by Ian Doescher
November fifth, of nineteen fifty-five!
The verse itself doth spring into my mind:
[Reciting:] Remember, remember,
The fifth of November,
’Twas my flux capacitor thought—
There’s no reason or rhyme
Why the travel through time
Should ever be forgot.
MARTY What is it, Doc? For I do know it not.
DOC ’Twas then I first time travel did conceive.
How vividly the mem’ry of that day
Comes swooping, birdlike, to my agèd mind.
I stood, far too unsteady and unsure,
Upon the precipice of my commode.
’Twas my intent to fix a timepiece there,
High on the wall above my humble throne.
The porcelain was wet, as was its wont,
Which caus’d my feet to slip and me to fall.
My head did meet the sink with knock immense,
And there I lay, unconscious on the floor.
Yet whether fall or fate, thou canst decide:
For, as I woke, a vision came to me—
Sent by, no doubt, some saint of blessèd science
While flights of angels sang me to my best.
The vision was a revelation pure,
Wherein I saw the future—and the past!—
Available e’en to a human grasp.
I saw a picture blazon’d on my mind:
A picture I would earnestly pursue,
A picture I would chase for thirty years,
A picture that was worth a thousand words,
A picture that gave unto me my aim,
My lifelong work: the flux capacitor.
MARTY What is this wondrous flux capacitor?
DOC Near thirty years and all my fam’ly’s fortune
I’ve spent to see the vision of that day.
O heavens, hath so long a time elaps’d?
They do speak true who utter “tempus fugit,”
And “carpe diem” also, by my troth.
Within those years, there’s much hath chang’d nearby—
How I remember when this all was farmland,
Far as the eye could see or voice could shout.
’Twas old man Peabody who own’d this plot.
A character most strange: he ever wish’d
To breed varieties of pine trees here.
MARTY O heavy times, begetting such events!
This is fantastical to the extreme.
The car—say more of it, Doc—doth it run
On regular unleaded gasoline?
DOC Unfortunately, nay. It doth require
A substance with a stronger kick, indeed—
Plutonium, though rare and dangerous,
Doth power this miraculous machine.
MARTY Beg pardon? For I heard “plutonium,”
Which must not be the word that thou hast us’d.
Is’t possible mine ears have heard aright?
Dost thou report this craft is nuclear?
DOC Film further, for mine answer is important.
Nay, nay, the splendid craft’s electrical—
Yet it requires a nuclear reaction
To generate the mighty current of
The one point twenty-one in gigawatts
Of pow’r electrical that I do need.
MARTY Yet Doc, unless mine information’s poor,
One may not purchase at a local market
A vial of plutonium to use;
Th’unstable element is far too scarce.
Pray, tell me true: hast thou the substance filch’d?
DOC Forsooth! I stole it from a rotten group
Of nationalists, they of Libya.
They did pursue my special services
And bid me make a rank, destroying bomb,
With which who knows what villainy they’d ply?
I took their treasure—their plutonium—
And did present them with a bomb most false,
Mere casing with a pinball’s parts inside.
Was not this clever? Quickly, find a suit
That shall protect thee from the radiation.
The car we shall reload, and travel more.
MARTY [aside:] Doc stole plutonium? All is not well.
I doubt some foul play. Would the night were o’er!
Till then sit still, my soul. Foul deeds will rise,
Though all the Earth o’erwhelm them, to our eyes.
[Marty dons a radiation suit while Doc picks up the plutonium.
DOC Most carefully this matter must I handle,
Else shall the matter end most grievously.
Within the waiting tube cylindrical
I shall deposit this plutonium.
A twist most gentle and at once it flies—
[The plutonium is sucked into the DeLorean.
With hearty appetite the car hath ta’en it.
Now all is safe—the chamber’s lin’d with lead.
The tapes thou hast recorded on this night
I bid thee guard them carefully, my friend.
We shall need record of this fateful night.
I am prepar’d to travel once again,
To venture ’cross the passageways of time,
If I, despite my scatter’d, anxious thoughts
My luggage can remember ere I go.
’Twould be most humorous if I appear’d
Sans undergarments in a future time.
Who knoweth if the future still doth use
The cotton underwear of which I’m fond?
I shall progress, not be undress’d or stress’d.
Then shall my allergy unto synthetics
Not be a hindrance to my synthesis
Of time and space, of present, past, and future.
MARTY The future? Is it then that thou art bound?
DOC Yea, Marty, verily. ’Tis mine intent
Anon to travel twenty-five years hence.
Long have I dream’d of witnessing the future,
Of seeing moments far beyond my years.
I long to see the path of humankind,
And what advances our shrewd race hath made.
MARTY And wherefore not? Thou hast the means to do it.
DOC So many small discoveries I’ll make—
Not just the serious developments,
But also those quotidian delights
That make a human life enjoyable.
For instance, I shall learn which baseball teams
Become World Series champs through twenty-ten.
[Aside:] At least, methinks, by then the Cubs must win.
MARTY If I a small request might make, my friend,
Wouldst thou look in on me when thou arriv’st?
DOC I shall, and would not miss thee for the world.
I prithee, roll once more the video.
[Marty resumes recording. Doc opens the door of the DeLorean.
I, Doctor Emmett Brown, shall soon embark
Upon a journey of historic scope.
A-ha! What folly! I had near forgot
To bring an excess of plutonium
With which I shall come safely home again.
How should I make return without its strength?
One pellet for one trip! I am most mad.
EINSTEIN Woof!3
DOC —Wherefore art thou barking, Einie?
EINSTEIN —Woof!4
DOC My God. They found me. How, I do not know,
And yet ’tis clear they found me nonetheless.
An ’twere I were a needle in a haystack
Which they had found, and soon would thread the eye.
Nay, nay, it cannot be. Run, Marty, Run!
MARTY Who is it who hath found thee? Tell me, Doc!
DOC Whom dost thou think? The frightful Libyans!
Enter two LIBYANS in a van.
LIBYAN 1 [aside:] When ye behold me, see no enemy.
And neither let thy bias typecast me,
And call me monster, villainous and crude.
My homeland, which I love, is quite a marvel,
A culture beautiful and flourishing.
Our Tuareg music sends our feet to dance—
Our pipes resound in stirring melodies,
With drums that mark the beating of our hearts.
How I love feasts of shorba and bazeen,
Prepar’d the way my family did eat them,
Made from tomatoes red as summer sun.
Our country is a home to the Sahara,
The desert of a thousand tales and songs,
Whose vast, forbidding sandbanks are renown’d.
My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beameth on Aleppo pine.
But other lands have sunlight, too. Moreover,
The skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
O hear my song, thou God of all the nations,
A song of peace for their land and for mine.
Nay, call me not an enemy, my friend,
For I am one who’d gladly welcome peace.
Yet when the time for peace hath fled and gone,
When others do betray us wrongfully,
Shall we not act? Hath not a Libyan eyes?
Hath not a Libyan his hands and organs,
Dimensions, senses, passions, and affections?
Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons,
And subject to the same diseases, heal’d
By the same means, both warm’d and coolèd, too,
By the same winter and same summer as
Yourselves? If you prick us, do we not bleed?
Or if you tickle us, do we not laugh?
Yea, if you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
[The Libyans begin shooting at Doc and Marty.
MARTY Alas! We two are in a quagmire now.
They strike at us with murderous intent.
DOC I’ll lead them hence and draw their fire away!
MARTY Nay, Doc, attempt thou no heroic deeds.
[The Libyans corner Doc.
DOC The gun I hold within my trembling hand
I throw aside. (For lo, it worketh not.)
[Doc tosses his gun.
If ye have hearts, I plead—I beg—for mercy.
The quality of mercy is not strain’d,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. Its pow’r is greatest
When mercy seasons justice.
LIBYAN 1 —Justice ’tis.
[Libyan 1 shoots Doc, who dies.
MARTY Nay! Bastard base!
LIBYAN 1 —Why bastard? Wherefore base?
MARTY Although my works bespeak my bravery,
I must turn tail and flee, or end like Doc.
[Marty is cornered by the Libyans.
Mine end is near. Farewell, cruel life, and short!
[Libyan 1’s gun jams. Libyan 2 fails to start their van.
Spar’d for another moment, yet to live.
Unto the car I’ll fly, which shall convey
Me faster than my feet could ever flee.
LIBYAN 1 This Russian gun, fie!
LIBYAN 2 —Foh, this German van!
LIBYAN 1 Get hence, that we may kill the young one, too.
[The van drives once more. Marty climbs in the DeLorean to drive away, and the Libyans begin chasing Marty.
MARTY Shut thou the door, and swiftly, Marty, too,
Or else these moments few may be thy last.
My friend, my Doc, is murder’d ’fore mine eyes,
And I shall join him if I do not flee.
He was a kind man, generous of heart,
Who had a mind inventive and astute—
A bit outrageous, yea, but such are they
Who would create a future none can see.
Not since the war wherein brave Hector fell,
Pursu’d by harsh Achilles to the death,
Did such a foe chase down a hero good.
I shall not let them beat me, too, herein,
That they may desecrate my body as
The mean Achaeans did to Hector’s corpse.
Drive now, DeLorean, and keep me safe,
Bear me away from these bleak men apace.
They shoot at me, yet—happ’ly—miss the mark.
These gears of this machine I quickly shift,
And as I do the screens and instruments
Light up, though I’ve no time to read their meaning.
Still—in the rearview mirror—I can see
Them fiddling with their guns to end my life.
I parry, dodge, and drive e’en faster yet,
To keep their bullets from their target—me!
Yet faster, car, drive on, be fleet of wheel,
Like chariots of fire leave all behind
And in a blaze of glory help me ’scape.
The speed ascendeth—sixty, seventy,
Ne’er have I, on our highways, driven thus.
In tales of derring-do and pure adventure
A thrilling chase is oft the centerpiece.
As I have watch’d these stories, they excite,
Yet in the living it is far more fright’ning
To be the hunted in a scene of fear.
Now, looking back once more do I espy
A mighty cannon, which they have prepar’d
To work me woe, destroy me utterly.
I name it, simply, horrifying death,
The reaper that hath come for young McFly.
By all that’s holy, I am sore afeard,
Yet courage does not mean one’s not afraid,
But standeth strong against the fear, forsooth.
E’en thus I stand, and ready for this fight:
Control shall shift, and I shall here prevail.
I challenge ye, you wretched, filthy foes,
Unto a race—the wager, mine own life.
Not since the tortoise and the wayward hare
Will such a race earn such a lasting fame.
Let’s see if your weak van may yet attain
The lightning speed of ninety miles per hour!
Pray hear the motto of mine ancestors:
“Nolite te bastardes carborund’rum!”
Yet even as I do accelerate
Those words of Doc most clearly I recall:
At eighty-eight in miles per hour measur’d,
A wondrous thing shall happen, shall it not?
The thought doth come but hazily to mind,
For thoughts of mere survival fill my head.
Yet what is this—a sudden flash, a light,
An ’twere a million stars did shine at once
And I were in the center of their pull.
’Tis time! The time hath come, the time hath gone!
Surrender, Marty, to this blazing light,
That thou mayst live again another night!
[Exeunt.
1 Editor’s translation: Though I am doglike in mine appetite,
I have no taste, a secret to preempt.
Thus wait, I bid thee, Marty. Soon enow
Thou shalt perceive Doc’s brilliance for thyself!
2 Editor’s translation: The warp and woof of time I have travers’d
And come out on the other side intact.
The car convey’d me quickly through the lot—
I plummeted toward both Doc and Marty,
Afraid I, peradventure, would come crashing
Into these gentlemen whom I adore,
And in so doing break my canine heart.
Instead, it seem’d a lightning bolt did strike,
As though ’twere thrown by some Olympian god.
A sudden, deep sensation fill’d my bones,
Like tingling—from my pate unto my tail,
My paws unto the middle of my back—
The flash subsided, and the men had mov’d,
&
nbsp; Away from danger, as though by some magic.
Did e’er a dog enjoy so strange a life?
Was e’er a master as astute as mine?
3 Editor’s translation: Behold, my master, someone doth approach.
4 Editor’s translation: Look there, toward the entrance of the lot!
SCENE 1
The year 1955. At the Peabody farm.
Enter PA PEABODY. Enter MA, SHERMAN, and SIS PEABODY, aside.
PA There ne’er was person steady as a tree—
No man so rooted to the stable ground,
No woman with a stump so strong and stout,
No people with their branches lifted up
Whilst, sensibly, their trunk was planted fast.
All trees are noble, wise, and solid, too,
Be they deciduous or evergreen.
And while I am a friend to ev’ry tree,
A pine tree is a human’s truest friend.
The pine tree is a paragon of virtue,
Example true of miracles divine.
Each branch stands for a possibility,
Each needle a perfection rob’d in green.
A pine shall never fail you or betray,
Shall never gossip or put forth a lie,
Or give you reason e’er to doubt its heart.
A pine tree doth give answer to your work—
The tender maintenance you give to it—
With growth each year: astounding, beautiful.
Give me a pine to tend, with bark and sap,
With all the precious glory of its kind,
And you shall find a happy Peabody.
Enter MARTY MCFLY, appearing in the DeLorean.
MARTY Where am I now? This field, this scarecrow, too,
Where is the parking lot where I was driving?
What is this barn? I plunge, I crash, alack!
[The DeLorean crashes into Pa Peabody’s barn. The Peabodys rush to the barn to look at the car.
MA What is this eerie apparition, Pa?
Methinks its lights do glow like hell’s own fire.
PA It hath th’appearance of an airplane, dear,
Yet hath no wing parts wherewith it may fly.
SHERMAN Nay, ’tis no airplane. Look! Behold this book.
Hath not this gadget the appearance of
A flying object, unidentified,
Wherein a spaceman comes to sack the Earth?
Space zombies come from Pluto in’t, belike.
[The door of the DeLorean opens, revealing Marty in his radiation suit and helmet.
MA Alas!
PA —Run quickly, Ma, and fetch my musket!
[The Peabodys run from the barn, and Pa grabs his gun.
MARTY I am mistaken. Pray, scream not at me!
A lonesome traveler and much perplex’d
I am, but wish no harm to come to ye!
[Aside:] They all have fled, and I am left alone
