The Man Who Folded Himself Page 5

Or would they?

  What would happen tomorrow if I didn’t wear either sweater or pair of slacks? But something else entirely? (But how could I? I’d already seen that I had worn them.) Would the pair that he brought back cease to exist? Or would they remain—would I have somehow duplicated them?

  There was only one way to find out . . .

  I fell asleep thinking about it.

  The morning was hot, with that crisp kind of unreality that characterizes the northern edge of the San Fernando Valley. I woke up to the sound of the air conditioner already beginning its day’s work with an insistent pressing hum.

  For a while I just stared at the ceiling. I’d had the strangest dream—

  —but it wasn’t a dream. I bounced out of bed in sudden fear. The timebelt glittered on the dresser where I had left it. I held it tightly, as if it might fade abruptly away. All the excitement of yesterday flooded back into me.

  I remembered. The race track. The restaurant. Don. The check. It was sitting on the dresser too, right next to the belt—$57,600!

  I opened the belt and checked the time. It was almost eleven. I’d have to hurry. Don would be arriving—no, I was Don now. Dan would be arriving in three hours.

  I showered and shaved, pulled on a shirt and pants and headed for the car. I wanted to go to the bank and deposit the check and I had to pick up a newspaper—

  Actually, I didn’t need the newspaper at all, I could remember which horses had won without it, but there was a headline on the front page of the Daily News: FIVE-HORSE PARLAY WINS $57,600!

  Huh—? I hadn’t seen that before. But then, Don hadn’t shown me the front page.

  The story was a skimpy one and they’d misspelled my name; mostly it was about how much I had bet on each horse and how it had snowballed. Then there were some quotes from various track officials saying how pleased they were to have such a big winner (I’ll bet!), because it helped publicize the sport (and probably attracted a lot of hopeful losers too.) Finally there was even a quote from me about what I was planning to do with the money: “I don’t know yet, I’m still too excited. Probably I’ll take a vacation. I’ve always wanted to see the world. I’d like to invest some of it too, but I have to wait and see what’s left after taxes.” Faked, of course. I hadn’t spoken to any reporters at all; but apparently some editor had felt the story wouldn’t be complete without a few words from the happy winner.

  I was both pleased and annoyed. Pleased at being a “celebrity.” Annoyed that they were putting words into my mouth. Maybe today we’d do it differently.

  Could we?

  Suppose we didn’t stop at $57,600—suppose we went after an eight-horse parlay. That would be worth almost $750,000! Hmm. I thought about it all during breakfast at the local coffee shop.

  Afterward I went to the bank and withdrew two hundred and fifty dollars from my savings account so we’d have some money for the track today. I couldn’t deposit the big check yet, because I needed it to show to Danny, my younger self, this afternoon.

  I got home with time to spare. I decided to change into some cooler clothes—then I remembered the sweater and slacks. What would happen if I wore something else instead?

  I went burrowing in the closet, found some lightweight trousers, a shirt, and a windbreaker. They would do just fine. Now, what else was there I had to take care of?

  Nothing that I could see. I scooped up the check and put it in my pocket; I didn’t want to leave it lying around. Dan would be arriving at—

  There was a soft pop! in the air.

  I turned to see a startled-looking me.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  His eyes were wide; he looked positively scared. “Relax, Dan” I said. He jumped when I spoke.

  For a moment, all he could do was stare. His face was a study in amazement. “You’re me—”

  I suddenly realized how silly this whole tableau was. I thrust the newspaper at him. “Here. I believe we were going to the races . . .?”

  “We?”

  That’s right—he didn’t know! “Well, it’s no fun going alone, is it?”

  “Uh—”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I’m you—I’m your future self. Tomorrow you’ll be me. That is, we’re the same person. We’ve just doubled back our timeline.”

  He blinked. “Oh.”

  He looked so confused, I wanted to touch him to reassure him, but I remembered how scared I had been. He’d probably jump right out of his skin. I smiled at him. “Okay, let’s do it this way. I’m your twin brother.” There was so much I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell him everything that Don had told me last night, but it wasn’t the right time yet. He was still looking at me too hesitantly. Instead I reached out and took his hand, shook it firmly. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Don. I’m your brother.” After a bit he returned my grip. I knew how scared he was—but I also knew how curious he was about to become.

  We bounced back in time to his “today.” (I snuck a peek in the closet when he wasn’t looking. There was only one sweater and slacks—of course, I hadn’t brought them back with me. But there were duplicates of the trousers, shirt, and windbreaker I was wearing now. So you could change the timestream . . . !)

  On the way out to the car, old lady Peterson surprised us—surprised Danny, I should say; I’d been expecting her. “This is my brother,” I said quickly. “Don,” I touched his arm. “This is Mrs. Peterson.” To her: “Don will be staying with me for a while, so if you think you’re seeing double, don’t be surprised.”

  She smiled at us. “I didn’t know you were twins—”

  “We’ve been—living separately,” I answered, remembering quickly how my Don had explained it. “So we could each have a chance to be our own person. Don’s been living up in San Francisco for the past two years.”

  “Oh,” she said. She beamed politely at Dan. “Well, I hope you’ll like it in Los Angeles, Don. There’s so much to do.”

  He went kind of frog-faced at that. He managed to stammer out, “Uh—yes. It’s very exciting.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I started giggling; when we got to the car I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I wish you could have seen your face—” I said. Then I realized. “Well, you will—tomorrow.” He was half glaring at me. “‘Uh—yes. It’s very exciting,’“ I mocked. “You looked as if you’d swallowed a frog.”

  He stopped in the act of unlocking the passenger-side car door. “Why didn’t you let me explain?” he asked. “She’s my neighbor.”

  “She’s my neighbor too,” I pointed out. “Besides, what would you have said? At least I’ve been through this once before.” I opened my door and got into the car. (I could see this twin business was going to take some getting used to. Already I was noticing the differences between the Dan of today and the Don of yesterday. Sure, it was only me—but I was beginning to realize that I would never be the same person twice in a row. And I would never be viewing myself through the same pair of eyes either. Dan seemed so—uncertain; it was if he was a little cowed by me. It showed in little things—his easy acquiescence of the fact that I would drive, for example. All I had done was point him at the passenger side of the car while I headed toward the driver’s side myself, but he had accepted that. Not without some resentment, of course; I could see him eying me as I unlatched the top, preparatory to putting it down.)

  “Put on a tape,” I said, pointing at the box of cassettes. I started to name one, then stopped. “Want me to tell you which one you’re going to choose?” I realized that was a mistake as soon as I’d said it.

  “Uh—no, thanks,” he muttered. He was frowning.

  I could have kicked myself. I had let myself get carried away with this wild sense of power. I hadn’t been considerate of Dan at all. Belatedly, I remembered how I had felt yesterday. Resentful, sullen, and most of all, cautious. Poor Dan—here he was, flush with excitement, filled with a feeling of omnipotence at the wondrous things he could do with his timeb
elt—and I had stolen it all from him. By my mere presence, my know-it-all attitude and cocksure arrogance, I was relegating him to second fiddle. Of course he wouldn’t like it.

  As he put on the tape of Petrouchka, I resolved to try and be more considerate. I should have realized how he would feel—no, that was wrong, I did know how he felt; I simply hadn’t paid it any mind.

  Thinking back, I remembered that as Dan, my arrogance had bothered me only at first—later, as I had gotten used to the idea of “Don,” I had begun to see the wisdom of following his lead. Or had that been my reaction to Don’s suddenly realized consideration of me?

  It didn’t matter. There was bound to be some confusion at first, on both sides. What counted would be what happened later on, over dinner. I remembered how good I had felt last night in Don’s presence and I looked forward to it again tonight. I would make it up to Dan. (The reservations—I hadn’t made them yet! No, wait a minute; it was all right. I could make the reservations any time. All I had to do was flash back a day or so; I could do it later. Boy, I could get used to this—)

  I found my way to the track easily enough; I’d been watching Don yesterday. Today Dan was watching me. Now, if I remembered correctly, there should be a parking place, right over . . . here. There was, and I pulled neatly into it.

  I bought a private box and had no trouble finding it. Dan was properly impressed with how well I knew my way around; actually, I was trying not to be so cocksure, but it wasn’t easy. He was such a perfect audience to my newly discovered self-confidence.

  After we’d gotten our drinks, I remembered how Don had pretended to study the newspaper yesterday and how funny I thought that had been. So I did the same thing. I frowned and muttered thoughtfully, and Danny giggled in appreciation. Maybe he was starting to warm up to me. “Yes . . . I think Absolam’s Ass looks pretty good in the first,” I announced. “Danny, go put a hundred dollars on Absolam’s Ass. To win.”

  He started fumbling in his pockets. I pulled out some bills from mine. “Here,” I said impulsively. “Make it two hundred.”

  He blinked and took the two hundred-dollar bills I was holding out. “You want to get rich?” I said. “You have to spend money to make money.”

  He went off to place the bet, leaving me to wonder what I had just done. Don had given me only one hundred dollars. I had given Dan twice as much. I had changed the past again!

  First the sweater and slacks, now the amount of the first bet, yet I remembered it happening the other way—

  Paradox? A pair of paradoxes? I finished my drink thoughtfully, then finished Danny’s.

  Absolam’s Ass paid off at three to one and we had six hundred dollars. I went and got two more drinks while Danny went to bet on Fig Leaf. I found myself wondering—if I could change the past so easily, maybe it wasn’t as fixed as I thought it was, maybe Fig Leaf wouldn’t win this time. But on the other hand, I hadn’t done anything that should have any effect on that, had I?

  Fig Leaf paid off at two to one. We now had twelve hundred dollars. I had another drink. Ginger ale. For some reason, this was getting scary.

  Calamity Jane came in on schedule too. We doubled our money again.

  The next race was the fun one. I’d forgotten about Harass bumping Tumbleweed. When Finders Keepers came in second, Dan looked at me in confusion. “Wait—” I grinned. After Harass was disqualified, we were worth nineteen thousand, two hundred dollars. I felt great. We could keep this up all afternoon and we would end up with $750,000—no, twice that; I had doubled our original bet. We’d take home a million and a half! “Go put it all on Big John,” I said. I must have been getting a little dizzy.

  Dan went off, but almost immediately, he was back. No—I stood up in surprise—this was Don. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Sit down,” he said. He looked grim.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He handed me a newspaper. It looked like today’s Daily News. I opened it up—

  The headline blared: IDENTICAL TWINS TAKE TRACK FOR $1,500,000! And in smaller type: Track Officials Promise Full Investigation.

  I looked at Don. Confused.

  He looked back. Angry. “Don’t be greedy,” he said. “Quit before it gets too big.”

  “I don’t understand—” I started to stammer.

  “I’ve come from the middle of next week,” he whispered. “Only in that future, we’re in trouble. Big trouble. We won too much money here at the track today, so I’ve come back to tell you not to win any more. They’re going to get suspi cious.”

  “How about one more bet?” I asked. “Michelangelo will make us worth a hundred and fifteen thousand, two hundred dollars.”

  He frowned. “Even that might be too much.” His eyes blazed; he gripped my arm. “Dan, listen to me—you don’t want publicity! None at all! Don’t let them take any pictures and don’t talk to reporters.” He looked at his watch. “Dan will be back any minute. I’ve got to go. Read the newspaper if you have any doubts—” Then he left. I watched him as he strode away, then I looked at the Daily News. The story was pretty ugly. I folded up the papers and shoved them under my seat just as Danny returned.

  He started to ask me something about the next race, but I cut him off. “Don’t worry about it. We’re leaving right after this. We’re through for the day.”

  “Huh—? Why?”

  I waited till after the horses broke from the gate. Sure enough, Big John broke first to take an early lead. I said, “Because in a few minutes we’re going to be worth fifty-seven thousand, six hundred dollars. Don’t you think that’s enough?”

  “But if we keep going,” he protested, “we can make a million and a half dollars on an eight-horse parlay.”

  I winced. I thought of the newspaper under my seat. “There are better ways to make a million and a half dollars,” I said. “Quieter ways. More discreet.”

  He didn’t answer. I waited till Big John crossed the finish line and paid off at three to one. I scooped up my newspapers and stood. “Come on,” I said. “You go get the money. I’ll wait for you at the car.”

  I think he wanted me to go with him, but I had to be alone for awhile. I had a lot to think about and I was suddenly in a very, very bad mood.

  Oh, it wasn’t the money—I’d already realized that if I could make fifty-seven thousand, six hundred dollars in one day at the races, I could easily turn that into more in the stock market. And there were other ways I could make a fortune too—

  It wasn’t the money. It was the implications of the visit from Don.

  This Don, the new one, the one who had given me the newspaper—where had he come from? The future obviously, but which future? His world was one that no longer existed—no, never would exist. We were leaving the races without taking the track for a million and a half dollars.

  I reached the car and got in on the passenger side. I didn’t feel like driving back. I started to toss the papers into the back seat, then stopped. I looked at them again. One had a small story on page one: FIVE-HORSE PARLAY WINS $57,600! The other: IDENTICAL TWINS TAKE TRACK FOR $1,500,000! A banner headline.

  Both newspapers were dated the same, yet they were from two different alternate worlds.

  The $57,600 world was mine; I knew the events in it because I had lived them. The $1,500,000 world was Don’s, but he had talked me out of the actions that would eventually produce his future.

  Where had that future gone? Where had that Don gone? Had they both ceased to exist?

  No. I still had the newspaper. That proved something.

  Or did it?

  I had the paper in my hands—it was real. But you couldn’t take it back—I mean, forward—to the future it came from because that future no longer existed. Shouldn’t the newspaper cease to exist too?

  The “Don” who had come back in time to talk me out of the actions that had produced the time he had come from—what had happened to him?

  Where was he now?

  If he stayed her
e—like the newspaper—he wouldn’t disappear. (Were there actually two of me now?) In fact, he couldn’t disappear, unless he could get back to his own future, except that future didn’t exist anymore, so he couldn’t do that.

  Now, wait a minute....

  If he bounced forward from now, where would he end up? His world’s future? Or this world’s future? If he went back to his world, he’d have to disappear with that world, wouldn’t he? Or would he? But if he disappeared, then he wouldn’t exist and couldn’t come back to warn me. So, he had to exist. Where was he? Unless—maybe his original world didn’t disappear at all. Maybe it just got left behind.

  So, where was Don?

  Was he waiting for me in tomorrow?

  If so, then he wouldn’t be my future self anymore. He’d be a different duplicate.

  No. The whole thing didn’t make sense. It didn’t seem logical that every time I went back and talked myself out of an action that I would create a duplicate of myself—

  But it seemed the only answer. Every time I changed the past, I was creating an alternate world—

  My head was starting to hurt.

  Now, wait a minute—I had already changed the past! I had worn different clothes and I had given Dan two hundred dollars to bet instead of one hundred. And the newspaper I had brought with me—

  The newspaper, of course! It had been staring at me all the time. FIVE-HORSE PARLAY WINS $57,600!

  But it wasn’t a five-horse parlay—not anymore! It was only a four-horse parlay! We hadn’t stayed to bet on Michelangelo. We’d doubled the first bet. It was only coincidence that we’d ended up with the same amount.

  But the important thing was: I had changed the past. Just as Don had come back in time to change his past, so I had done the same thing to my past, though not on so large a scale. I remembered my past differently—I remembered different clothes, a different bet, and a five-horse parlay. I remembered it the way it had happened to me—and then I had changed it.

  So where was my Don—the one I had gone to the races with? Where was he?

  The situation was exactly the same: I had changed the past and destroyed the future. So where was he?