Part 3 (1/2)

The proof is coming in for multiple universes. The one I now occupy is truly different from my native one.

I had written a five page report for school but couldnat find a paperclip in the desk in my room, nor even after a surrept.i.tious search in Momas desk. So I found Mom instead.

aCan you loan me a paperclip?a She chuckled. aLoan you one, Timmy?a Suddenly she frowned. aI just gave you a handful last month. Have you shot them all up already?a Shot? I stared at her blankly. How does one shoot paperclips?

She wiped her hands. aDid you even bother to look?a She studied me with a calculating grin. aIf I find more than two in your desk, Iall make you wash the back windows for me.a I had searched my desk thoroughly and felt confident. aAnd if you donat?a But she was marching upstairs to my room. I followed on her heels. She darted straight to my desk and opened the wide middle drawer. aHah!a she exclaimed triumphantly, holding up a bunch of bent wire that I had noticed but a.s.sumed to be some toy that might once have interested me. She grinned. aIam going for the rags and the spray.a aB-but a”a aIam serious, Tim. You didnat even look! You will do those windows before tomorrow night, you hear me?a aYesam.a She shoved the ma.s.s of wire into my hand and sailed back downstairs. I poked it with a forefinger and discovered that, yes, it consisted of several individual pieces, made of about Number 20 iron wire, each separate piece shaped into two concentric oval loops, one smaller than the other. I took a piece, played with it a moment and saw how it could indeed clip a few pieces of paper together.

A paperclip in my old universe was typically a half-inch circular helix of perhaps Number 22 steel rolled into three or four turns. You simply stuck your papers between adjacent turns. You could even segregate them into separate stacks, one less than the number of turns in the helix. These new a” to me a” paperclips could only hold one stack each. Perhaps cheaper was their advantage. Certainly they were made of cheaper wire. When I bent the inner loop up sharply, it did not even offer to spring back. Hmm. And if I bent one paperclip just so, it could be used to shoot an undeformed paperclip across the room. Ah, yes!

I took one of the curious things downstairs and asked Mom, aAre these the only kind of paperclips in the house?a She c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at me. aYour father might have some larger ones.a aThatas what I need!a I a.s.serted.

She heaved a sigh, but left the kitchen for her bedroom, returning in a moment with another piece of wire. aI hope this will do, Timmy. He only has a few of them.a aThanks, Mom!a I took it upstairs. It was identical to the first except about half-again larger, made of maybe Number 18 wire.

I sat down on the bed, feeling cold. I had been blithely sailing along, sure of my footing, almost contemptuously confident of my circ.u.mstances. This was a blow. What else would be different?

Then I realized I had already noticed another difference a” that is, noticed without registering it. I had seen bathtubs in my fatheras house, at Ritchieas, at Phyllisas, at Gradenas and at Mealyas. All of them had the drain located directly under the faucet and the k.n.o.bs, instead of at the opposite end of the tub, despite the fact that fresh water entering the tub must fall first into fouled water! In my own universe drains were at the other end so that fresh water would scour out the foul. However did these people arrive at the wrong arrangement?

The third difference I noticed was in myself. I wanted to neaten up another report, a lengthy one in which I found myself unable to accept the claimed n.o.ble purity of Christopher Columbus. I asked Mom, aCan I use your typewriter?a She looked up at me from her perusal of The Sat.u.r.day Evening Post, noted the swath of papers in my hand and warned, aOf course, Timmy, but you know that once you start something I want you to finish it.a aOh, Iall finish it,a I a.s.serted, staring at her in wonder. Why shouldnat I?

She smiled indulgently. aI just opened a fresh ream of paper in the top drawer.a aOh. Thanks, Mom!a I took my seat before the machine. It had grown! But I ratcheted in a sheet of paper, set my margins and tab stops and began to type. The keyboard was larger than it should have been and at first I had consciously to reach farther for Y and B. I missed the Enter key terribly at first, but to reach up and throw the carriage return lever soon became automatic, and the little bell dinging as I approached the right margin was even pleasant. This was a manual machine, of course, and I had to pound the h.e.l.l out of the keys, but after all I had taught myself to type on this same old Underwood when I was 16 or 17, and a”

So how could I possibly know the touch system at twelve?

Where do you learn to touch type? I had always thought the skill must reside mainly in the ganglia that are local to arm and hand muscles, as has been proven in the case of talented pianists, because you can hardly reach 60 words-per-minute if the brain has to direct each letter individually. A good typist thinks of the word, not the letters, and his hands seem to translate for him. True, I had begun slowly and cautiously, but before I finished the first page, I was up to 30 or 40 WPM easily. One part of my mind considered this. Could it simply be a matter of confidence? If the central processor tells the ganglia, aI know d.a.m.ned well you can do it because youave done it before,a do they then buckle down and learn it without further hesitation? If someone could figure out how to instill such perfect confidence, learning physical skills might get a lot faster.

The ten hand-written pages were shrinking to six at the typewriter, even double-s.p.a.ced. Inserting the last sheet of paper, I noticed Mamma arrive beside me and scoop up the output pile. Uh-oh! I couldnat believe I hadnat expected her to notice! In the kitchen it must have sounded like a machine-gun in her bedroom. It was strange only that it took her so long to check.

Her eyes dropped to mine. Her voice had a breathy quality. aTimmy, where in the world did you learn to type like this?a Right here, was the truth a” in another universe! Did Ritchieas folks own a typewriter? I couldnat for the life of me remember, nor even what they did for a living. But the truth would hardly serve.

aIave been practicing at Ritchieas.a aAt Ritchieas? What does a steelworker need with a typewriter?a aItas an old one. This one is much smoother.a aAnd this English is a I spot one or two typos. Here you have HTE when you meant THE, and here you typed of when you meant or. But by and large aa Her finger found a spot. aaWishful benevolent hypotheses!a You knew how to spell that?a She picked up my notebook paper. aThis is your handwriting, isnat it?a aAh, yes.a aWhere did you copy this, son? Who is it that claims Columbus tried to enslave the Caribbean natives?a aHe did enslave them, Mom.a aHe aa She looked up into the distance. aHe named them Indians because he thought he had reached India.a aAnd even thinking them representatives of a known and revered nation, allowed his brothers to make slaves of them.a She looked at me and shook her head. aWithout Columbus we wouldnat be here. Why run him down?a aBecause of what Santayana said. If you donat know the past, youare bound to repeat it. All of the past! Columbus was a man with a manas limits, not a saint. What he did afterwards is important, too.a aHow did you learn about it?a aI read things besides my textbooks.a aIn the school library?a I dimly remembered that Mamma had briefly served on the local school board. Do you suppose it had an explicit policy of sugarcoating the stuff furnished to kids? I answered, aIn the town library.a Surely a good European encyclopedia, such as Britannica, wouldnat sugar-coat Columbus! Woops! Didnat Sears-Roebuck buy the Britannica in the Twenties? Where would I find the truth about Columbus in 1947? I could mention Der grosse Brockhaus, except how would I explain my knowledge of German?

But she didnat pursue that. She returned to the first page. aYou mean to hand this in for History?a aYes, maaam.a aItall cause trouble, son.a aItas another A.a She sighed and left me alone. At dinner she looked at me strangely. Later in the evening I saw Dad and her with their heads together, often glancing at me.

Using her typewriter had been a stupid stunt. The internal old man was highly displeased with me, though he had failed to object at the time.

But touch-typing could be remembered before you learned it! In Korea I had learned to play chords and not-too-intricate arpeggios on a guitar. I shaped my left hand to chord a G. Obviously the hand was too small to reach across all six strings. On a ukulele, now a

Chapter 3: Planning to Escape.

aGail Nance.a aHere!a aRobert Miller.a aHere!a Miss Pierce, the English teacher, was calling the roll at start of cla.s.s. She was a predictable elderly woman who ordinarily did everything by the book. I donat know if the book specified how to do roll call, but Miss Pierce liked to call the names alphabetically descending one day and ascending the next. Today she was going backwards.

aCarmen Lutz.a aHere!a aHarvey Loringer.a aThere!a That was worth a few t.i.tters. Every few days some boy, always a boy, would essay that minor example of wit or rebellion. Reliably a few girls would reward it with giggles a” which I now saw as an interesting reflection on female motivation.

aTimothy Kimball.a I had an inspiration. aEverywhere!a I shouted.

Crash of laughter. Teacheras glare. aVery clever, Timmy. See me after cla.s.s.a But I was a hero. All the girls were smiling at me, even some of the boys, though not Harvey. I felt proud of myself too. At last I had managed to do something genuinely soph.o.m.oric.

When everyone else had filed from the room, I moved to a front row seat and waited. Miss Pierce stopped shuffling papers into her folder, looked up at me and said to my surprise, aI cannot approve your review of Edna St. Vincent Millay.a aApprove it?a aI mean, I canat give it the A-plus it deserves on compositional grounds.a I thought about that. aYou objected to its content, then.a aWell, youare right of course; some of her later poetry is quite gloomy. I certainly donat mark off just for stating an opinion. You reported her economy of words, her imagery and power most acceptably. You are becoming a perceptive writer yourself, Timmy.a aThen what did you disapprove?a aNot just I. Mr. Schiffman is particularly concerned. A-plus papers are supposed to be read to the cla.s.s, you know, as examples. He is adamant that this one not be.a aWhatas wrong with it, Miss Pierce?a I asked more firmly.

She took a paper from the back of her folder. I saw the flash of my name in the upper corner. aThis quotation.a She read it aloud: aMy candle burns at both ends; aIt will not last the night; aBut ah, my foes, and oh, my friends a”

aIt gives a lovely light!a I frowned. aItas an exact quote, fully doc.u.mented.a aIt wasnat in your textbook.a aWell, no.a I arched a brow. aAre we restricted to our schoolbooks then?a She didnat answer that. aTimmy, Iam instructed to give you an A-minus on this.a aFor what error?a aInappropriate content.a aInappropriate to who?a aSeventh graders. Itas a message they donat need to hear. And you should say, aTo whom.aa I took a breath, stood up and tucked my books under my arm. aThatas only one of Millayas unconventional poems. What do you think of her prescription for sleep postponed to the end of life or her hints at lesbianism?a She shook her head vigorously. aIam positive Mr. Schiffman wouldnat like any of that either.a aThen perhaps he should remove her stuff from the textbook.a aOh, no! Sheas a great American poetess!a aOh, yes!a I grinned sarcastically. aNever better than: aSafe upon the solid rock aThe ugly houses stand.

aCome and see my s.h.i.+ning palace, aBuilt upon the sand.a Her eyes widened. aThat a thatas aa aImprovident? Irresponsible? Maybe. Itas about goals. Iave always thought of it as a bellwether.a aA a what?a aHow a person feels about that little poem says a lot about his personality.a Her eyes had rounded, but suddenly she smiled crookedly. aYouave always thought of it as a bellwether, eh? Who told you to say that, Timmy?a Beside the dictionary on the corner of her desk was a Christian bible. I pointed to it. aG.o.d or the devil, take your pick.a I knew that disputing the A-minus was pointless. Her stare followed me as I turned out of the room.

English was my last cla.s.s for the day. I thought over Schiffmanas argument as I strolled down the exit hall, already almost empty. Should one never suggest to seventh graders that the straightest line, while always the shortest, might not always be the most satisfactory distance between two points? My old man chuckled. That was a conclusion most of them had long since reached!

Two concrete lions flanked the main door of the school. A girl was half-sitting, half-leaning on one when I exited the building: Carol Ann Wittersheim, cla.s.smate and neighbor, renowned for bird-like shyness, now catching my eye with uncharacteristic pluck. She still played with dolls, it was said, despite the fact that she was taller than most of the guys and had t.i.ts more noticeable than those of any other girl in cla.s.s. Though she was ripe, her face and usual demeanor were those of an innocent child. The naturally thick and dark ringlets that dangled from her head had always fascinated me, but otherwise I had ignored her for the most part.

aHi, Timmy,a she cooed.

I smile politely. ah.e.l.lo, Carol Ann.a I started past her but she fell in beside me as we tripped down the steps. I looked around in surprise. She was grinning.

aWhatas so funny?a I asked.

aaEverywhere!aa She laughed uproariously.

aAh. Did you enjoy that?a aWe all did, Timmy.a aIam glad you liked it.a aDid Miss Pierce give you detention?a aNot exactly. She wanted me to know that I was inappropriate.a aaInappropriate,aa she repeated as if tasting the word. She laughed again. aI guess you were, but she said it right the first time. You were clever. Oh, Timmy, you are so smart!a Apparently she meant no sarcasm. When I studied her, she blushed.

aThank you, Carol Ann,a I said gravely.

She smiled brightly at me, blushed again and looked away.

We pushed through the rear gate, left the school grounds and embarked on the path through the weeds that was a ashortcuta to our neighborhood. It meandered through a thick stand of birch and in fact was longer than the route on paved sidewalks. Its advantage of course was privacy from the adult world. An adult would be concerned about trespa.s.s: this was private property that was likely under the plough five years ago, judging by brush hardly more than waist high. But a kid cares nothing for such issues. Truly the whole world is his oyster, so long as the adults arenat looking.

Inexplicably she kept close to me. aWere you waiting for me, Carol Ann?a aYes.a She blushed once more, eyes lowered.

I grinned wryly. aTo find out what our pierced lady wanted to do to me?a aaOur pierced a”aa She giggled but said, aNo.a aWhy, then?a She took a deep breath. aTo tell you a not to feel bad. Youare still the smartest boy in the school.a Now her face was bright red. She clasped her hands before her, shoulders becoming more rounded, but continued to march along beside me. The old man reminded the distracted boy that this very nubile female would be worthy of close attention even if she hadnat waited to comfort him!

We were about a hundred yards from the first birches. I said, aRace you to the woods!a and leapt ahead but purposefully held myself in. Shortly she pa.s.sed me but fell back abreast. Our breathing was hardly affected when we reached the darkness under the trees. Ah, the advantages of youth!

aYou couldave beaten me,a I pointed out.

aDid you a want me to?a she inquired in sincere curiosity.

aI wanted to see if you would.a She looked puzzled for only a moment before blus.h.i.+ng once more, a curious phenomenon on her face: reddening only momentarily, the color fading as quickly is it came.

I chuckled. aThatas the fourth time, Carol Ann.a aWhat is?a aThat youave blushed. Youare not ashamed of your feelings, are you?a I was treated to the fifth blush. She looked away without answering, hands again clasped before her.

I said, aIam sorry. I never realized how sweet you are.a aSweet? Do you really aa Her voice trailed off. Now her flush endured.

aIave always loved your ringlets,a I told her sincerely.

Her eyes lit. aOh, have you?a aSure. Iad love to twist them around my finger.a The old man had another destination in mind!