Time Flies Like Knives

by Rosie Sedgwick

I was starting to panic; due in the room in fifteen minutes, all my stuff prepped. Students would be gathering, expectantly. My credibility would be shot if I arrived unprepared.  Finding Nedley was my best chance – assuming what I’d read about him was true.

I ran up and down stairs. The building was a maze. I couldn’t remember if he was due to be teaching – and if so, where. A flash of inspiration – the broken bench in the carpark. Nedley liked that place. It was so awful he could be alone. There he was, but not sitting on the bench. Standing beside it, absurdly tall, gesturing wildly, a fat cigar in his mouth. I could see the glowing end of it and a thread of smoke drifting up.

“Nedley!"

He took the cigar out of his mouth and stuffed it hastily in his jacket pocket. I worried about the lining. “Badger? Is that you?”

“Yes. I need your help. I didn’t know you smoked.”

He looked a little embarrassed – which I’d never seen before.

“I don’t.”

I pointed to his pocket, expecting any moment to see it alight.

“Ah. This.” He rifled around and brought out the cigar. “It’s a fake. A prop.”

“Why?”

Again he looked embarrassed. He stared into the distance, which was the far side of the car park and the bins. Eventually he said “I’m practising.”

“Practising? For what?”

“I’ve just signed up for a slot on the Comedy Stage they’re doing tonight. The Open Mike Session.”

“What? Wow. I mean, I didn’t know you were thinking of becoming a comedian.”

“I don’t know if I am. Just giving it a try.”

“Ok, well good luck, but I need your help.”

He stuck the cigar back in his mouth, but the wrong way round and had to adjust it. “You look awfully…agitated.”

“I am. Tell me, is it true what I’ve been reading?”

“How can I possibly answer that?”

“About you and Time Travel?”

He grinned. “When do you think you are going to read that?”

“Haha. Seriously.”

He looked conspiratorially around the carpark, then leaned close and whispered “I’ve done some experiments.”

“And…?”

“Then I did some more experiments because those ones didn’t work.”

“And did they work?”

He made a seesaw gesture with the hand now holding the cigar.

“What does that mean?”

He lowered his voice even further. “I’ve had a bit of success. Only backwards though. I wanted forwards really. On account of getting the odd sports result early, you know the sort of thing.”

“But you have done backwards?”

“Yes. A bit. I decided anyway that forwards was more challenging. I mean if I did have some cracking wins, really big ones, people would start asking questions and it would all get ugly. So I stuck with backwards. But I still want it a secret. How did you know?”

“I saw a comment on the group.”

“What? I hope nobody has spilled the stuff.”

“Not really. It was along the lines of being glad to see you again and then again and again in different outfits in five minutes. I remembered what you’d said years ago about time travel and I thought ‘aha’.”

“You thought ‘aha’?”

“Yes.”

“Was that it? Weren’t you impressed? I mean, just a bit?”

“Of course I was impressed. But look, I need your help. Time’s running out.”

“Not for me, Badger” he chuckled triumphantly.

“Will you help?”

“Ok seriously. What’s the problem?”

“I’m supposed to be teaching in G6 in a few minutes—”

“That’s your problem? It’s a nice room.”

“I overslept. I haven’t had time to prep.”

He tucked the cigar back between his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Heyyyyy. Impressed. It’s…” he consulted one of three watches on his wrist “half past three. That’s some lie-in mate. Neat.”

“I had a nap. I’ve been worrying about this for ages. First chance to teach here, could be career changing etcetera etcetera. So I hadn’t been sleeping well. I was really tired so I took a nap. But I ended up sleeping for nearly three hours.”

“Wooooo. So, what, now you want me to take you back in time so you’ve got time to prep?”

I nodded, but then a fear washed over me. “Except, if you take me back, will I just be asleep like I was then?”

“Nah.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think so.” He gestured wildly with both arms. “I mean my research hasn’t been that extensive…yet. But so far I haven’t just rewound to what I was doing before. I mean that would be pretty pointless wouldn’t it?” He stopped, mid gesture, thought, then continued “Unless you had been in bed with some really amazing person, and had a really amazing time, and just wanted to keep doing it over and over again…” He seemed lost in thought and gazed unseeing at the bins again.

“Nedley! I need to go back and do my prep…my whole career might depend on getting this right.”

He jolted back to the car park. “Ok then.”

I was rather surprised at his sudden acquiescence. “So…how do we do this? How far back can I go?”

“Up to 37 minutes. Roughly. That’s what I think so far”

“Oh? 37 minutes? Why not an hour? Or two hours?”

Nedley gazed at the sky for a moment, allowing the slight breeze to enhance his profile by fluttering his hair a bit. “The universe is not interested in mankind’s quirky units of time. The universe does what the universe does.”

“Ok well 37 minutes might be enough for me to fetch my stuff and get it set up. Can we do this?”

“Yes. We can” He held a hand up “But…first I have a mission to do. I came out here to think and plan. Now, I have a plan. So I have to do it.” He smiled beneficently at me.

“How long is it going to take?” I was getting desperate now.

He pressed a strong, calming hand on my arm. “Now that you know, you should realise that question is…irrelevant.” He put the cigar in his mouth again. That irritated me, along with his relaxed attitude to my predicament.

“What’s with the bloody cigar anyway?”

“I told you.”

“You said you’d signed up for the Comedy Stage. That doesn’t explain the cigar.”

“Ah well you see, I decided to try doing impressions. I’m working on Groucho Marx.” He adopted a strange pose and said in a nasal tone “Marriage is a great institution. But who wants to live in an institution?” Then he looked at me for a response.

“It’s not your strongest.”

“I haven’t shown you any others.”

“It doesn’t matter. It won’t be your strongest. And Marx was American.”

“I keep forgetting that. I know it needs work but I just keep popping back 37 minutes and putting in some more training you see.”

I tugged his sleeve. I actually tugged his sleeve. “Nedley, I need to go back 37 minutes.”

“OK. I said OK, didn’t I?”

“Well?”

“As you can see, my set needs a bit more work. Let me have one more round through the cycle and then I’ll do you.”

“How’s that going to work?” I tapped my watch. I just had one.

“Like this; I’ll go round again, but as far as you can tell I’ll be back here in a jiffy, just 37 minutes better at Groucho Marx.” He slapped my shoulder confidently. “Wait here on this bench.”

He put the cigar away and pulled out a small metal box from another pocket.

“Watch this.” He lifted the hinged lid. Inside was a small sewing kit; two needles, threads in various colours and a button. I was about to speak when he lifted that out, handed it to me and then I saw the strange mechanism beneath. It looked like a complicated system of cogs but when Nedley pressed a small lever and things began to turn, they all looked like spirals, winding back into themselves. They turned faster and faster and then Nedley began to smudge, and eventually just fizzled away in front of me. I stood in the car park, staring at the space where he had been, and now I had a good view of the bins too. The scene matched my mood. I regretted having depended on him. I should have run to the main car park, far away on the other side of the rambling building, got some stuff from my car, run to G6 and winged it. I could do without the technical back up. I could do without having put the handouts on the desks, without getting the slides organised. No. I couldn’t. Whatever way you look at it my slot had been billed so that everyone would expect the works. I checked my watch; due in G6 in eight minutes. I was just considering whether to resign here and now, and run away to sea, or the circus, or whatever is the current “out”, when Nedley strolled into the old carpark, cigar in his mouth.

“Hey there Badger!”

“Oh thank god, Nedley. You had me so worried there”

“What? Why? I didn’t even know you were coming to the conference. Were you expecting me?”

“Of course. I’ve been waiting here for you, as you said.”

He hunkered down and stared into my eyes. “What?”

“Did your practice go well?”

“Practice?”

“Groucho Marx.”

“How did you know about that?” He stuffed the cigar into a pocket and grabbed my arm, pulling me close to some bushes. “Has word got out? It’s meant to be a secret.”

Now I was unravelling. “You told me about it. Just now.”

“Did I?”

“Yes! You did. And you promised to help me. How come you don’t remember?”

He shrugged.

“Does time travel fry your synapses or something?”

He looked alarmed. “How come you know about that too? This is incredible. Or really bad. I’m not sure which yet.”

“We talked about it. Here. A few minutes ago—or 37 minutes ago for you.”

Again he winced, at me knowing that detail. “You seem to know all about me.”

“I heard you’d been trying out some ideas about time travel. I worked it out from something on the group chat. And I came to ask your help.”

“Of course old chap. Of course. What was I going to do?”

“You were going to take me back in time so I could prep for my potentially career changing teaching session in G6. Which starts …” I checked again “in three minutes.”

“You’re teaching in G6 in three minutes? What are you doing here then? And why haven’t you prepped? Badger, you need to get a grip.”

“I’m trying to. How come you don’t remember all this? You can see I’m telling the truth because of what I know. You told me it. But now you’ve forgotten. How come?”

“It’s a very new field. It’s in its infancy.”

“It’s not alone.” I muttered to myself.

“What was that? Yes I’m still working on it.” He took the tin box out of his pocket again and flicked open the lid. “I have noticed a few…quirks.” He peered closely at the mechanism and took out a can of WD40 from an inside pocket. “A few drops…” he murmured, his nose almost against the spiral cogs. Then he gave it a gentle shake. “Should be fine now. Sometimes instead of going round in a neat loop it seems to kind of get tangled round its own backside, and then bits can get missed out.” He stared at the bins again. “Or possibly you met another iteration of me.”

“Another what?”

“Another iteration.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Yes that’s clear. It’s like this: Every time I go back 37 minutes, that leaves another one of me wandering about. I’ve done it quite a few times now—Groucho is quite tricky—so there could be loads. Who haven’t met you yet.”

“But we’ve known each other for years.”

“Yes but there a lots of mes knocking about who haven’t talked with you here, at this conference.”

“Is that ...dangerous?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t think I’m dangerous.”

“I meant dangerous to the space-time continuum.”

“Oh that. Again, not sure but I’ve seen myself around a few times and we’re all still here so…”

“Well I suppose that’s a relief…But why the WD40?”

“No idea why but it seems to be the answer to most problems. Either that or Duck Tape. We can have a go though. I’ll just wait for the lube to work through all the cogs, and while we’re doing that, you know I’m doing a set on the Comedy Stage later, do you want to see my Groucho Marx?”

I could feel my future reorganizing itself. I shrugged. “If you like.”

Nedley adopted a stiff pose, stuck the cigar in his mouth and said, in a nasal New York accent “I don’t care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members.”

He looked at me expectantly.

“Keep practising.” I said, “and you’ll need a mustache.”

“I think we’re good to go.”

“And glasses. How do we do this? Do you give me the box?”

Nedley hugged it to himself. “This is the only one there is. No, I’m not letting go of it. What if something happened?”

I felt like that ship had sailed. “So how do we do this?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never taken anyone else back before.”

A thought occurred to me. “Once we go back 37 minutes, could we use it again and go back another 37 minutes?”

Nedley stared at me wide-eyed. “You’re an absolute demon, you know that? Lets do it.”

“Do we both hold it then?”

“I suppose so.”

He held out the box, tightly gripped. I put my hand over it, ensuring that my fingers were touching the metal. Nedley pressed the tiny lever and things began to fuzzle. As they cleared we were standing in the car park, by the broken bench. I shook myself and looked at my watch. I had nearly forty minutes til I was due in G6. Just long enough to rush through the prep, but suddenly I didn’t want to use this incredible experience up with admin. “Lets do it again” I said to Nedley, who had a kind of wild look in his eyes. We locked gazes and held the tin and he pressed the lever again.

“Here we go.”

Again we fuzzled and then came back into the same car park.

“Now we have time to explore a bit.” I said to him in excitement.

He looked a bit puzzled. “But you’ve already been here. Why do you want to explore? Nothing’s changed in 74 minutes.”

“So? Why did you want to do it?”

“To see if I could. 37 minutes is just the start. If I could go back 37 years it would definitely be worth exploring.”

“Humour me.” I said and set off towards the main building. At least I won’t meet myself as I’m fast asleep right now.

I walked around the corridors, strutted confidently into the canteen, and looked about me with a new swagger. After a few minutes of this I began to get bored; everything was perfectly normal and, as far as the world was concerned, so was I. The canteen clock showed I still had three quarters of an hour to get set up in G6. I walked briskly to my car, collected my stuff and, in G6, laid a handout on every desk, plugged in the projector, assembled my slides, checked my notes and ensured everything was shipshape. A good feeling. Shortly before the start time the delegates began to file in. I could tell they were impressed that I had prepared handouts – they nodded approvingly to each other. I basked. Bang on the start time I launched into my presentation, clicking calmly through slides. But about ten minutes in the door in the corner banged open. A dishevelled man ran in. Notes, boxes of slides, sheaves of handouts spilled all over the stage. I heard him apologising frantically, gathering things up as best he could, but the papers would not cooperate and respread across the floor. The delegates began to chuckle. Murmurs of conversation began to spread as the poor man struggled.

“Is that Dr Badgerton?”

“Which one?”

“Has he got a brother?”

“What’s going on? Who is that guy?”

“He needs help.”

I felt eyes on me, expecting me to act. “Can someone call security?” was all I could think of saying. What would happen if I went to help him—me? For all I knew the whole of the space-time continuum—whatever that was—would implode.

The door banged open for a second time and through it ran an enormously tall, gangly man, wearing a false mustache and carrying a cigar. A pair of absurd glasses leaned at a rakish angle.

“Gotcha!” he cried, launching himself at the man struggling with papers. He threw himself upon the poor chap, bringing him to the floor. I heard him mutter in the man’s ear “Don’t do this. He’s got this—you’ve got this. Come with me and let him—you—be.”

With a kafuffle of men and bits of paper the two of them disappeared out of G6. I stood immobile at the lectern, looking out at the sea of faces in front of me. They looked stunned and confused. Then one said,

“Groucho Marx? Hahahaahahaaaa!”

Another appealed directly to me. “Did you set that up? Bloody brilliant.”

Quickly the murmurs melded together into hilarity and approval. I heard a delegate shout “you should have a go on the Comedy Stage!” and there was a round of applause.

Eventually the furore died down, and I was able to finish my presentation:

Analysis of fluid dynamics after installation of propeller vs straflo turbines.

The audience loved it.