Arnesto Modesto: The World's Most Ineffectual Time Traveler

by Darren Johnson

  This was why she had been so aggressive that night. It wasn’t because she was feeling frisky; she was attempting to cover up her mistake. She must’ve had unprotected sex with this other person earlier that day. At least things can’t get any worse, he thought.

  “I’ve fallen for someone else. I’m leaving you. I’m sorry,” she said.

  This was too much. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He didn’t know what to do or say. He didn’t know what to think. It felt like he had been run over by a herd of wild horses who were now taking turns kicking him in the gut.

  “Please say something,” she said at last. He ran his hands through his hair and then leaned back and sunk into the couch.

  “Who is he?” he asked without looking at her. He couldn’t look at her.

  “It doesn’t matter—”

  “Who?!” His anger surprised him and startled her.

  “His name is Mike. He works at the restaurant.”

  “The bartender?!” Why would she choose Mike over him? He wasn’t particularly impressive, physically speaking. Arnesto racked his brains trying to remember what he could about Mike, whom he had only met once or twice. His job wasn’t very impressive. He had a few stupid tattoos. He did mention playing the guitar or something. Fucking musicians. Arnesto tried to remember if there was anything about Mike’s future he could use to destroy him. He couldn’t recall anything; he barely knew the guy.

  “He’s a real nice guy—”

  “How could you cheat on me?!” Arnesto asked as he turned to face the woman who was breaking his heart.

  “It just sort of… happened. We close the restaurant together a few nights a week, and we hit it off. We’re in love.” He couldn’t believe how stupid she sounded, like a fourteen-year-old girl falling for the first seventeen-year-old boy who compliments her mind while staring at her tits.

  “I can’t believe you fucking cheated on me.”

  “It’s not like I was the only one,” she said.

  “What?!”

  “Where do you go, Arnesto? Where do you go at night? You say you’re working late, but I’ve driven by your work, and you weren’t there. The parking lot was empty!”

  He didn’t say anything. He hadn’t cheated on her. He had lied about his whereabouts many times, but only to go on his own secret missions to save lives and try to make the world a better place. He had always lied to her for her own protection.

  And now there was no point in telling her the truth. His marriage was over. But there was still one thing he had to know.

  “When did you decide to end it?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “I’m guessing this wasn’t the easiest decision you’ve ever made. I’m hoping you debated it, at least. Was there a point at which you finally said, ‘This is it.’?”

  “Arnesto, that’s a weird question—”

  “Please!”

  She sighed. “The other night. You were supposed to help Melissa with her homework, but you weren’t there. She asked why you hadn’t come home yet. I told her you were working. You made me lie to my own daughter, Arnesto. That’s when I knew.”

  Of course. He had never thought about it before. In the other lifetime, he had helped Melissa. Katrina had appeared and leaned in the doorway, watching with a smile. Arnesto had looked at Katrina, and they had smiled at each other. Katrina had seen how good he was with their children and realized she wanted to make it work, at least, a little while longer.

  But not in this lifetime. This time, he had abandoned them. That night, he had taken a drive to put distance between him and his home in order to make a secret phone call to Isabel Durand to convince her to help him save people from earthquakes. A worthy cause, sure, but it didn’t help matters at home.

  “I still think you’re a wonderful father. I want you to continue to be a huge part of their lives. I know we can keep this amicable.”

  And they did. He wound up being the one to move out. He felt it would be easier for the kids to stay with their mom in the house. He felt it far better to err on the side of generosity than to risk fighting in the courts where the husbands traditionally got their asses handed to them. He also didn’t want anyone looking too closely at his financial statements.

  Even though the whole situation felt like a kick to the nuts, deep down, he knew it could always be worse. At least he wasn’t in Algeria.

  Shaking Masses

  Lower Ninth Baptist Church

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Wednesday, May 21, 2003

  6:30 p.m.

  “They say the death toll is over three hundred already,” Isabel said. She was a little out of breath from rushing over to the church.

  “They just upped it to five hundred... and climbing.” Father Martin was transfixed on the television. The two of them sat in silence watching the broadcast.

  “What does it mean?” Isabel asked during a commercial break.

  “It means,” he said, turning off the television, “that we must continue God’s work. Let’s make that next video before the phone starts ringing.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this, Father. It really happened. I want to help — I do — but maybe this is too much. They are going to ask us so many questions. And you, you’re going to be scrutinized by everyone. It’s going to be worse for you. Should we bail?”

  “My child! We can’t run from this. I don’t want to run. Can’t you see all the good we’re about to do?”

  “But our source said that if we can’t handle this, to get out. You can find someone else to record you.”

  “My child, breathe,” he said, taking her forearms in his hands. “Do you believe in God?”

  “Of course, Father.”

  “God gave this mystery man a gift and led him to us. We were chosen by God to do His work. If anybody comes after you, you tell them to talk to me. As He watches over us, I will watch over you. Together, we will save so many lives. Can I get an ‘amen’?”

  “Amen.”

  “Good. Do you have the script? Great. Tell me when you’re ready to record.” He took the script from her and read it as he walked behind the lectern. “Lord have mercy,” he said to himself.

  “Recording, Father,” she said from the front of the aisle.

  “Hello, I’m Father Martin. First of all, as predicted in my previous video, Algeria was hit by an earthquake earlier today. Please join me in sending our thoughts and prayers to our brothers and sisters in North Africa searching for their loved ones beneath the rubble.

  “Now I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that the worst is far from over. There are going to be several more large earthquakes over the next few years. I will detail them in a bit. The good news is that we know about them now. If people start making preparations today, then we can make some attempt to evacuate the people and minimize the damage to buildings.

  “Now here is the list of upcoming earthquakes, along with projected casualties. August 14 of this year, Lefkada, Greece, magnitude 6.3. This is not one of the bad ones. It’s on the list mainly to warn them, but also to give credence to the rest of what I’m about to tell you.

  “December 26 of this year, Bam, Iran. Magnitude: 6.6. Sadly, even though it’s about the same size as the one that will happen in Greece, the devastation will be far greater. Estimated casualties — again, only if we do nothing — in the tens of thousands.

  “And then there is December 26 of next year, 2004, off the northwestern tip of Sumatra, Indonesia. Magnitude: 9.3, again, that’s 9.3. This earthquake will cause a massive tsunami that will hit many countries before it’s done, with Indonesia and Sri Lanka being hit the hardest. Estimated casualties: in the hundreds of thousands.

  “October 8, 2005, Pakistan-administered Kashmir, 7.7 magnitude, casualties in the tens of thousands.

  “May 12, 2008, Wenchuan County, Sichuan, 8.0 magnitude, casualties in the tens of thousands.

  “January 12, 2010, west of Port-au-Prince, Haiti, 7.0 magnitude
. Another horrible one, casualties in the hundreds of thousands.

  “March 11, 2011, Tohoku, Japan, 9.0 magnitude, tens of thousands of casualties.

  “These are all the earthquakes for which I currently have information. Please, please share this information with as many people as you can. Let’s get the word out to the people and governments of these cities so that their lives may be spared. Thank you and God bless.”

  Isabel closed the camera. “That was perfect, Father. No need to do another take.”

  “Thank you, child. When you’re making your CDs for all the news stations, could you make me a copy?”

  “Of course. I’ll get started right now,” Isabel said, putting away her camera and hustling toward the front door.

  “Thank you. And Isabel?”

  “Yes, Father?”

  “We were chosen to save these people.”

  First Impressions

  Downtown

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Thursday, May 29, 2003

  4:00 p.m.

  “Today we have a very special guest on our show. He sent our producers a video detailing the earthquake in Algeria. The catch — he sent it more than two weeks before it happened. What’s more, he’s made a second video detailing even more earthquakes — some years away. Please welcome the man behind these incredible videos, Father Lester Martin!” The Marlene Turner Show wasn’t the most popular morning program in New Orleans, but that didn’t matter: Father Martin would appear on all of them eventually. The show’s host, Marlene Turner, was an up-and-comer in the business, and this particular broadcast would greatly contribute to her career as she and her producers were the first to invite Father Martin on air.

  “Father Martin, thank you for joining us. You have our producers scratching their heads. The question on everyone’s mind is how — how did you predict this earthquake would happen?”

  “Marlene, thank you for having me. The truth is, I did not, in fact, predict anything. An anonymous source contacted me and gave me the information I provided in the videos.”

  “An anonymous source? You have no idea who it is?”

  “None whatsoever. And frankly, I prefer to keep it that way. Why shouldn’t we respect the privacy of someone whose only intent is to save lives?”

  “So this person contacts you with this seemingly impossible information — were you skeptical?”

  “Yes, unfortunately, I was. You can probably tell the difference in the videos. In the first one, though I was sincere, you can tell I lacked the conviction that I had in the second video,” Father Martin said. Despite this being his first television appearance, he was eloquent and perfectly comfortable as a guest on the show.

  “We’ll get back to the second video in a second. Why you? Why do you think your source chose you and not the government or a seismologist?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that somewhere out there, my source, who may very well be an angel, has chosen me to be his or her vessel. Frankly, we are trying to do God’s work and save as many people as we can.” The largely religious audience responded with great applause.

  “Father Martin, at latest count, over seven hundred people are reported dead from the Algerian quake, and that number may still climb even higher. Could those people have been saved, and why weren’t they warned?”

  “Well, first of all, we did attempt to contact their government. One of my trusted associates sent them a copy of the video and warned them via phone and email. However, there is no one to blame here. Someone you don’t know from a foreign country tries to warn you about an earthquake in the future with zero evidence to back it up. Can you blame anyone for not taking it seriously? We sent the video to yours and two of the other networks and never heard back—”

  “Yes, and someone here is getting demoted,” Marlene said, angrily looking around the room to laughter.

  “But that’s exactly my point. All things considered, it was a preposterous claim, or so it seemed. Blame won’t help anyone. All we can do with regards to the Algerian quake is to make a donation and/or send our prayers to the victims and do better next time.” Applause.

  “Yes, let’s get back to that second video. Can we get the list up there?” The screen cut away to a list of the seven upcoming earthquakes, which showed the dates, cities, and magnitudes, but left out the potential casualties. “There it is. My goodness. Father Martin, I’m looking at these numbers, and I’m frightened. Look at that: 9.3.”

  “Marlene, those are indeed scary numbers. But they should be less scary when you realize time is on our side. Now people have a chance. It’s up to the people and governments of those cities and countries to decide what level of preparedness they are going to have. There is no reason anyone should be hurt or killed from these earthquakes.”

  “Let’s talk about the first one on the list. In the video, you didn’t sound too concerned about the earthquake you say will occur in Greece in August, even though its numbers are comparable to the one that just happened in which hundreds have died. In fact, you even mention ‘giving credence’ to the rest of the earthquakes.”

  “That’s correct. Not to belittle the event in any way, but I believe that, unlike the other earthquakes on the list, we are simply not going to see much in the way of casualties, especially if they take precautions.”

  “Father Martin, you are not a seismologist, is that correct?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Well, we thought it would be prudent to bring one in for this discussion. I’m told he just arrived backstage. From the University of New Orleans, please welcome Dr. Hans Bergman!” Dr. Bergman was tall and thin and a little on the pale side, but he had a pleasant demeanor. He shook hands with the other two while an assistant quickly set up a chair for him next to Father Martin’s. If Father Martin was at all startled by the surprise guest, he didn’t show it.

  “Hello, thank you for having me,” Dr. Bergman said.

  “Dr. Bergman, what do you make of all this? Can someone predict earthquakes?” Marlene asked.

  “With all due respect to Father Martin and his source, no. We currently lack the technology to predict earthquakes.”

  “So how do you explain this?”

  “Again, I mean no disrespect, but the most logical explanation is that this is some sort of elaborate prank.” The crowd booed.

  “Hold on, Dr. Bergman is a well-respected seismologist and we’re proud to have him on the show,” Marlene said, admonishing the audience. “Dr. Bergman, what do you think about the claim that an earthquake in Greece, of the same magnitude as the one that just happened, will be so much less dangerous?”

  “That actually wouldn’t surprise me. Greece is no stranger to earthquakes. They’ve had plenty of experience on which to draw and prepare. They construct their buildings with earthquakes in mind, as well as teaching earthquake preparedness in their schools.”

  “Even if it’s a six on the Richter scale?”

  “Actually,” Father Martin said, “they don’t use the Richter scale anymore. They say, ‘moment magnitude’ or just ‘magnitude.’”

  Marlene exaggerated a look of surprise in Father Martin’s direction to everyone’s amusement. She then turned back to Dr. Bergman, who smiled and nodded.

  “As there’s no way to predict an earthquake, there’s no way to predict the fallout afterward, but if Greece were hit, I would expect the results to be far less devastating than they were in Algeria.”

  “So the scientific community will not be setting up their instruments and camping out in Greece, waiting for the earthquake to happen.”

  “I can’t vouch for everyone, but I cannot see a mad rush of seismologists packing their bags, no. However, and this is one of the beauties of science, we are open to it. If an earthquake does happen as predicted, then you can bet the scientific community will be stampeding over itself to get to the next one.”

  “Well don’t hurt yourselves. In case it does happen, we’ll be needing you. Dr. Bergman, Father
Martin, thank you both very much for coming today.” The crowd applauded one last time before filing out of the studio.

  Within a week, Father Martin appeared on the other stations that had received his video. His congregation increased quite a bit as well, but only through the first half of June. Once people realized Father Martin wouldn’t predict the lottery numbers or make any other predictions for them, once he told them he couldn’t give away his source even if he wanted to, the newcomers stopped coming. In fact, attendance dropped even lower than normal when some of his regular worshipers stopped attending due to their annoyance with the newcomers “taking over the place.” He never was invited to any national news broadcast, and soon his phone all but stopped ringing.

  Renter’s Market

  Nina's House

  Silicon Valley, California

  Monday, July 14, 2003

  Night

  She was gone. Finally.

  Arnesto was tired of stalking her. Her name was Nina something, one of the servers who Katrina managed at the restaurant. She was a younger woman of Indian descent and pretty, though that’s not why Arnesto kept driving by her house to see if she wasn’t home.

  Even more frustrating was that the information he needed was sitting right there in the back office at the restaurant, but he and Katrina had just separated. He couldn’t ask her when Nina was taking her vacation to Santa Monica. Still, it was important he know when she left.

  Now that she had, he could stop stalking her. He also knew the date of the accident — July 16, 2003, two days from then. He remembered an old man in a maroon sedan crashing through the farmers’ market, killing ten and injuring countless others. He also remembered Katrina complaining about Nina repeatedly talking about the incident; Nina had been a firsthand witness to the horror.

  The next day, he made the tedious five-hour trek down the most boring part of I-5 between Merced County and Los Angeles. It was also a smelly stretch of road due to the thousands upon thousands of cows fertilizing the ranches off the east side of the interstate. Once in Santa Monica, Arnesto checked into his hotel, then took a taxi to the moving truck rental where he rented a fifteen-foot truck. He found a place to park it near his hotel then turned in for the night. He was tired. That section of I-5 takes a lot out of a man.