Tango

Part six

I've got my faults, but living in the past is not one of them. There's no future in it.

–– Sparky Anderson

Carl entered The Dive the next evening with take-away for two, and found Karel at the tiny kitchen table frowning over the small electronic recorder. "Dinner." he said simply. Karel rose and found plates and forks, the later from the pile of dirty dishes near the tiny sink.

"I've typed the entry that's on my recorder. Now I've got the pictures if I need them as well as a record of the voice. The batteries can do what they like."

Carl picked up the typed sheet and read it silently.

"Ripsch remains missing. No body to be found..." said Karel, in thought.

"Ah." Carl commented. "You figure the same thing happened to him before it happened to you?" He handed over one order of Fish and Chips.

"Could be. I want to find out if he is here."

"Here. In Chicago?"

"No, here in 1975. I'm in my own past here in Chicago. Ripsch would have been sent into his own past. I don't know where – this guy may have been from outer Mongolia for all I know. But he might know something more than I do about returning." They sat on opposite sides of the table and dug into their dinners.

"Why? Was he a scientist?"

"I don't remember a thing about him."

"Would you recognize him?"

"No."

"You have his first name?"

"No."

"Would he recognize you?"

"Now how would I know that?"

"Wow, You going to search the whole world with just 'Ripsch'?"

"I realize it's not a lot, but it's not that common a name. It can't be so hard. I would just Google him on the Web."

"Do what to the guy?"

"Google him, it means 'search for' "

"It sounds obscene. Why not just say 'search for'?"

Karel chewed thoughtfully. "I don't know."

"–– and what web is it he would be hiding in?"

He stopped chewing. "... I don't know that either. We have a Web..." he trailed off.

"Well we don't. The 70's option if you are looking for a person is classifieds in major city papers. That works about as well as it did to help me find Gail."

"Help us find Gail. I did that too, remember."

They ate in silence. Each privately went over the unsavory injustices of the Las Vegas affair once again and they stewed in stereo. After a while Carl breached the subject carefully; "You know, even if you do find him, there's a big chance you won't be able to return." Karel frowned, but continued eating without comment. "I think you should have Plan B of living in 1975."

His twin didn't answer for a bit. "Maybe so. The possibility has crossed my mind." he sounded resigned.

Carl glanced up. "Have you done any thinking about what work you want to do?"

Karel raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Do?"

"Professionally."

"What I want to do professionally? I'm a reporter!" he answered, knee-jerk. Then he stopped, a look of shock on his face. "Oh!"

"Yeah." answered Carl.

Karel felt like he had been gut-kicked. "Do something else?"

Carl made no comment. He knew how hard that would be for him. "Don't worry about that now," he assured his twin. "Something will work itself out. It always does."

Later that evening, Karel sat clacking away at the old portable typewriter set up on the tiny table in the kitchen, a stack of paper next to him. "You still know how to type?" Carl asked incredulously from where he sat on the dead green couch. "I would have thought you would just be talking to your typewriters in your day, and let them do all the work."

"We do," he said smugly, not actually remembering whether or not this was true, "but this old thing still needs my fingers."

"What you working on?" he asked curiously.

"I thought I'd pound out a quick novel, you know, to keep busy and bring in a bit of bacon."

"Ah. Murder Mystery?"

He glanced back at him with a sly grin. "Nope. Something new. A little science fiction piece. About what life is like in the future..."

Carl laughed good-naturedly. "You're a natural!"

"You know Murphy McKenna yet?"

"No."

"Well, you will soon. He's going to publish it for you."

"Friend of yours – ah, of mine?"

"He will be, just as soon as I introduce myself to him." He jotted down the name and address on a scrap of paper and leaned back in the chair to hand it to his twin.

As he did so, he was hit again with a wave of distortion, harder this time. He cried out, but didn't even hear his own voice. He grabbed his shoulders and clamped them tight, but they insisted on stretching apart from each other. A visual hallucination accompanied this attack; for just a second he saw fractals, although he couldn't have identified them by name. Geometry –– layer upon layer. Vibrant colors next to colors they should not be up next to –– next to colors that didn't even have names –– next to colors that weren't even colors. His mind seized at the very glimpse of it. When the wave passed and the world righted itself again, he found himself on the floor with no memory of how he got there, nor what he had seen. Carl leaning over him cradling his head and calling to him.

"Wh..What...?"

"Man, you gave me a fright! Are you alright?"

"Was I... out?" His head pounded once more.

"Out? You were see-through in parts!"

"Huh?"

"Like Silly Putty! Like you said before! You were pulled out like a bad cartoon!"

"Oh. You saw this?" It was hard to think through the headache.

"Never seen anything like it! I thought it was a new nightmare. Might have to deal with it become one after watching it happen..."

"The last thing you and I need is a new nightmare. I'm fine. I didn't bleed, that's good, right?" he tried to stand up, but ended up rolling back to a sitting position on the floor. "Whoa."

"What brought that on?"

"No idea. What stopped it?"

"I didn't see a thing to explain any of it. Are you going to be doing this a lot? Stretching out like a carnival magic mirror? Do people do this in 2015?"

"I don't remember. Although, I think that I'd remember if it happened often."

They sat together on the floor. At length, Karel said, "Do you have the Mojo bag handy?"

"Of course, it's never far away." Carl answered and getting up, retrieved it from the top drawer of his small dresser. "You suspect witchcraft?" He handed over the small pouch with its long draw-string.

"I don't have any other explanation." He loosened one more button on his shirt and slipped the amulet bag over his head and under his shirt. "And wearing a Mojo bag has to be like Ma always said with chicken soup––"

They smiled identical wry smiles and spoke in unison, "––hey, it can't hurt! "