5

It was a warm day and from the looks of things it must have also been the weekend. Kids were playing in the small front yards while the parents were planting flowers or washing their cars. It had to be a Sunday afternoon because in 1946 the six day work week was still popular and it stands to reason people who work ten hours a day, six days a week in an large, stuffy enclosed place would take every opportunity to be outside when the weather was nice.

A few people noticed me as I walk by their houses on the crowded streets. Most were too absorbed in their chores or games to pay me much attention. The re-positioning had left me clean with appropriate clothing for the time period. I didn’t look like a bum on his last legs. As far as the people knew, I could be someone from another textile village visiting friends or relatives and taking a stroll right after a big Sunday dinner. And in a sense, that was exactly was I doing.

The street I was on ended when it ran into another street. I looked both ways and decided to follow what sounded like a crowd of people cheering at a ball game. Sure enough, a couple of blocks down the street I arrived at a wooden structure, a grandstand that wasn’t very grand. There was no charge for entering the stadium. I walked in and spotted a small, open-air, almost empty stand of seats beside right field. I decided to sit there to enjoy more of the nice, warm sunshine.

Textile mills in this era supported baseball teams, made up mostly of their own employees, but also made up of friends and relatives of the employees. These teams would constitute a league of nearby textile mills and play each other on Sunday afternoons. Some really good players came from these leagues and some actually made it to the minors and a few even, to the big time.

I met Loma in the stands where I sat. She was in her eighties and had been retired from the local mill for twelve years. Her grandson was playing on one of the teams.

“How old is he?” I asked.

“Eighteen. He’ll be graduating high school in a month.”

“What’s he thinking of doing after he graduates?”

“Working in the mill, of course. Not a whole lot of options.”

“Can I give you a tip?” She gave me a stern, grandmotherly gaze. She was probably thinking who does this stranger think he is, giving me unsolicited advice.

But to my surprise she said, “You know, I’m so tired of all my children and grandchildren working at the mill, I’m even willing to listen to the advice of a stranger.”

“Tell him to think about joining the Army Air Force. I’ve heard rumors it plans to be its own service independent of the Army. Exciting times ahead and your grandson has a chance to be part of something new. The Air Force is sure to have great training programs, so he’ll be able to find a good job when he gets out.”

Loma laughed, “That’s darn good advice. Where do you come from, by the way? I haven’t seen you around the village before.”

“Not to go into too great detail, I’m sort of a talent scout. My job is to assess, reassess, and then recommend. I can’t really say much more than that.”

I stood up, “It’s been nice talking to you, Loma. Whatever decision your grandson makes, I’m sure it will be a good one.”

Loma asked, “How can you be sure?”

I winked. “He passed the initial assessment.”

I then proceeded to take a look at other parts of the village.

In what passed for a downtown area, there was one large general merchandise store. Food, clothes, and other necessities of life were sold there, and no, the villagers never sold their soul to the company store. The store couldn’t afford to buy them.

Where and when did the world, the cosmos, begin? When did non-thought become thought?; non-being become being?; non-reality become reality? Is it possible for isn’t to become is? The answer is it must be because we’re here, aren’t we?

Proponents of the Big Bang Theory postulate that it all began with an incredible explosion and the explosion happened some thirteen or fourteen billion years ago. If that’s true, and it could be, then as we move away from where the explosion occurred, shouldn’t light from the explosion be continually hitting us? Have we become so used to that light, that we can no longer see it? Is a greater light necessary so that we can now see the light again?

It was Sunday and the General Store was closed. I was a bit hungry so I went back to the ballfield where the second game of a doubleheader had just started. The concession sold hot dogs. I bought three and went back to the seat where I had been before. Loma was gone and in her place were two men. Sartorially, they were better equipped than most of the spectators, so I speculated they were management types making an appearance among the proletariat. Slumming so to speak. They didn’t notice me as I took a seat behind them. I was close enough to overhear their conversation.

“Corporate is talking about moving operations overseas.”

“Yea, cheap labor. But what will that do to our employees? This is not just a livelihood. It’s a way of life. They don’t have farms to fall back on.”

“It’s a numbers game.”

“Well, something else will need to come along. There’ll be large, vacant and cavernous buildings where thriving factories once hummed.”

The men then left. They had made their appearance. They still had time to get nine holes in before it got dark.

It had begun to drizzle, not hard enough to stop the game but hard enough to be irritating. I went over to the grandstand which had a roof and got a seat on the top row. That way I could lean my back against the wall and I could also look at the people sitting below me. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. The only sad note was a couple of ex-servicemen who had been injured in the war. One had a patch over one eye and the other one was missing an arm.

It’s a shame that World War I was called the war to end all wars. As it turned out, it was more of a beginning for more terrible wars to come. One thing did end though: the desire to call any war the war to end all wars.

I stayed until the end of the game which I would like to say ended with a walk-off homer. But I can’t. The home team lost by six runs. Nobody seemed much concerned though. Losing a ballgame on a free Sunday afternoon is always better than working a ten-hour shift in a ninety-degree factory.

The drizzle had been short-lived. The sun was peeking through the clouds. The sunset would have a purplish, reddish hue.

Having no place to stay I walked the whole night through. In a new town (not a mill village) I spotted a diner and went in for breakfast. Coffee and eggs were what the doctor ordered. My next contact was over a hundred miles away, not far from the coast. That would mean three days and nights of walking. I didn’t mind because I needed time to think and walking always helped me do so.

The second day I found myself in a swampy area. I think I was also near a lake of considerable size. Late morning, I came upon a bait and tackle shop. I bought a cheap fishing pole, some worms, a pimento cheese sandwich, and a bottle of water. Oh, yea, I had to buy a fishing license. Might never use it more than once but I figured it was worth it just to be in 1946 America on a lazy afternoon fishing for brim. I’m not much of a fisherman but I did manage to catch a few. I went back to the bait and tackle store where I bought a small, portable frying pan with a built-in spatula. The nice owner of the store gave me a discount when I donated the fishing pole back to the store. I went about  a mile or so from the store, found a good spot to build a fire and cooked the fish (which I de-scaled and gutted with my handy Swiss Army knife). I also made some corn bread with mix I bought at the store. Turned out to be an excellent meal.

I spent the night in a middle of a swamp. Frogs were croaking and various birds were singing both on and off key. A mist rose from the swamp waters and cypress hung off the trees. There were probably a variety of snakes and a few alligators lurking in the shadows.  As you should know by now, none of that was a danger to me, thanks to an aura that surrounded me manufactured using 30th century (or beyond; they were never really clear what time period I had been in when I was first re-integrated) technology.

The tops of the trees pretty much obscured the night sky so there was no sky watching that night. I was hoping for some good views when I got close to the ocean.

By necessity and by assignment I travel alone. Because of the circumstances of time travel, and the potential negative effects I could have on the time-line, I find it prudent to spend very short periods of time with the people I meet and interact with. The last thing I want to do is to establish any sort of emotional bond. Emotions can cloud judgment which can lead to bad decisions. Keep the eye on the prize, so to speak. In the long run, the people will appreciate what I have done, even if we never meet again. That’s the only reward I’m looking for.

Also, because I’m on assignment and because I’m working within some pretty tight parameters, I don’t have time to get lonely. And because it’s possible that when I wake up from a night’s sleep, I might find myself in a different time period I never get bored. This job suits me quite well. But that makes sense since I was chosen to do the job based on the same qualities that I possess. A perfect circle.

Another ability I have is that I don’t have to eat to keep my energy levels up. Of course, like most all humans, I enjoy eating so I don’t usually pass up the opportunity when it comes along. This particular morning no opportunity to eat emerged, so I spent the day just walking in a southeasterly direction. During the course of the day I was rained on twice, neither downfall amounting to much. By twilight, I was nice and dry.

The part of the country I was now in was very flat but not like the Great Plains where you can see unencumbered for miles and miles. Here there were many trees and waterways and the waterways did not always include bridges when you needed one. Wading across streams was sometimes necessary. I was going the way of the crow flies. Only I wasn’t flying. That’s one ability I most certainly did not have.

I struck up a conversation with a farmer. It was planting season and he was telling me it had been a warm, wet winter. The moisture in the soil had been restored after a drought in late summer. Now if the rain would just stop, he could begin plowing the fields. I wished him luck and asked directions to the nearest town.