Doris settled herself back in her chair and peered at her great grandchildren seated at her feet. Their eager little faces blinked back at her. “Go on, Nana,” prompted seven year old Charlotte. Doris took a deep breath and began her story.
***
By ten to three, I was more than ready for a cup of coffee and a ciggy. The crocodile of people wanting to pay rates or settle parking fines had finally shrunk to one. Somehow each preceding ratepayer had managed to convey the impression I was personally responsible for the last 10% rates hike and lost no time in telling me so. The traffic miscreants were no less forthcoming in making sure I understood that they were the victims of a gross miscarriage of justice. I put on my brightest smile.
“And how can I help you today?”
The elderly gentleman did not respond, instead sliding a printed sheet towards me. Without letting my smile slip I reached out to take it but he kept it pinned to the faux marble counter with three fingers. He said something I didn’t catch.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, your life for my fine.” Taken aback, I looked at him more closely. Probably in his late sixties or early seventies, he was wearing a green Swandri jacket and sported a neat beard. A black knitted beanie completed the image. This time I was less politically correct.
“What?”
“If you wipe my fine, in return I will save your life.” I stared at him. Thoughts of the violence at another office some years ago shot through my mind. Was I about to figure on the six o’clock news? He didn’t seem threatening as he looked me in the eye, his index finger still keeping the Traffic Offence Notice pinned to the desk.
“I didn’t realise I was in danger.” I looked sideways at Helen, engrossed in conversation with another client.
“Trust me, you are. Not from me, but in danger none-the-less.” He smiled. “Well, what do you say?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t wipe your fine, even if I wanted to.” I flicked the free edge of the form. “If you look on the back it tells you how to file a defence.” He shook his head.
“No, no. The fine is quite legitimate; I was over-parked by a good twenty minutes. Guilty as charged, ma’am. But that’s not the issue. I know something you don’t, or don’t appear to, and I’m willing to exchange that knowledge with you, if you pay my fine.” He kept looking at me.
“Why not just tell me?”
“Then you wouldn’t value the information, would you?” I decided he was harmless and took the bait; after all I still had five minutes to kill until afternoon tea.
“How much is your fine?” He lifted his finger and I pulled the notice over to my side of the counter. Convince me,” I said.
“My superpower is precognition.” I raised my eyebrows. “I can see the future,” he continued. “Or to be more accurate, the futures. The many-futures model of reality has gained scientific respectability in recent years and with good reason – it’s correct.” I wasn’t as surprised as I might have been, as my sci-fi reading boyfriend had tried to talk to me about this on more than one occasion.
“And you can tell my future?” I queried.
“Oh yes, I can,” he said. “Definitely.” I was about to reply, but he continued. “We all experience nodal points during our lives. Moments when we make decisions that will affect our future. These occur continuously, but for the most part we don’t notice them. Non-decisions might be a better description. Bit like a train coming into a station that crosses the points that someone else has set. But just occasionally we have the opportunity to decide which life-changing track we are going to take, and unless I seriously miss my guess, you will have that opportunity quite soon. So that’s what I’m offering you, the knowledge to make that decision.” I glanced at the big clock, almost three o’clock. Time to wrap this up.
“Kind of you to offer, Mr - ah - Abraham, but I think I’ll pass. I prefer my future to be a closed book. Cash or card?” He ignored my question.
“It’s Dr Abraham, actually. I’m retired now but forty years of clinical practice doesn’t switch off that easily. I can’t help seeing things. In some ways it’s a curse, because I understand the likely outcome of choices people make, some of which will be catastrophic.” His blue eyes returned my gaze steadily.
***
“What did you do Nana?” Four year old Peter pulled at her arm.
“I paid his fine.”
“What did he say? Tell us what he said!”
“To stop smoking.”
Charlotte looked puzzled. “Is that all?”
“Yes, that was it. I felt quite angry. I'd paid his fine for nothing. I asked for my money back, but he just laughed. I wasn’t going to take any notice of him but strangely – I don’t know how he did it – I just didn’t want to smoke any more. Just as well. A week later, I found I was pregnant with your grandmother.”
“Did he save your life, Nana?” Peter asked.
“I think he did,” she said, taking the birthday card from the mantelpiece, the one from Buckingham Palace. “The Queen sent me this last week. She sends it to people when they get to a hundred. I think I got my money's worth.”
Image congerdesign at Pixabay
***
By ten to three, I was more than ready for a cup of coffee and a ciggy. The crocodile of people wanting to pay rates or settle parking fines had finally shrunk to one. Somehow each preceding ratepayer had managed to convey the impression I was personally responsible for the last 10% rates hike and lost no time in telling me so. The traffic miscreants were no less forthcoming in making sure I understood that they were the victims of a gross miscarriage of justice. I put on my brightest smile.
“And how can I help you today?”
The elderly gentleman did not respond, instead sliding a printed sheet towards me. Without letting my smile slip I reached out to take it but he kept it pinned to the faux marble counter with three fingers. He said something I didn’t catch.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, your life for my fine.” Taken aback, I looked at him more closely. Probably in his late sixties or early seventies, he was wearing a green Swandri jacket and sported a neat beard. A black knitted beanie completed the image. This time I was less politically correct.
“What?”
“If you wipe my fine, in return I will save your life.” I stared at him. Thoughts of the violence at another office some years ago shot through my mind. Was I about to figure on the six o’clock news? He didn’t seem threatening as he looked me in the eye, his index finger still keeping the Traffic Offence Notice pinned to the desk.
“I didn’t realise I was in danger.” I looked sideways at Helen, engrossed in conversation with another client.
“Trust me, you are. Not from me, but in danger none-the-less.” He smiled. “Well, what do you say?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t wipe your fine, even if I wanted to.” I flicked the free edge of the form. “If you look on the back it tells you how to file a defence.” He shook his head.
“No, no. The fine is quite legitimate; I was over-parked by a good twenty minutes. Guilty as charged, ma’am. But that’s not the issue. I know something you don’t, or don’t appear to, and I’m willing to exchange that knowledge with you, if you pay my fine.” He kept looking at me.
“Why not just tell me?”
“Then you wouldn’t value the information, would you?” I decided he was harmless and took the bait; after all I still had five minutes to kill until afternoon tea.
“How much is your fine?” He lifted his finger and I pulled the notice over to my side of the counter. Convince me,” I said.
“My superpower is precognition.” I raised my eyebrows. “I can see the future,” he continued. “Or to be more accurate, the futures. The many-futures model of reality has gained scientific respectability in recent years and with good reason – it’s correct.” I wasn’t as surprised as I might have been, as my sci-fi reading boyfriend had tried to talk to me about this on more than one occasion.
“And you can tell my future?” I queried.
“Oh yes, I can,” he said. “Definitely.” I was about to reply, but he continued. “We all experience nodal points during our lives. Moments when we make decisions that will affect our future. These occur continuously, but for the most part we don’t notice them. Non-decisions might be a better description. Bit like a train coming into a station that crosses the points that someone else has set. But just occasionally we have the opportunity to decide which life-changing track we are going to take, and unless I seriously miss my guess, you will have that opportunity quite soon. So that’s what I’m offering you, the knowledge to make that decision.” I glanced at the big clock, almost three o’clock. Time to wrap this up.
“Kind of you to offer, Mr - ah - Abraham, but I think I’ll pass. I prefer my future to be a closed book. Cash or card?” He ignored my question.
“It’s Dr Abraham, actually. I’m retired now but forty years of clinical practice doesn’t switch off that easily. I can’t help seeing things. In some ways it’s a curse, because I understand the likely outcome of choices people make, some of which will be catastrophic.” His blue eyes returned my gaze steadily.
***
“What did you do Nana?” Four year old Peter pulled at her arm.
“I paid his fine.”
“What did he say? Tell us what he said!”
“To stop smoking.”
Charlotte looked puzzled. “Is that all?”
“Yes, that was it. I felt quite angry. I'd paid his fine for nothing. I asked for my money back, but he just laughed. I wasn’t going to take any notice of him but strangely – I don’t know how he did it – I just didn’t want to smoke any more. Just as well. A week later, I found I was pregnant with your grandmother.”
“Did he save your life, Nana?” Peter asked.
“I think he did,” she said, taking the birthday card from the mantelpiece, the one from Buckingham Palace. “The Queen sent me this last week. She sends it to people when they get to a hundred. I think I got my money's worth.”
Image congerdesign at Pixabay