Issue #92

Time and Time

by Guido Eekhaut

The probability of two people occupying the same physical space at the same time is unimaginably small, but it has happened, with lamentably disastrous consequences. It must be a natural phenomenon, because no human could conceive of such a thing, and anyway, there is no natural law that prohibits this from happening. Just as there is no natural law that prevents time travel to the past, or physical travel faster than light.

A scientific committee has currently been established to investigate the phenomenon. It is not a large committee, not at all, because the entire phenomenon is taken seriously by very few—and not even by most members of that committee. They only do what they are paid for, and without much enthusiasm, because there have only been four known cases in this country in the past ten years. Yes, there have been witnesses, as well the remains of the bodies concerned by the way of physical evidence. All quite gruesome enough, and mysterious.

Naturally, various alternative theories are circulating in the scientific world and beyond that. Too many theories, actually, none of them worth our time. The evidence is not at all conclusive. The condition in which the body parts ended up could have been the result of, for example, a bombing. A terrorist activity. A suicide even. However, we know that there was no bomb involved, no form of terrorism, none of that. So we should best refer those theories to the realm of fantasy. The whole affair is complicated yet simple at the same time. The unlikely is not impossible, just like in the case of time travel.

Yes, some have already made that connection: a time traveler appearing right at the spot where another person is already present. It has, at the heart of the committee, been promoted to the most likely theory, however fantastic it may be. I personally try not to have an opinion. I am not a member of the committee due to my lack of an academic connection. So I move in a ridiculous vacuum, that of the gifted amateur. And as such, no serious newspaper speaks to me. Why would they? The phenomenon is, as far as they are concerned, a non-event. Four strange incidents over a period of ten years? Not worth the ink.

Still, people are aware of my interest in the subject. In the pub, an old man approaches me. Definitely the type: hasn't seen a barber in years, hasn't taken a shower in the past month, and found the clothes on the street. "You have to go to Russia for that," he whispers to me. "More precisely, Moscow. Or to Lyon, in France. It happens there more often than here, but they keep it quiet. In Cape Town too. Much more often than here. But they keep it quiet."

I have no idea what he's talking about. I don't read Russian or French, but I am willing to peruse Cape Town newspapers. The news is there, not on the front pages, of course, where all the violence is mentioned, but somewhere in the back, written by the least aspiring journalist on duty. Seventeen strange incidents in two years' time. Before that: nothing. Dismissed as a bizarre form of execution, but the editors strangely seem inclined to keep it separate from the other violence.

One of the committee members confides in me: "Who are we in space and time? Why are we in space and time? Why does our consciousness not exist outside of space and time?"

These are questions to which I obviously don't know the answers, and which probably won't make him popular with the other members of the committee. What he says even sounds nonsensical to me, but he is a scientist and I am not. We must preserve our trust in science at all costs, I assume, otherwise we will become barbarians again. We cannot behave like those who believe in just any weird phenomenon: Christ, flying saucers, a flat earth, Bermuda, Lizard Overlords.

The man's questions, however, do not reassure me: these scientists are confronted with riddles that they themselves do not understand.

I return to my apartment and reread some stories by J. L. Borges. Did he have answers? No, but at least he wasn't afraid of the cosmic darkness. Not like that strange, eccentric H. P. Lovecraft. We all know who the better writer is.

 

Urgently doing groceries. Bread, cheese, wine, coffee, milk, and sugar. What does a normal person need besides the basic necessities? Therefore, we prefer to believe in a one-dimensional world, without the speed of light or time travel. Books—we need those, too. I do. But a simple question then: Why is the sea salty? Only after this question has been adequately answered will we move on to the difficult questions. Only then can I pretend to be a philosopher.

Calling yourself a philosopher is not against the law. It is not a regulated profession, like doctor or accountant. It is not even a profession. It is a title, and often misused. At a certain point, I called myself a cultural philosopher because I had written a book about certain historical cultural practices in China. I haven't studied philosophy or anything about China, but I know how to do research. It is not a profession. Any random jerk at the bar is referred to as a philosopher. This shows just how bad our civilization is doing. Time for us to leave the stage.

 

A man on the bus is reading a book by that same J. L. Borges, in Spanish, with great attention. Somewhere, two worlds fold together, but the both of us—the man and I—remain separated from each other. Best this way, because I don't want to end up as a bloody heap of human remains.

He reads, and then looks up, in my direction. Then he looks away again. The book is old and well-read. That's how it should be. One should constantly reread Borges.

The man from the committee comes to visit me again. I make coffee for him. "We might have a breakthrough," he says. A breakthrough—it's no small thing. Why is he coming to me with this? Is he not married or is he not allowed to tell his wife?

A breakthrough.

Two universes intersect at a single identical physical point, it happens more often, but sometimes there is already one person present at that same unique point, one person in each of those universes. And Boom! A cosmic mistake that, although it does not lead to the total destruction of both universes, does result in dead mortals.

Remarkable—what those scientists come up with. The breakthrough is clearly nothing more than a hypothesis, a rephrasing of what we already know, something which cannot even be confirmed through observations and experiments, and therefore has little scientific value. So here we are. But the man looks satisfied: they at least have something to explain to the public at large.

Further examination of the remains of the victims makes it clear that only one of them can be identified. The other remains a complete unknown. This seems to confirm the hypothesis: only one of them originates from our universe.

This immediately raises many new questions. If, by chance and through a cosmic accident, a body from a parallel universe ends up here, do people from here also disappear there? This could possibly explain many currently unexplained disappearances.

Another question arises: Are there still circumstances under which bodies—and other objects—can travel from one universe to another? And if so, could there be a parallel civilization that can harness and utilize this phenomenon?

In other words—do we have visitors?

 

I wonder if there are alternative versions of myself out there somewhere, and what they are doing. What does their life look like? Do they have the same intentions as I do? Do they love other people? These are the questions that the scholars of the committee need to answer for me. Everything else is philosophical speculation and therefore, as far as I'm concerned, of secondary importance.

I even wonder if the most fundamental matter of those other universes is the same as ours. This is not insignificant. Suppose our universe collides with an anti-matter universe. Then there would be many more victims than that one unfortunate individual. Both universes would be destroyed in one instant. Kaboom, but on a universal scale.

A group of girls—fourteen or fifteen years old—are sitting on the raised sidewalk near the school. What do they know about anti-matter and the possible destruction of the universe? Does a new universe emerge from that destruction, just as perhaps ours did? And why do those things actually exist, universes? Why is there something rather than nothing? Because if nothing existed, we wouldn't be here to ask that question. Just think about how you would explain that to those girls.

Look how smoothly I solved one of the most pressing philosophical questions.

 

The man on the bus is still reading Borges. His adventure is endless, like the Library of Babel or the garden with the diverging paths. The end of the universe will pass by so suddenly that we won't even notice it. One moment we exist, the next moment there is nothing. It is not even death. It is non-existence, like before your birth.

This time, the man does not look up. The book holds his attention. When he gets out, I for a moment consider following him, but I don't. Mystery and distance, that's what I need. I don't need people in my life.

All the research and the work of the committee are hindered by the lack of new incidents. As far as everyone knows, and at least as far as this country is concerned, there have been no cases of exploding bodies in recent years. And as far as I can tell, the newspapers in Cape Town do not mention recent cases either. I don't know how things work out for Russia or France. Perhaps a highly developed civilization has managed to put an end to the entire phenomenon, but finds it unnecessary to inform the other civilizations about it.

 

Strangely enough, I have stored my Borges books along with those on cosmology and consciousness. I refuse to believe that this happened intentionally. Are my actions guided by my alter egos from another universes? Do they also read Borges? Do they want to send me a message? Are they also endowed with consciousness?