Face Blind

by Len Melvin

  “Maybe it’s a just a joke.”

  “I’m a chrononaut, Beaux,” he said in a low voice.

  “A what?”

  “Chrononaut.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Someone who travels through time.”

  “That is such bullshit.”

  “Sorry. You asked.” Malouf turned his palms upward. “It’s the truth.”

  “I still don’t believe that.” Beaux shook her head back and forth.

  Malouf breathed out in exasperation. He tugged on her sleeve. “Let’s go for a short walk.”

  “Where?”

  “Away from them.” Malouf jerked a thumb back at the men in the truck. “C’mon.” Malouf exited the truck and began to walk down the road. Beaux watched him and then got out of the truck. He turned and waited for her. “Why do you think we had those blue lines around us?”

  “Yeah, why was that?”

  “There’s a lot of friction involved in the process of time travel which temporarily creates a blue aura around us. It’s supposed to be invisible to the naked eye. But it can show up on film or video which is why we get here early and let it dissipate.”

  “Early?”

  “We don’t want to show up on film with blue auras during an event.”

  “Event? What do you mean ‘event’?”

  “Beaux, you can’t say anything about this to anyone.”

  “Who would believe me?”

  Malouf let out a small laugh. “I guess so.”

  “What event?” Beaux asked again.

  Malouf took Beaux’s hand and cupped it in his. “We are documentarians.”

  “Documentarians? What do you mean? Documentarians of what?”

  “Of history. Of historical events. Where we come from, things from the past are kind of sketchy. We know a lot about what happened but there are myths and half-truths and stories so that we really don’t know sometimes what’s true and what’s not. History for us is somewhat fragmented, especially before the…” Malouf stopped.

  “Before the what?”

  “Nothing. Anyway, so, we send back documentarians. Our job is to film and record the events. It’s thought that if we know exactly what happened, why and how it happened, it will clear up history and hopefully help us to avoid the mistakes made in the past.”

  “Before the what?” Beaux repeated the question, exasperation rising in her voice.

  “Never mind. I’ve told you enough.”

  “You’re a documentarian?”

  “Yes.”

  “From the year 2056?”

  Malouf nodded, a slight smile around the corners of his mouth.

  “To film an event?”

  “Yes.”

  “What event?” Malouf took a step back and was silent. Beaux put a hand over mouth. “Oh, my God. The President…” Malouf placed a finger over his lips. Beaux nodded in understanding. “What type of historical events do you film?”

  Malouf turned and surveyed the pick-up. His friends and the twins were all staring at them. He placed a hand on Beaux’s elbow and pulled her toward him. “Assassination attempts,” he whispered.

  “Oh, God.” Beaux put a hand across her mouth. “Someone’s going to kill the President?”

  “Or try to.”

  “The people you’re following?” Malouf shrugged his shoulders and was quiet. Beaux knocked Malouf’s hand from her elbow and backed away. “I don’t fucking believe you. I don’t believe any of this.” She pointed a finger at him. “You’re crazy.”

  “Sorry. It’s true. You, yourself said, as a chess player, that there were no coincidences.” Malouf held out his arms. “What other explanation could there be from what you’ve seen?”

  “Where are the video cameras?” Beaux’s chin shifted upward in defiance. “I haven’t seen any of those around. How are you going to document something without video cameras or equipment?”

  “I’m kind of what you would call the director.” He motioned to his friends in the back of the truck. “The others do the filming.”

  “How?”

  “Just trust me on this, okay? How could I make this up?”

  “Tell me, how can you film an event, without video cameras and equipment?”

  Malouf exhaled in exasperation. “See, this is one reason I didn’t want to tell you anything because every time I tell you something, it leads to more questions.”

  “Too late now, Mr. Chrononaut or whatever you are.” Beaux poked a finger in Malouf’s chest. “Tell me.”

  “Hey,” Jackson slapped the top of the cab with his hand, “we’re ready.”

  “Just a second,” Beaux yelled, without looking away from Malouf.

  “The others have video chips implanted into their retinas,” Malouf continued. “They film by using their eyes.”

  “What?” Beaux asked, her eyes squinted as her voice rose. “What?”

  “They film with their eyes.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “They’re androids,” Malouf smiled.

  “What?”

  “You asked.”

  “Androids? You mean they’re not human?”

  “No, Beaux, they’re not human.”

  Beaux’s attention went immediately to the four men standing in the back of the pick-up truck that were all staring at her and Malouf with the same blank expressions. She was silent for a few seconds and then bent over, placed her hands on her knees and burst into laughter.

  “What?” asked Malouf in surprise. “What’s so funny?”

  Beaux raised up, her face red. She held an index finger up to Malouf. “Just a second,” she managed to eke out before she began laughing again. She wiped a tear from her face. “Sorry. Just a second.”

  Malouf watched her, bemused. “What’s so funny?” he asked again.

  Beaux straightened and waved a hand in front of her face, fanning herself. She exhaled and looked at Malouf. “That just made me believe everything you’ve been telling me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s the only explanation for how fucking weird those guys are.” She laughed again. “They have android written all over them. That explanation just made everything plausible.”

  Malouf laughed and nodded in agreement. “I suppose it does. I probably should have led with that.”

  “I love you, you know.” Beaux threw her arms around Malouf. “All of you are so weird.”

  “I guess we are.” Malouf put his arms around Beaux and held her.

  Beaux looked back toward the truck. Everyone stood in the bed, lined up, the androids and the twins, their eyes wide as they watched. She raised her head from Malouf’s chest, her face red, a bit flustered. “So they don’t have almonds or oranges or lightning bugs or bees where you come from because of our overuse of pesticides?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did the pesticides get rid of girls like me?”

  “Yes.” Malouf smiled and ran a hand through Beaux’s hair. “There are no girls like you there. Trust me on that.”

  “Good.” Beaux kissed Malouf fully on the mouth and then lay her head back against his chest. “At least those pesticides were good for something.”

  ◆◆◆

  “Oh, my God.”

  Beaux sat straight up in bed. She grabbed Malouf with both hands and gave him a hard shake. “Wake up.”

  “What?” Malouf sat erect, alert. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Beaux reached over and flipped on the lamp. “With everything you told me I didn’t even think about it.”

  “What?”

  “My uncle is Secret Service. He’s supposed to be protecting the President. He could be killed.” Beaux flipped the covers and jumped out of bed. “I’ve got to tell him.”

  Malouf grabbed Beaux’s arm and pulled her back into the bed. “Settle down. Okay?”

  Beaux tried to pull her arm from Malouf’s grasp. “I’ve got to tell him. He’s my only uncle.”

  “Beaux…”

&n
bsp; “Let me go. I’ve got to tell him.”

  “Beaux, you can’t do that.” He twisted around until he was sitting upright, gripping her arm a little tighter. “Listen to me.”

  “I’ve got to,” she insisted. “He could be killed. Oh, my God. I didn’t even think about him working for the Secret Service.”

  He let go of her arm and stood, taking her by the shoulders. “Just relax, okay?”

  “Okay.” Beaux took a deep breath. “It’s just that…”

  “Listen to me, Beaux. It’s important. Real important. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “First of all, the event is not for three days. We have time to talk about this, okay?”

  “But—”

  “Second, I told you this in confidence and…”

  She stepped back out of his reach, then picked up the pants she’d thrown onto a nearby chair. “But, I didn’t know that my uncle…”

  “You made a promise to me. Remember?”

  She stuck a foot into her pants. “I didn’t know my uncle could be killed when I made that promise.”

  “Shhh.” He stepped forward, took her arm again, and urged her back to the bed. “Look, just sit for a second. Nothing’s going to happen tonight. Let me tell you a story.”

  She resisted, then relented and sat down, her pants trailing on the floor next to her. “What kind of story?”

  “A true one.”

  “Okay.”

  Malouf took a deep breath and was silent, trying to think where to begin. “Where I’m from, things are okay now. Not great but okay. For more than two decades there was a war of unprecedented horror and viciousness. Now, there’s a truce between the warring factions. A truce born of exhaustion with war and conflict. But it’s a tenuous truce. Different philosophies on governing have been put aside for the moment. There is the hope that a final peace can be achieved and that our differences can be resolved without more conflict. That the constitution can somehow be reinstated and that the rule of law be once again observed. There is hope that what has happened may be put aside in some sort of grand reconciliation. The leaders on both sides continue to bicker and there is still an undercurrent of dissent and those on either side who still seek to foment trouble, but as I said, there is hope.”

  “What does that have to do with my uncle and the event?”

  “Beaux, it’s not a given that that world will happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The world I am from is dependent upon history not being changed.” He took her hand in his and squeezed. “I can only watch. I can’t try to affect things or I could change how my world in 2056 is. It could even, by some quirk, make my own existence cease.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Everything in the future, my existence, the prospect of peace, the hope of prosperity, the knowledge and all the things that we have there, are dependent upon nothing, nothing being altered. Once the technology was available to travel through time there was a lot of debate before we were allowed to come back to document things. It was the thinking that the benefits of learning outweighed the risks. We are sent back with really specific rules and parameters of conduct. We are never to interfere. We are only to observe. And you too.” He let go of her hand and turned to her, his finger under her chin as he forced her to look at him. “Beaux, in three days there is going to be an event that cannot be altered, no matter what. Everything must be allowed to play out. Any action by you or me could alter the future and imperil millions of lives. If your uncle is killed or wounded, I’m sorry.” Beaux surged to her feet and grabbed her pants again. Malouf took her arm and pulled her back down beside him.

  “Don’t grab me.”

  “Sorry, but this is important. To interfere might cost millions of lives and affect the future and badly in an irreversible way. And it could conceivably kill me. You wouldn’t want that would you?”

  “No,” Beaux said, her voice barely audible.

  “Beaux, after the event, it’s going to be really bad for a while. A conflict that has been building for some time will be unleashed. It will be ugly and bloody and dirty. But in the end, after a long while, it’s going to be alright.” He squeezed her hand again. “But one action by me or you could imperil everything. That future could be at risk.”

  “But…my uncle is at risk now. What about that?”

  “I’m sorry, Beaux.” Malouf held up a solitary finger that appeared whitish in the light coming through the window. “But one act, no matter how minor, and the hope for the future of a vibrant, peaceful civilization could be destroyed. That would be on your shoulders. And mine.”

  Beaux rose, slipped on her clothes and went to the window. In the distance was Fondren Hall, its bell tower illuminated by the light of the moon. Uncle Simon would be in front of the Hall in three days and his life in danger. She turned back to Malouf. He sat cross-legged in bed watching her. “So, you’re saying my uncle might die and I can’t do anything about it because it might fuck up the future where everybody is doing okay?”

  “Well,” Malouf paused, “yeah.”

  She folded her arms as a thought occurred to her. “Maybe interfering might stop the next twenty years of war that you’re talking about.”

  “Or it might make it worse. It could even mean total destruction. You want to risk that? And my life also?”

  “What about you? After this event, what happens to you?”

  Malouf stared at her and was silent. Beaux spoke after a moment. “I see. You go back to where everything is good.”

  He stood, took a step toward her, then changed his mind and stopped. “Beaux, I’m simply a documentarian sent to do a job.”

  She stood with her back to the window, her arms crossed. “What about me?”

  Malouf was silent and then gave a slight nod. “I’m sorry. Nothing can be altered or changed.”

  “Doesn’t your even coming here alter things in a way?”

  Malouf tilted his head to the side. “Maybe. A little. That was the argument used by the ones who were against doing this.”

  “What about when you saved that girl in New Orleans? What about the fight in the bar the other night? What about that? Isn’t that intervening? Couldn’t that,” Beaux made quotation marks with her fingers, ‘“imperil’ millions of lives also?”

  “Those were really small things. I shouldn’t have done them and I’ll probably be censured or demoted when I return, if those acts are discovered.”

  “I don’t think you practice what you preach.”

  “Maybe not. But I just couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

  “How is that different from me wanting to help my uncle?” Beaux screamed across the room.

  Malouf stared at her in silence. “It’s not,” he said after a moment, “except for the scale of involvement. But the fact that I failed to follow my instructions doesn’t make them any less important to follow now. Beaux, if you were to warn your uncle, because of who he is, he could stop the whole event from happening. Everything could change. All that is, would most likely be undone. My helping you or the girl in New Orleans was totally against my instructions and training but they were minor actions. If you tell a bodyguard of the President’s what’s about to take place that would change everything and could have really large and maybe horrendous consequences.” Malouf went to the counter that was against the wall. He bowed his head and put a hand to his brow. “And probably, I’ve already lost my job. They won’t allow me to come back after this. Everything is way too fragile.”

  “Have you been to other assassinations?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Different ones.”

  “Lincoln?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Kennedy?”

  “Yes, and they were terrible to watch. But I did nothing except document the event.”

  “Maybe you should have done something.”

  He dropped his hand and turned back to face her.
“What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you think things might have been better if they had lived?”

  Malouf extended a hand in explanation. “It was forbidden for me to do anything. I can’t affect history.”

  “Well, maybe you should’a.” She planted her hands on her hips and leaned forward, her voice rising. “Maybe at sometime, no matter what, you need to take a side. Not just stand and watch. Just like you did with the girl in New Orleans. And with me. You saved us. Maybe you should have saved them. Maybe chrononauts could help instead of hiding behind their rules and watching people die.”

  Malouf whirled, picked up a glass from the counter and threw it into the sink where it shattered with a loud crash. “Don’t you think I wanted to. Do you know how hard it is…” He stopped as his voice broke. He swallowed, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he tried again. He began again in a halting voice. “Do you know how hard it is to watch a hero of yours have his head blown off and you can do nothing about it?” He glared back at her. “How fucking old are you again?”

  Beaux ignored the question, turned around, and studied Fondren Hall through the window again. So much had happened in the last two weeks. She tried to remember the last time she had seen her uncle. And what had Bobby said about the President. She couldn’t remember a time before he was the President. She turned back to Malouf. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes looked almost sad. She thought about the fight in the bar and the cream that he had put on her arm. “You said there is going to be a vicious and horrible war?

  “Yes.”

  “For over twenty years?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe intervening in the event that’s going to happen in three days might make things better. Maybe there might not be a twenty-year war.”

  Malouf crossed his arms and was silent for a moment. “Or maybe it might last thirty years. Or maybe there is total destruction. All I know is what is presently and what my orders are.”

  “You love your job?”

  Malouf was silent for a few seconds. “Very much so,” he said finally and then muttered something to himself.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “Just that you always surprise me. I never know what you’re going to do or say. Maybe that’s why you’re so good in chess.”