not that old. I just love music.” He’d avoided the question. The widower couldn’t tell if he was a young man with an old soul and early lines in the face. Or if he was a man aging incredibly well.

The widower quieted as he spotted Lily’s figure approaching. She crossed through the park. She was wearing the highest heels he’d ever seen. The way she dressed had zero congruence with the lush old trees that surrounded her in the park. Dez nodded his head when she’d made eye contact. The widower smiled.

            “Hi boys,” she said.

“Nice shirt,” he said dryly. The shirt had a logo of the Brooklyn Dodgers.

“I got hit on twice at the grocery because of this shirt. Weird, huh?”

            “I bet,” Dez said, smacking her butt, “How quick did they run off when you started talking?”

            “You jerk. He’s such a jerk,” she said to the widower. “I bet you adore you’re wife.” Dez began to focus on the crossword puzzle in his lap.

            “You’re son was up the other day, going on and on about her. So sweet. How long is she gone?” The widower was surprised at this. His son hadn’t talked about his mother in a very long time.
            “Gone?”

            “Yea, he kept saying before she left, before she left. I thought, ‘I bet she’s only gone a couple weeks. What a sweet kid.’ ” The widower shifted uncomfortably.

            “Oh yes, he does say that sometimes,” he said and chuckled to lighten the mood. She wrinkled her brows, confused. His smile faded.

            “My wife died a few years ago.” Dez looked up with concern for a moment. Lily looked embarrassed. Her voice suddenly lost the shrillness,

            “I’m a-- I’m very sorry,” she turned to enter the door of the building. The clicking of her heels had a slow rhythm. The widower was not offended only surprised that something could shut down her exhausting energy.

            “Well I should be going up to start dinner,” he said to Dez.

For the next week, the widower was overloaded with work. He went in early and came home late. He’d attributed all of this to why he hadn’t seen Dez on the stoop. The first Saturday of the next month came again. There was a swap meet and again new tenants were moving in and frustrated. The widower enjoyed not having to participate in the swap meet. Him and his son stayed in and listened to records well in to the afternoon.

            He finally got himself up to go for a walk in the park. He walked down the stairs and one flight down he passed two big men wearing uniforms moving a couch. He glanced over and saw they were movers. He was baffled. They were entering Dez and Lily’s apartment. He quickly went back up the stairs, after getting swiped by another couch. He burst in to find his son,

            “Hey. The tenants, you know that couple, from downstairs?” His son nodded.

            “They’re gone!”

            “Yea, they moved out after like, two weeks,” he said, apathetic.

            “Shit.” The widower stared anxiously through the window looking at nothing.

            “Where’d they hurry off too?” His son shrugged his shoulders,

            “I don’t know. I saw they came back flashin’ one day. That chick had an insane amount of gold jewelry she was wearing. They got all nervous and said they’d gone to the bank and pulled some stuff from the safety deposit.”

            “How long after that, were they gone?” His son winced,

            “Like a day. Did they get something off you??”

            “I lent that guy Maggot Brain.”

            “Oh right!” His eyes grew wide with excitement, “Yea, but Dad, Dez left Funkadelic!” Dez had left the album he’d lent to the widower’s son. The widower was frustrated,

            “So, what do you mean?”

            “It’s an even trade! It’s a better trade.” The widower felt panicked.

            “Do you know how expensive that was?” he sighed.

            “Dad! Believe me, as far as value, we got a mint condition, and it’s a special issue. It’s probably worth more.” Up to this moment, the widower had convinced himself he was upset at the loss of an expensive asset. His son’s logical omission made him feel worse.

            “I love that album!” the widower said passionately, “I went back down to 4C after I saw that guy on the stoop one day and lent it to him. I told him it was important to me.” His son was surprised,

            “We can buy another copy. It’ll just be a reissue.” The widower stared again out of the window, this time focusing on the canopy of trees that lined the park.

            “It had some sentimental value.”

            “Aw come one, Dad. I think this is way cooler. It’s better to pass stuff on. So they were hustlers. He took something and replaced it. It’s not like they jacked us.

I bet he won’t even sell it.” The widower looking quite defeated sighed.

            “You’re right. I’m just—

There was a story behind it, you know?” His son did not know the story behind his father’s sentiment and the album at all. He was confused by his father’s attachment, it was unlike him. It was very rare that he behaved this way. He tried to console him,

            “Dad, it’s not like you’ll ever forget the story behind it. Don’t worry! You worry all the time.”