Time Travelers Never Die Part 29

"An essay? Mr. Shelborne, I don't want to disappoint you, but I haven't written anything for twelve or thirteen years. Why would you come to me?"

"Trust me, Charles. May I call you Charles Charles?"

"Of course."

"All right, Charles." Shel glanced over at David as he said it. He'd toyed with the idea of trying Charlie Charlie. "Perhaps you know my father, Michael? He has always been quite enthusiastic about your work."

"Michael Shelborne?" Lamb considered it. Shook his head. "I don't know the gentleman."

"Let me show you a picture." Shel produced the usual photo.

Lamb reacted much as Aristarchus had. But no, he had no recollection of the man.

"In any case," said Shel, trying not to show his frustration, "we've looked at your Tales of Shakespeare Tales of Shakespeare. And at the Works of Charles Lamb Works of Charles Lamb."

"And you liked them?"

"Of course. We'd like you to write essays for us. On a regular basis."

"Are you serious, sir?"

"Of course I am."

"If I may ask, I'm not familiar with your name. Will you be the editor?"

"I'm financing the project. Behind the scenes, you understand. My name won't appear anywhere." Shel told him who the editor would be.

"I see." Lamb grew thoughtful. A suspicious look pa.s.sed between him and Mary.

"Listen," said Shel. "I'd be doubtful, too. But what have you to lose? All I ask is that you send us an essay. Find out whether I'm serious."

Everybody's mood lightened. Shel asked whether he and David might take the Lambs out for dinner. "To celebrate."

"I'd like to, very much," he said. "But we have friends coming this evening."

Mary looked at Shel. "Perhaps," she said, "if it's convenient, Mr. Shelborne and his a.s.sociate might like to join us next week."

"We'd be delighted," said Dave.

Lamb smiled. "Sam will be here Wednesday. He would enjoy meeting you."

SAM turned out to be Charles's longtime friend Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He was something of a comedian, a quality Shel would never have guessed from his written work. Not that he'd read much of it. He had a hearty laugh and he commented that Shel's interest in Charles demonstrated his impeccable taste. "The truth is," he said, "I've been trying for years to persuade him to move in my direction, to switch over to poetry, where the big money is." turned out to be Charles's longtime friend Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He was something of a comedian, a quality Shel would never have guessed from his written work. Not that he'd read much of it. He had a hearty laugh and he commented that Shel's interest in Charles demonstrated his impeccable taste. "The truth is," he said, "I've been trying for years to persuade him to move in my direction, to switch over to poetry, where the big money is."

That brought a hearty laugh. And Lamb corrected him: "Romantic poetry." Even Mary thought that was funny. poetry." Even Mary thought that was funny.

"With Byron and Sh.e.l.ley running loose out there," said Coleridge, "G.o.d knows we need all the help we can get. By the way, has anyone here read Frankenstein Frankenstein?"

"I have," said Mary.

"What did you think?"

"I saw some resemblances to 'The Ancient Mariner.' In fact, I'm not sure it wasn't an homage to you."

"Really?"

"Do you know know Mary Sh.e.l.ley?" asked Dave. Mary Sh.e.l.ley?" asked Dave.

"Oh, yes." Coleridge lit up. "She's a talented young woman." He glanced at Lamb for confirmation.

"Haven't read it," he said. "But yes, she is."

Coleridge admitted the book was occasionally slow going. "She could have picked up the pacing a bit, though I'm sure she'll figure that out for herself. But I liked the notion of an artificial man with a taste for Milton. Mary has an exquisite sense of humor."

MICHAEL had been a baseball fan. On a hunch, they showed up at Wrigley Field on August 25, 1922, to watch the Cubs beat the Phillies 26-23, in the highest-scoring major-league game ever. And they went to Berlin for Jack Kennedy's celebrated " had been a baseball fan. On a hunch, they showed up at Wrigley Field on August 25, 1922, to watch the Cubs beat the Phillies 26-23, in the highest-scoring major-league game ever. And they went to Berlin for Jack Kennedy's celebrated "Ich bin ein Berliner" address. Finding anyone in either of those crowds was, of course, out of the question. But Shel was enjoying himself. There was an especially moving aspect to sitting in on an event armed with a historical perspective. As to finding his father, he was close to giving up.

"You know what's really painful?" he said, moments after they'd returned from Berlin.

"That your father probably didn't have time to do much of what we've been doing?"

"It goes deeper than that, Dave. Truth is, I don't know how many places he visited. But what strikes me is, we're getting a kind of G.o.dlike view of the world."

Dave nodded.

"We stood out there today, listening to Kennedy, and we know what's coming. We know the Cold War will end, that everything will turn out okay in Europe. And we know that in five months, Kennedy will be dead."

"Yeah."

"The whole time we were listening to him, that was what kept running through my head. That he was going to be taken out by that nutcase in Dallas, and n.o.body would ever even know why."

"I know. I thought about that, too."

"When we were watching Lincoln, it was the same thing. And King. I don't like knowing what's coming."

Dave unclipped the converter and sat down.

Shel's eyes lost their focus. "I hate that part of this."

"I saw a movie once."

"Yeah?"

"It was called TimeQuest TimeQuest. A time traveler goes back and does what you're talking about: He warns JFK."

"How does it turn out?"

"A lot better. We stay out of Vietnam. We get Moonbase. King survives and becomes the first black president. Kennedy dies peacefully fifty years later in his bed at Hyannisport."

"I wish we could arrange something like that."

"So do I. But we're talking about the ultimate hubris now. I suggest we keep our hands off."

DAVE'S cla.s.ses at Penn had become impossible. Getting through the days talking about Greek p.r.o.nouns and Latin verbs was overwhelming him. He wanted to tell his cla.s.ses that he'd been to the Library at Alexandria. And to Selma. Tell them he was planning to go to cla.s.sical Athens that weekend to see cla.s.ses at Penn had become impossible. Getting through the days talking about Greek p.r.o.nouns and Latin verbs was overwhelming him. He wanted to tell his cla.s.ses that he'd been to the Library at Alexandria. And to Selma. Tell them he was planning to go to cla.s.sical Athens that weekend to see Prometheus Bound Prometheus Bound.

He ached to go down to the next English Department meeting and describe his conversations with Lamb and Coleridge. That maybe, if he was in the mood, he'd wander over to Oxford this evening and have tea with A. E. Housman.

"Life has become better than I'd ever dreamed possible," he told Shel one evening at the Wan Ho Chinese Restaurant. "The only downside is that we haven't been able to find your father. And that we can't tell anybody about what we're doing."

"I know, Dave."

"We should write a book."

"I've been doing something like that."

"What?"

"I've been keeping a journal. Everything's in there, pictures, recordings, my reactions. Everything."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Probably nothing. It's for me me." And, after a moment: "It seemed as if there should be some some kind of record." kind of record."

THEY went back to the Library, took Aristarchus to lunch, and recorded some more plays, mostly Sophocles and Euripides, and a substantial section of the Periclean journal. Aristarchus asked whether they'd found Michael. "It's hard to believe," he said, "that men with such G.o.dlike capabilities can't locate him." went back to the Library, took Aristarchus to lunch, and recorded some more plays, mostly Sophocles and Euripides, and a substantial section of the Periclean journal. Aristarchus asked whether they'd found Michael. "It's hard to believe," he said, "that men with such G.o.dlike capabilities can't locate him."

They sent the Periclean material, and two more plays, Troilus Troilus and and The Hawks The Hawks, to Aspasia. She reacted by posting a message at her Web site, pleading with them to contact her.

That night Shel and Dave met in a restaurant in King of Prussia. Both were eating cheesesteaks when Shel said, quietly, "There's one more possibility we haven't tried."

"What's that?"

"Thomas Paine. My father has his collected works at home. Always thought he was really the guy who drove the Revolution."

He'd caught Dave in the perfect mood. "Tom Paine? Yes. Of all those guys at the beginning, he's he's the one I'd most like to meet." the one I'd most like to meet."

"We could go down to Emilio's Sat.u.r.day. Get some clothes."

PAINE had spent much of his time on the road, traveling with the army, and had been a frequent visitor at their camps. "We have a couple of dates when he was present at Valley Forge," said Shel. "That would be the right setting. The place to find him." had spent much of his time on the road, traveling with the army, and had been a frequent visitor at their camps. "We have a couple of dates when he was present at Valley Forge," said Shel. "That would be the right setting. The place to find him."

Dave frowned. "Bring a good jacket."

"Not a problem."

"Also not a good idea."

"You think they'd take us for British spies?"

"I think they'd take us for guys who don't belong in the camp. We'd be questioned and probably jailed. If we were lucky."

"What do you suggest?"

"Arrange the encounter to happen after after the war." the war."

"That takes all the pa.s.sion out of it. Anyway, I think my father would have wanted to see him at the height of the action."

"Okay." Dave googled Paine. Flipped through the entries. "Here's one," he said. "He was in Philadelphia in 1777. In September. Arranging for publication of The American Crisis The American Crisis. The Brits closed in, and he cleared out."

"Where'd he go?"

"He had a friend in Bordentown, New Jersey. Joseph Kirkbride. He went up there and stayed with him through the winter."

BORDENTOWN lay on the Delaware River, northeast of Philadelphia. Its population was small, but it was a hotbed of anti-British sentiment. Consequently, the British sent their Hessian mercenaries to seize the town in 1776. lay on the Delaware River, northeast of Philadelphia. Its population was small, but it was a hotbed of anti-British sentiment. Consequently, the British sent their Hessian mercenaries to seize the town in 1776.

Shel and Dave had no interest in landing in the middle of the fighting. Late 1777 seemed relatively safe. The British Army, by then, was still in the general neighborhood, but there was no record of action in the immediate area.

They arrived Sat.u.r.day, September 21, at 10:30 A.M.

In someone's backyard. Dave found himself staring at a startled woman in a bridal gown. Her eyes had gone wide, and hysterical people were staring at him. A guy who might have been a groom screamed. An older man in ceremonial garb seized a cross from a small table and thrust it in his face. A deep voice behind him growled that "It's exactly what happened over at Robbie's last week." Dave would have laughed had circ.u.mstances been a bit different. Absolutely, he thought, apparitions everywhere.

The cleric stepped forward, s.h.i.+elding the bride from whatever intentions Shel and Dave might have, and made the sign of the cross in the air. "Begone, Satan," he said. "In the name of the Lord, I command you, begone. Leave this place."

Footsteps were rus.h.i.+ng up behind them. And Shel's voice: "Clear out, Dave."

"I say, Leave, Sp.a.w.n of the Devil Leave, Sp.a.w.n of the Devil."

Dave hit the b.u.t.ton, and moments later he was collapsing in laughter on the sofa in the town house, waving at Shel, who was coming in across the room. In near hysteria.

When they'd calmed down, he said, "Think of the stories they'll have to tell their grandkids."

"Placement was perfect," said Dave, when he got a semblance of control over his voice. "We were right up front. I bet you couldn't do that again in a thousand years."

"He'd probably just asked whether anyone had a reason why this couple should not be joined in holy wedlock."

"Well, I've been called a lot of things-"