Restaurants on boats seemed ridiculous to me
even before I stopped eating flesh. I only showed up at the party because
Saul had arranged for me to be Deirdre's dinner partner. I hated parties
in general, but Saul's theme parties were the worst, and he was really
reaching this time. The leitmotif was the defeat of the Spanish
Armada, an event about which I knew little. If it hadn't been called
"the defeat of the Spanish Armada," I wouldn't have known who won.
Deirdre and I were consultants to Saul's law
practice, she for taxes and I for computers. We had met three months
previously and had had a couple of lunch dates, but it was tax season
and she didn't have a lot of spare time. Still, I'd gotten the impression
that she might be interested. As the evening progressed, I realized
she wasn't too keen on being there, either, so I hoped her semi-enthusiastic
behavior was a result of my presence.
The restaurant, The Beef Boat, was on a yacht,
also named the Beef Boat, berthed at Pier 11. The dining room
had been cleared except for one table with nine settings. Little ships
with Union Jacks adorned each of the four places on one side of the
table; galleons flying the colors of Spain graced those on the other.
Saul had one of each. The boats had the names of the participants calligraphed
on their sails. The waiters were dressed as pirates and Elizabethan
music played in the background.
I was acquainted with everyone there. Saul's
law partner Derek, a skinny guy with a ponytail who handled the pro
bono end of the practice while Saul brought in the money, came with
his Jamaican wife Celia. They shared the English side with the Tessler
twins, Tina and Teresa, a blonde and a redhead in their mid-thirties
who were dating Saul, both individually and collectively.
Saul's childhood friend Moses, who'd been best
man at Saul's and my sister Suzanne's wedding, shared the loser's side
with Deirdre and me. Moses had recently modified his version of Judaism
to a more Orthodox one, and a bobby pin held his embroidered yarmulke
atop his head. Rounding out the Spanish ranks was Louise, Saul and Derek's
paralegal.
The tofu came steamed; the tofu came fried; the
tofu came raw. There was too much tofu to shake a chopstick at. Too
many vegetables, too, even for a vegetarian like me. I worried about
having food on my front teeth, since I knew my back ones were loaded
with it. I tried to clear the jam with my tongue, hoping Deirdre didn't
think I was being sexual. She kept giving me quizzical looks, which
I hoped were fraught with deep emotional meaning while suspecting that
their real significance was myopia.
Having tofu entrees at a restaurant named the
Beef Boat was the kind of quirky thing I'd come to expect from Saul.
He fidgeted throughout dinner, hardly touching his brown rice, an admiral's
hat atop his head. By the time dinner was over, he was, appropriately,
three sheets to the wind. His propensity for indulging in such behavior
was one reason my sister Suzanne was the former Mrs. Saul Frobisher.
He weaved a little as he got up to speak, but I was unsure whether this
was due to his intoxicated state or a desire to continue the nautical
theme. It was at about this point that I noticed that Deirdre had gotten
her hand entwined in mine.
Saul held up a manila envelope featuring a picture
of a washed-up television star. "Two months ago I received this in the
mail. It was notification that I was a finalist for a trip to any historical
event I chose. All I had to do to qualify was subscribe to some magazines.
For each mag I bought, I got to bring one other person along if I won.
Sounded good to me, so I sent away my check, and three weeks ago I got
a registered letter telling me I was the winner."
"And what exactly does 'visit a historical event'
mean?" I asked.
Saul smirked, something he excelled at. "The
magazine people have access to a time machine. You, my friends, are
the chosen ones." Now he was Charlton Heston. "This evening, you will
witness a turning point in control of the seas: the Defeat of the Spanish
Armada."
Tiring of this lunacy, I tightened my grip on
Deirdre's hand. "Let's go someplace quiet," I told her. "The moon is
full, the night young and full of surprises." What a poet. Then I glanced
out the porthole and experienced the first of the surprises the night
was going to be full of.
We were out to sea. Unknown to our little crew,
the Beef Boat had slipped out to open water. The waiters had
disappeared.
Saul was explaining things to Derek, Celia, and
the Tessler twins. "Some crazy billionaire had the time machine built
into this boat in order to visit the big sea battles of history. Something
about being dissatisfied with his experience in the Navy. Then he got
involved in another project and leased the ship to the magazine people."
He looked at his watch dramatically. "We'll be leaving in a couple of
minutes -- right at nine o'clock."
Around this time Moses put on a life jacket and
went up on deck. He was really excited to be out to sea. I poked my
head up for a second and saw him up there wearing a big grin and clinging
to the railing with an iron grip.
Given our expectations of Saul, it was rather
astounding when at nine o'clock our view out the portholes suddenly
changed into something out of a bad sixties light show. Moses came flying
down the stairs and crashed into Louise. Fortunately, his life jacket
cushioned the blow.
And then we were in 1588. Except, I didn't know
it was 1588 until Saul told us. It was broad daylight. Arrayed on our
port side was a series of vessels, some with big gold crosses on their
sails, that looked like National Geographic pictures of galleons.
This figured to be the Armada. To starboard were some generally smaller
ships which, by process of elimination, had to be the British Navy.
There was sporadic shooting going on, but the Spanish cannon weren't
reaching the English, while their opponents had the range but weren't
doing much damage.
Saul was again holding court. "Right now, we're
invisible. Later, we'll materialize, but it takes a big chunk of our
available energy to do that, and when we use up all our energy we'll
be whisked back to the twentieth century. They gave me some instructions
that showed how all this worked out, but I left them in my other suit."
He pulled out a gray box and showed us a big purple button inside marked
"MATERIALIZATION."
Celia said, "You still haven't told us why you
chose this particular event."
Saul answered, "So that we can meet my many-times-great-grandfather,
Sir Martin Frobisher." Responding to the blank looks, he continued,
"Sir Martin was a famous navigator who almost found the Northwest Passage
and was also one of the commanders of the English fleet. I'm here to
see his contribution to the victory first-hand. All we have to do is
find his ship, the Triumph, then look for this guy." He pulled
out a picture of a gent with an old time pistol in his right hand and
his left poised by a cutlass. A bearded face with Saul's little beady
eyes poked out from above a ruffled collar, part of a sixteenth-century
outfit.
Saul went on. "It's August 8, 1588, or July 29
in the Old Style calendar. Over the last week there've been some minor
skirmishes off the English coast. Day before yesterday, the Spanish
were supposed to pick up a big invasion force from the Netherlands,
but the soldiers weren't ready to go. Military efficiency at its best.
Until last night, the Spanish managed to hold a tight defensive formation
that kept the English at bay. But last midnight the English set eight
ships afire and sent them toward the Spanish. Most of the Armada had
to cut their anchors loose to avoid them. They lost their formation
and are open to an attack that will take place later today."
Saul pulled out his control box. He manipulated
a little blue disk, and we started gliding toward the English fleet.
Moses had gone back up on deck. Louise was with him, probably figuring
she was safer up there the next time he went barreling down the stairs.
She had also put on a life jacket. They looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy
and Doughgirl.
I'd managed to lose track of Deirdre. I found
Derek, Celia and Tina at the table eating tofu pudding, and asked them
if they knew where Deirdre was. They said she'd gone topside, so up
I went. She was sitting at the back of the boat, watching the receding
Spanish fleet. I walked up and took her hand. I experienced that nifty
feeling you get when you've held somebody's hand once, and the next
time it feels perfectly natural.
As we approached the first ship, we walked up
to the bow to get a better look. The vessel loomed over the Beef
Boat. Saul appeared on deck with Teresa on his arm. It appeared
that she was his date for the evening, but Tina didn't seem to mind.
I wondered what it was like being involved with two women like that,
thought about the sexual possibilities, then was thankful that I was
involved with a woman like Deirdre.
Involved? Involved? I was merely holding
her hand. I mentally slapped myself for my presumption.
Saul was studying the men on the ship's deck.
He obviously wasn't finding Sir Martin. This was most definitely a harebrained
scheme. What if we never found the right ship? What if we did, and Sir
Martin had us all thrown in irons? What if he greeted us as long-lost
buddies, but the time machine went berserk on the return trip and dumped
us in among the dinosaurs? It could happen.
A man dressed like the guy in the photocopy appeared
on the ship. Saul got agitated.
"Is it Sir Martin?" Derek asked.
"No," replied Saul. It's Sir John Hawkins. Sir
Martin and Sir John were on different ships. This isn't the Triumph."
Saul manipulated his disk again, and we glided
over the water toward another ship. After a minute or two he decided
it wasn't the one we were looking for, so we kept going. This approaching
and appraising business went on a couple more times. I was getting bored
with the whole routine.
A half hour passed. Fifteen minutes more. Saul
was getting panicky. Then he spotted another possibility near the English
shore and directed us closer. "I think that's it," he shouted. As we
glided over into viewing range, Saul was in a frenzy, pacing back and
forth with such vigor that his admiral's hat almost fell off.
Then an officer-type guy appeared on deck, and
Saul's admiral's hat did fall off. "It's him! It's him!" Saul
yelled gleefully. I'd never seen Saul gleeful before. He put his hat
back on and adjusted the rest of his clothes. "I'm going to press my
purple button. Then I'm going to establish communication with the Triumph
and go aboard. Moses, I want you to come with me."
Moses beamed. Standing at his side, Louise beamed,
too. Then she de-beamed and said, "How do you expect to communicate
with people whose English is four hundred years old?"
Saul said, "The same group that built the time
machine also experimented with intelligence augmentation. They came
up with an extract from shrew DNA that increases linguistic ability.
You all got a dose in your tofu, enabling you to learn sixteenth-century
English from subliminal instruction in the music tapes. We had to have
a vegetarian meal because animal protein in the digestive system deactivates
the extract."
Saul theatrically pulled out his control box
and prepared to press the purple button. Moses' beaming had noticeably
dimmed, and I thought he had figured out how perilous this all was.
The actual materialization was anti-climactic.
We didn't feel a thing. Then sailors aboard the Triumph noticed
our sudden appearance. They scrambled about and shouted a lot, and though
much of I knew the language was unfamiliar, I understood it all.
Sir Martin strode over to the railing. "Ahoy,
there," he shouted. "Who are you, where did you come from, and why do
you disturb Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth's fleet?"
Saul drew himself up to his full five feet nine.
"Sir Martin," he hollered back, "I am a distant relative from a faraway
land come to pay you tribute in this time of your greatest triumph.
I desire permission to come aboard with my advisor." He pointed at me.
Great. "As well as my trusted lieutenant." He put his arm around Moses,
who winced at his new designation.
"How do you address me as 'Sir Martin,' when
it has been but four days since the Lord Admiral, Howard of Effingham,
has knighted me, and word has not reached the shores of Her Majesty's
realm?"
It looked like Saul had missed one on his homework.
But he covered well. "We hailed another vessel to verify your location,
sir, and they acquainted us with your recent good fortune."
Sir Martin was obviously suspicious, but he said,
"If you wish to come aboard ," then wandered away
from the railing.
Saul took this as consent. I wasn't so sure.
As Saul fiddled with his control box, Moses said, "I don't think I should
go with you."
Saul asked, "Why not?"
Moses hesitated before answering. Louise put
her hand on his shoulder. Finally, he spoke. "I can't understand what
they're saying. It sounds like a mixture of English and gibberish. So
does what you're saying to them."
Saul said, "But I saw you eating the tofu along
with everyone else. You should have gotten plenty of the linguistic
stuff."
"I did. But I guess I deactivated it. Because
I snuck into the rest room and had one of these."
He held out a handful of vacuum-formed plastic
packages, one of them ripped open and empty. Slim Jims. Processed meat,
mixed with who knows what else, in little semi-digestible sticks. Moses,
the Orthodox Jew, had a secret vice, and a non-kosher one to boot.
"I've been eating these things for years," Moses
said. When I decided to start keeping kosher, I just couldn't give them
up. And now God's punishing me for it." He jammed the packages back
into his pocket.
Saul considered this development, then said,
"I think you should come, anyway. To leave you on the Beef Boat
might arouse suspicion. Or, should I say, more suspicion."
By this time we were alongside the Triumph.
A rope ladder was dangling down. Saul handed the control box to Deirdre
and told her, "At any sign of trouble, disappear the ship."
"What if I need to un-disappear it? Will there
be enough energy?"
"I don't know. The math confuses me. I wish I'd
worn my other suit."
Louise gave Moses a hug, and Deirdre came over
and kissed me, on the lips, no less. After that, I was ready to face
whatever Her Majesty's fleet had in store for me. Sort of.
Saul went up first, me next, then Moses, dangling
like the guy in everyone's high school gym class who never learned to
climb a rope. The sailors on deck looked like extras from an Errol Flynn
movie. Stuff was jammed all over: barrels of supplies, cannonballs,
weird unrecognizable things that no doubt had some nautical purpose.
Sir Martin stood with his hands on his hips scrutinizing us. He definitely
resembled Saul around the beady eyes.
"Come to my cabin," Sir Martin ordered. We dutifully
followed him below to a room about half the size of an average bedroom,
which made it about a quarter of the size of Saul's. The rough-hewn
walls and furniture contrasted with more elegant touches. On a table
were beautiful brass navigational instruments. Sir Martin took the seat
behind the table, while Saul sat opposite him. Moses and I played musical
chairs deciding who should take the remaining seat, until I finally
persuaded him to sit. I didn't want him nervously meandering around
the cabin.
"You say you are a distant relative," Sir Martin
said.
I didn't know if Saul was going to go off into
a tall tale or not. But, no, he played it straight. "Sir Martin, I am
your many-times-great-grandson Saul Frobisher. On my vessel is a machine
that has brought me from the future to meet you and behold your glorious
victory over the Armada."
Sir Martin turned to me. "And you?" he asked.
I hadn't really been expecting to have to say
anything, so I fumfered around before mumbling, "I am Warren Hargitay,
former brother-in-law of Saul, which I suppose makes me your former
distant relative by marriage. I am Saul's computer consultant." The
last part came out "I am the master of Saul's great abacus."
Then it was Moses' turn. "And what of you, skullcapped
one?"
Moses had been trying to follow the conversation.
He seemed to be getting the gist of it, but his answer was semi-nonsense
to Saul's ancestor. "I am Moses Cohen, childhood friend of Saul and
a schoolteacher. I am very honored to be here in your presence, although
until today I never heard of you." Maybe it was a good thing Moses had
deactivated the linguistic extract.
Sir Martin directed his attention back to Saul.
"You say we will enjoy a victory. Tell me about it."
Saul replied, "There will be a battle today off
the coast at Gravelines. Several Spanish ships will be sunk or driven
aground, and none of Her Majesty's fleet will be lost. Unfortunately,
you will not be able to press your advantage, because you will run out
of ammunition. The Spanish fleet will be blown north, never to threaten
England again. Those that return home, less than half their number,
will have to circumnavigate the British Isles to do so. You will all
be greeted as heroes."
I didn't know if he was making it up or not.
It really didn't matter, because Sir Martin had obviously decided we
were a bunch of maniacs. Harmless, but maniacs nonetheless. "It is good
that the hostilities will be over so soon," he said. "We are running
quite low on victuals. The men fight over the smallest piece of meat."
He stood up. "You will go back to your ship now. I have no more time
for madmen."
We were almost through the doorway when Sir Martin
spoke again. He placed his hand on Moses' shoulder. "Except for you,
my strangely speaking Hebrew friend. You amuse me. I will keep you here
on the Triumph for entertainment. Perhaps I will let you return
after our victory. Perhaps not."
Saul and I tried to argue, but to no avail. We
both grabbed Moses' right arm and tried to hustle him away, but Sir
Martin took hold of his left and started pulling. We all played tug-of-Moses
for a while. Moses started praying in Hebrew. Then he tried Yiddish.
Then Sir Martin let go, and the three of us went crashing into a twentieth-century
heap in the sixteenth-century corner.
Sir Martin said, "If you want to leave that badly
," then turned and strolled out of the cabin.
We stared at each other for a few seconds, then
I dragged the others off the deck and started us out of there. Outside
the cabin, neither Sir Martin nor anyone else was to be seen. We tiptoed
up the stairs to the top deck, and had made it about halfway to the
rope ladder when we were suddenly set upon by a gaggle of Her Majesty's
finest. Moses was flung over the shoulder of a huge, hairy sailor.
Sir Martin appeared and said to Saul, "Dwiggins
there will make sure your little friend does not again attempt to escape.
As for you two ," and then he shut up and sauntered
away.
Saul and I stared at each other stupidly. As
for we two, what? The brig? Skewering on daggers? Walking the plank?
Did they have walking the plank in sixteenth-century England?
Then grimy hands picked us up into the air and
we were unceremoniously dumped overboard. Saul made drowning noises,
so I grabbed hold of him and swam us over to the Beef Boat. I
dumped him on the deck and explained what had happened. Suddenly Saul,
his hat miraculously still on his head, sneezed, jumped up, grabbed
the control away from Deirdre, and pressed the purple button.
Deirdre was furious. "You dummy," she said. "We
don't know if we've got enough power to materialize again. What if Moses
escapes? We may not be able to get him back aboard."
Saul looked defeated. "Okay, I'm an idiot, so
sue me. I know a good lawyer. It doesn't matter anyway. There's no way
he can get away from King Kong Dwiggins."
He was right. Several people suggested schemes
to spring Moses, but all were roundly rejected as (a) stupid or (b)
very stupid. The minutes dribbled away.
When he saw that no one was paying attention
to him, Saul went below. Teresa followed, then reappeared and reported
that he'd locked himself in the rest room. That's when we were startled
by a commotion aboard the Triumph. A shape abruptly launched
itself from the deck and arced down toward the water. It was Moses.
We could see his frantic face as, from mid-air, he tried to spot the
Beef Boat and couldn't. He belly-flopped into the drink and tried
to swim toward us, which was rather pointless since he didn't know where
we were. The sailors on deck were furiously trying to load their weapons.
"Where's the control?" I yelled, not knowing
if it would help if I found it.
"Saul must have it in the rest room with him,"
Derek told me.
I dashed below and pounded on the door to the
head. "Saul! Press the button! Moses is on the loose!"
"I don't have it," he muttered. "I left it on
the table someplace."
I threw myself at the debris from the meal. Utensils,
little ships and tofu in all its various forms went flying. No control.
I swept aside Saul's soggy admiral's hat. The hat and the control box,
which had been under it, went flying to the floor. The control slid
under a rack of life jackets. I dove to the floor, clobbering my head
on a table leg in the process, stretched my arm out under the rack --
and couldn't reach the control. I was about three inches short.
I must have hit my head harder than I thought,
because everything started going dim. Through a haze of imminent unconsciousness
and tofu dip, I spotted one of the little boats on the floor. I grabbed
it and guided it toward the control box. As the bowsprit depressed the
purple button, I saw that on the sail was the word "MOSES."
It took me awhile to flip over, and when I had
I saw the light show through the porthole. Then I blanked.
When I returned to consciousness, the first thing
I saw was that same porthole. We were back in port. Deirdre was doing
an excellent job of making nice to me, and I resolved to reciprocate
as soon as I was able. I sat up and saw that, across the room, Louise
was doing an equally excellent job of making nice to Moses.
It turned out that we'd rematerialized practically
right on top of him. Celia threw him a line and within a few seconds
he was aboard. In a few more, we were jerked back to the twentieth century.
Saul was still locked in the head. Neither Tessler
twin seemed to care. Neither did I.
In a couple of minutes, when both Moses and I
were reasonably recovered, Derek asked Moses the question we all wanted
answered. "So how did you escape?"
He looked up at us with those big Moses eyes
of his. All the misery had evaporated. He wore a huge grin as he told
us his secret.
"I bribed Dwiggins," he said. "I gave him my
Slim Jims."
This was the first story I ever sold, although the second to be published.
It appeared in Random Realities #5, Summer 1994. Copyright ©
1994 Nathan Walpow.
