If I’ve learned anything about time travel, it’s that no-one notices when the past changes. Let’s say I went back in time to stop Hitler coming into power, do you think World War Two would have happened? Of course, it would; another far-right lunatic would come to power, dick around in Europe and spark the war. Today, we might not know who Hitler is, but the war would still have happened and much of history would stay the same. Speculative – maybe, but time has a strange way of healing itself – if ‘healing’ is the right word for it, especially when it comes to the big, traumatic events.
Even as a time traveller, some things will always happen, no matter how you try to change that. Some things, we can’t control…
Like me and Noah getting pissed as the world ends around us. That’s inevitable.
Now, you’re probably used to your time travellers dashing about in long scarves or the mad scientist-inventor type who, while potentially insane, knows a lot more than they let on. Unfortunately, I’m neither. I’m a borderline alcoholic whose adventures are purely self-indulgent and, honestly, if either of those time travellers knew I existed, I’d be the villain. They would probably get pissy about going into the future to find out next week’s lottery numbers and while that’s certainly not me, I’ve probably created enough paradoxes that I might one day return to the present to find we’re under a dictatorship of talking pandas.
* * *
After spilling beer on the controls, my time capsule threw me back to 3000 BC. With no Wi-Fi or satellite navigation, this was one of the few times I would need to remember where I parked – somewhere low in the mountains, although there seemed to be mountains just about everywhere.
Upon first inspection, I noticed a few anachronisms. Not only was everyone speaking English a few millenniums too early, but I also found an old diplodocus on my descent into the village. Probably my doing. I once went to the Garden of Eden in hope of finding Adam and Eve; unfortunately, they’d popped out that day, but I did find a peaceful reading spot. Despite having all the time in the world, I was in rush and accidentally left a few dinosaur eggs and some classic English Literature. Either way, it was lovely to see a dinosaur again. They’re honestly in my top three favourite earthlings. Real shame they died out though, or will, in this case.
As I entered the village, my backpack split open under the stress of four bottles of spirits. As any clumsy-fingered spirits fan knows, those bottles are pretty darn indestructible, but they don’t half make a racket.
‘Oi, you,’ yelled one of the townsfolk, emerging from his tent house, ‘shush you. If it ain’t Noah’s banging about, it’s you dropping stuff and keeping us up at night.’
‘Sorry, my bag’s a little worn out. I’d had it since pre-historic times.’
‘I will pre-historic you, if you’re not quiet.’
Good old mankind, my least favourite being on this planet. Here, they might have been a bit shorter, had no concept of fashion and their grasp of English is way below average, but the pettiness and their entitlement – that never really changes wherever you go in history. And I’ve flitted about time quite a bit, so I’ve seen humanity in the distant future and they’re consistently the worst thing about this planet.
‘What a prick.’
The first person to come to my aid was an elderly man with a big bushy beard, a walking stick and, out of all the robes I’d seen so far, his was by far the best. My goodness, how I wanted one.
‘Wow, where can I get one of those?’ I asked.
‘You can’t, unfortunately. My tailor was stoned to death, last week, for participating in an orgy.’
‘So, that’s something you guys don’t, err, look upon favourably, then?’
He shook his head. ‘What is this material?’ he asked, prodding the glass bottles.
‘Well, my friend, that is irrelevant, because, the real question is “what is inside?” And I will answer, “a liquor for kings”, invented by a captain called Morgan, a Mr Jack Daniels and their friend, Tequila. Allow me introduce you, Mr…?’
‘I’m Noah,’ he said, shaking my hand.
‘Fuck off! Really?’
* * *
For a guy from the twenty-first century and an old dude who’d just spent the last seven days building a big boat, me and Noah bonded pretty fast. He managed half a cup of rum before getting all excitable. They hadn’t even discovered alcohol by this point, so Noah was an absolute lightweight, not to mention the type of drunk who fights goats and dry-humps trees. An utter lad.
To end the day, he promised me a spot on the ark and decided to smash my last bottle of Captain Morgan’s on the side of it to celebrate. I felt it was worth celebrating, just not worth that bottle of rum.
Until now, I had always seen Noah’s Ark as the least convincing of biblical tales: big fuck-off boat built in seven days with two of every animal on board. Well, first of all, the ark was built with the help of giants who lived in the mountains. Noah told me they would occasionally come down to help in the affairs of the villagers, but mostly kept to themselves. And onto the animal thing; it’s quite simple really. Not every animal did.
Centaurs, minotaurs, flying pigs, unicorns – there’s a reason you don’t see them today. The former two were controversial beings at this point in history; most people assumed their appearance was something to do with bestiality, which, along with orgies and anything remotely matriarchal, was a pretty big no-no.
I tried to explain the science – which, of course, wasn’t a thing yet. ‘Look Noah, in the future there’s this thing called biology and it explains that two different species simply cannot procreate,’ I told him. ‘It’s all about chromosomes. Each species has a different number, so, while many have tried, you can’t have a kid with a horse.’ The centaurs and the minotaur were grouped together, watching – arms crossed, as the other animals boarded. Lions, tigers, bears, oh my.
Noah snorted. By this point, I had introduced him to tequila and it was here that I realised he was either one of those drunks with an edgy sense of humour or quite simply, one of those people. ‘God, the creator of all, spoke to me. He told me his plan was to rid this world of all evil that has grown from Satan’s influence. Now, he chose me to lead these people, so clearly, he’s comfortable with my views. I believe that if we are shaped by God from the purest of clay, that,’ he said, pointing at the minotaur, ‘was moulded from the blackest of mud by Satan. Look at it, it’s disgusting. Wretched abomination.’
I couldn’t even laugh awkwardly. ‘Wow, that’s just… really quite racist actually.’
As you would your grandparents when they spout their outdated views of the world, I felt a little uncomfortable standing with him in public. From that point onwards, I kept quiet, chugged my bottle of Jack Daniels and silently waited as the rest of the village arrived. While not fashionably late, many turned up with less than an hour to deluge and of course, they had issues.
‘You must board now,’ said Noah. ‘We have little time.’
‘Who says?’ called the leader of the crowd. The rest of them groaned in agreement.
‘Says me, you imbeciles. I’ve been talking with God. He told me that after seven days – which is now today, to seal the vessel with the first drops of rain and when that happens, the rain that follows will destroy everything not on board. So, unless you want to die, you’d better come on board now.’
For some time, the crowd mumbled.
‘Is this something you really need to discuss?’ Noah said. ‘It’s life or death. Why are you talking?’
‘I’ve seen you in the mushroom fields,’ shouted one crowd member. ‘You say you heard the voice of God, but so does everyone after a few mushrooms.’
‘Wait, mushroom fields?’ I asked. ‘Why am I only hearing of this now?’
‘I do not and never have partaken,’ Noah yelled back to the crowd. ‘I was looking for my son, Ham, that day!’
I felt a raindrop land on the tip of my nose. Noah glanced back at me, he’d noticed too. Then, a clap of thunder, right overhead, alerted everyone else. The rain began to fall.
‘If you’re coming, come,’ said Noah. ‘If not, may you rest in peace.’ He headed into the belly of ark. The crowd remained standing, vigilant. A few teetered, but I guess, in this day and age, being peer-pressured into uncertain death was a little more untested.
‘The rain will pass as it always does,’ said the leader of the group. ‘Fear not.’
The minotaur mounted one of the centaurs and they all bolted for the mountains.
‘It’s your choice, fellas,’ I said to the crowd, ‘but they’ve got the right idea. Now, Armageddon-outta-here.’
I won’t lie, the prospect of watching these idiots drown was quite exciting. The ramp was sealed and the sky opened, pouring rain as if bottomless buckets were being tipped over. Within the hour, the rivers overflowed and before we knew it, the ark, although anchored to ground, was lifted to the surface of an almighty ocean. Thunder crashed overhead, the animals howled and the people shrieked. The first night was a horrifying orchestra of terror.
Not that we saw it that way. Me and Noah were still drunk in that first hour. We remained on top deck, enjoying the surrounding chaos; slipping around as the ocean rocked us and the rain drenched the wooden floor. The more we drank, the funnier it was. That is until Noah stumbled backwards and went over the edge. ‘Oh, shit!’ I darted towards him, hanging on with both hands.
I was laughing through tears as I pulled him back over and that’s when he slapped me across the face. ‘What the hell, man?’
He stormed into the centre, away from the edge. ‘I can’t keep drinking that stuff. It has altered my mind and my sight.’
‘But, that’s the best part!’
‘No, I’m going below. You’ll join me too if you have no intention of ending your own life. This was foolish,’ he said, leaving me there in the rain.
The following morning, I awoke being spooned by a panda on one of the lower decks. Comfiest sleep yet. After some hair of the dog and a sandwich, I found Noah on the top deck, staring out at the ocean that was once his home. There was a sense of melancholy in his calmness, even I could see that. I stood next to him and held out my hipflask. He shook his head. ‘That stuff is damaging,’ he said.
‘You’re probably right. Dread to think of my liver?’
‘Your what?’
‘Oh yeah, that’s right. Human anatomy, not a thing yet. Just ignore me. Everything’s a little –’ At that moment, I spluttered dark, watery bile over the edge of the deck. Sea sickness, who’d have known.
‘Maybe you should stop drinking that stuff,’ said Noah.
I cleared my throat. ‘Nah, it’s the only thing making me better.’
‘Better?’ He snickered.
‘Yeah, better. I’ve never been surrounded by this much water before – it’s motion sickness, that all.’
‘Sickness? How sick are you?’ he asked, taking a step back. ‘I can’t have you infecting my people.’
‘Honestly, it’s not that big a deal. Some people get a little sick when they’re wobbling about the place all the time. I mean, just check the lower decks. Everyone’s going a bit loopy down there. You know there’s a guy – completely sober, reckons he’s seen an episode of The Wire.’
He ignored me and watched as lightning flashed in the distance above the mountains. It was beautiful from afar, less so when directly under it.
‘I thought all of this was creation again,’ Noah said, thinking aloud. ‘A cleansing to rid the world of evils. Can we really be free of sin from here on?’
‘Sin? Nope, never – apparently, we’re born into it. Trust me, humanity doesn’t get any better. No matter how much cleansing there is, it will always be the same. We never really peak as a species and every generation after the so-called millennials… fuck me, they’re idiots. They can’t even watch a film without staring at their phones. Why can no-one just enjoy a film anymore?’
‘Film, phone, what are these things?’ asked Noah. ‘Are you speaking Egyptian?’
‘Could very well be, my friend. My wife always did say I rambled, even when I was sober – not that I got drunk back then. Hell, it was something the kids picked up as well; they were talking utter nonsense until the age of six.’ I laughed to myself.
‘You have a wife and children?’
‘I did, yeah, but… not anymore.’
I took the last swig of my hipflask, then shook it just to doublecheck. Empty and out. ‘Don’t suppose you know how much longer this will last, do you? If I don’t have hair of the dog I’m gonna have the worst hangover of all time tomorrow. While I’ve not done all of time, I’ve got a pretty good idea of how big it is.’
Noah rolled his eyes, he’d given up on translations. He moved back to my side. ‘What happened to them? Your family?’
‘They died. My wife, my son and my daughter… They were on their way back from town when this stupid kid who’d just passed his test, decided to drive around while high. He lost control of the vehicle and drove into my wife’s car, drove them off the road. They were dead on arrival.
‘I will forever remember staring at the meal I’d prepared that day, laid out on the dining room table, knowing those three seats would never be filled. So, I did what any father or husband would do given the chance, I built a time machine. Just to save them. And I did… I went back in time and I picked them up instead of letting them drive; we took a different route and we made it home. But then, they died again. In another car crash, a day later. So, of course, I went back and saved them again. I took them far, far away. But they died again. And again. And again.’
Noah listened like he understood. Whether he did or not (although unlikely), he didn’t let on, but that didn’t matter, he understood the pain.
‘That’s when I realised time compensates when you mess around with it. It’s not just a log flume of possibility, it’s a conscious thing with rules. And because of those rules, my family has to die – it’s set in stone no matter what I do. I can do just about anything else without consequence, but the one thing I want – most in whole universe, is to have them back.’
For the first time in a very long time, I let it all out. I hunched over in a mess of tears, snot, the whole enchilada. I cried like a man who’d lost everything. ‘I just want my family back.’
* * *
It was a full day before I woke from my alcohol-infused sleep and fuck did my head hurt when I did. I had not been sober since my family’s funeral – the last one I could bear that is and now I could actually feel my alcohol turning back into blood.
As any form of sickness terrified the passengers, the worst of my withdrawal symptoms took place on the top deck, out of sight, where, once the storms calmed, they had moved most of the fruit and vegetables. By the end of the week, I had convinced myself that I could ferment grape juice by chewing bread at the same time. I’m not entirely sure where that logic came from – something to do with yeast, but in some way, it did help, in that I’d replaced my craving for alcohol with grape-flavoured bread.
Luckily, there was little need for rationing. The giants would scavenge whatever they could find in the mountains, wade through the ocean, which only went up to their belly buttons and would drop them off every week. Initially, I was so impressed that I tried to convince them to take me into the mountains where I might be reunited with my time capsule – likely underwater, but I’d built it to withstand a lot and right now I was desperate; however, about half-a-week later, I witnessed one stump their toe on something at the bottom of the ocean, fall over and never resurface. It was quite ridiculous to watch, but based on that alone, I wasn’t willing to risk my life in the literal hand of these intellectuals.
* * *
Three long, alcohol-less months…
The books did a great job of making the tale more moralistic, more fable-like than it was, because they left out the constant smell of shit and the cabin fever. One man was driven to such lengths that he threw himself from the top deck and tried to swim for the mountains. He didn’t get very far. With a limited selection of books – none of which were in English, no television and not even a Monopoly board, the days felt longer than they were. In the weeks that followed, I told people stories I’d heard from my travels, although from a certain point onwards, I was basically improving the plots of soap operas and Harry Potter.
On day 150, the ocean inexplicably drained from under us and the ark thumped back to the ground. I’d never seen so many people cry with joy – myself included. I was the first one off the bloody thing when the ramp came down and I had never been happier to feel squidgy soil under my feet.
Noah and I had grown somewhat distant in the final month. I think after I’d told the my story about my family, he was one of the few who had grown closer to his own. I thought I would leave without making a fuss, but a hand landed on my shoulder before I could.
‘You must be relieved,’ said Noah. ‘Can’t wait to get started on rebuilding everything.’
‘And you do. There’s a little spoiler for you.’ I took one last look at the ark. ‘Anyway, I didn’t plan on staying for this long, so I should head back to my own time. It was great knowing you.’
‘And you, but, before you go. You told me about your past and while most of what you said can’t possibly have been in the common tongue, I did try and take the time to understand it. You said you wanted to save your family, but in doing so, you erased the version of yourself that’s motivated to do so. Perhaps that motivation is important, but time – if it be this conscious force – has decided you must use that elsewhere, for something greater. You wanted to save your family, yes, but have you ever stopped to think that, maybe you were on the right track. Save someone and just maybe, you’ll find your purpose.’
I didn’t even question how a man from 3000 BC suddenly understood the uncompromising nature of a bootstrap paradox, let alone anything about time travel, but what he said seemed to make sense. And who would I be if I disagreed? He’d been talking with God after all. ‘Thank you, Noah.’
‘You’re welcome. Oh, and maybe, stay away from that alcohol stuff.’
‘After that withdrawal, I’m never touching the stuff again. It’s just grape-y bread from here on out.’ He frowned at me – so done with my shit, but he smiled kindly and returned to his family.
I headed back to the time capsule where it remained parked in the lower mountains. On the way back, I found the minotaur and the centaurs living close by. They had been aided by the giants and were living on the mountain’s peak during the flood. Quite rightly, they were angry at Noah and humanity in general, but I remembered what Noah said. I could help them.
‘I have just the place where you guys might fit it,’ I told them.
After a little convincing, they agreed that I take them to Ancient Greece to live out the rest of their days. After all, that’s where history pinpointed them. I left them quite contented. When I got some free time, I had a look on Wikipedia, just to see how Noah did after I’d gone. That wise old man! Apparently, he lived to the grand old age of 950, he grew his own vineyard and, despite changing my own views on the stuff, became a drunk. Perhaps I was a little more influential than I had thought.
But I guess that’s the butterfly effect.
KYLE SIMMS 