The Time Traveler

The Awakening

The next two days dragged.

Not daring to leave the house, Connie and I shared the stylus. While one read for a time, the other watched television, fiddled on our laptops, scanned the newspaper, read a book.

Then, at last, the waiting was over. I woke up in the secret room at seven a.m., the first of May. Connie was standing at the tomb. Her hand caressed its gray crevices.

I came over and stood next to her.

Looking over at me, she said, "We have time. It opens at eleven. Let's have breakfast."

We went upstairs and Connie fixed us scrambled eggs and toast while I brewed a pot of coffee. We ate in the kitchen in silence, without appetite. After cleaning up, we sat at the table a while longer feeling the seconds tick by. It was only ten by the time we ventured back downstairs. Both of us were beyond doing anything except stare at the tomb and wait.

At long last, my watch read 11:00. Then, it happened. A thin line slowly etched its way across the craggy top one-third of the tomb and formed a lid. Then the lid slowly began to lift, and Connie and I stepped forward for a better look into the tomb. When the lid was half way up, we saw that a thick, purplish gel held a long, dark figure – the time traveler! I could hardly breathe now and, when I looked at Connie, she was likewise transfixed.

When the lid was fully up, a dim, purplish glow emanated from the gel, but the time traveler remained still as a statue.

"What should we do?" Connie whispered.

I shrugged. Then, the gel started to churn and I soon realized that the time traveler was pushing himself up and out of it. When he finally pushed through, Connie and I yelped for joy.

The time traveler sat unmoving for a time in the tomb, staring forward. Finally, he turned to us, his eyes narrow, the gel dripping off him in thick, oily droplets, and I suddenly grew afraid. But then, his expression softened and he turned to us and smiled, perhaps having realized that he had awakened from his long sleep. He began to shiver and Connie stepped forward and wrapped a blanket from my cot around his shoulders.

"I am Constance, Kosta's daughter, the girl with whom you spoke in your sleep," she said. She turned to me and added, "And this is Damian, Kosta's son." The time traveler slowly turned to me and nodded and I nodded in return. Then, Connie asked, "What can we do to help you?"

Still sitting in the purplish gel with the blanket draped around his shoulders, the time traveler stretched open his mouth, yawned, then slowly rolled his head around his neck. In an odd, unfamiliar accent, he said, "You can help me out of this."

We lifted him up and over the top of the tomb, and then held onto him as he stood unsteadily on the cold, rough floor. Oddly, the gel hadn't left him wet upon his exit from the tomb. Seeming to have steadied himself after several moments, he said, "I'm ready. Let's go." I saw then that underneath the blanket, he wore only white briefs.

Still holding him, we began a slow hike upstairs. In the kitchen, he winced in the harsh gray light. It was eleven thirty, but the clouds were leaden and a cold drizzle was falling.

"Please, can you fix me something to eat?" he asked as Connie and I helped him sit at the kitchen table. He smiled and added, "After seventy-three years, I'm starving."

Within ten minutes, Connie had a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast before him at the kitchen table. I had brewed another pot of coffee and put a steaming cup before him. We sat at the table and watched him devour the meal. Having finished, he slapped his belly and thanked us. Then, he frowned and said, "Now, tell me about this age."

Connie gave me a nod, signaling that I should do the talking. After a sigh, I began, "It's the best of times, and worst of times," then launched into a ten minute narrative of the many changes in the world since 1931.