by J Boyd Long
“Are you from this area?” Quentin asked, hoping to shift the focus to the old man.
“Me?” he said with a start. “Oh no, not me.” He fell silent again.
“So, what’s your name?” Quentin pressed.
The old man raised his head and looked Quentin in the eye for a moment.
“Tocho,” he said. “It is the name that my father gave to me, and the name that his father gave to him.”
“Does it have a meaning?” Eissa asked politely.
“Of course it has a meaning,” Tocho replied. “In the language of my people, it means He who travels far to find that which he knows not.”
“Wow,” Eissa said. “That sounds… philosophical.”
“I’m messing with you,” Tocho said. “Don’t be so naïve. My name translates to Straight Arrow.” He burst out laughing at his own joke, as Quentin and Eissa gaped at him in confusion.
“Oh,” Eissa said. “Well, that’s also a nice meaning.”
“Excuse me, Tocho,” Quentin said. “Not to change the subject, but a minute ago you said you knew where we came from. What did you mean by that?”
“Well now, that’s the part I like,” Tocho said, his face sobering. He shifted his feet, crossing them at the ankles, and rubbed his calf. “Setting aside the bullshit and getting to the point. So, I said I knew where you were from, and you both acted like I grew a second head. That’s not a great way to keep a low profile, by the way. But yes, I do know where you are from, or at least, I know where you’re not from, which is this dimension. I also know where you are, which you probably do not. To answer your question, what I meant by that was basically what I said, which was that I know you’re not from around here.”
Quentin sat in stunned silence, trying to grasp what Tocho had just said. Tocho knew they weren’t from this dimension, and that was huge. He was also a little bit weird, which was troubling. The urge to question Tocho further was conflicting with his increasing desire to just leave, but he had to get some answers first.
“Low profile?” Quentin said. “What do you mean?”
“Well, perhaps you haven’t figured anything out yet,” Tocho said. “I might have given you too much credit, although I did spend most of the day yesterday determining that you don’t really know anything, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Quentin couldn’t decide how to take Tocho, but the way he was all over the map made Quentin uncomfortable, and the fact that he had stalked them yesterday made it even worse. If Tocho was crazy, then he might be dangerous, and the last thing they needed was some crazy old guy following them around.
“Look, you’re being very cryptic,” Quentin said, exasperation coloring his voice. “I’m sorry we used your poncho without asking. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we should be going.”
“Where are you going to go?” Tocho asked, unperturbed. “Back to where the door was that you came through to get here? Are you going to just stand there and hope that it reappears? It probably won’t, you know. That bunch of guys that went out searching for you last night might show back up, but not the door.”
Quentin sat down abruptly. His mouth opened, but then closed again.
“Okay,” he said at last, with all the fire gone out of him. “Perhaps we should start over. How do you know about the door? Did you see us come through it?”
“Yes, and you’re very lucky that it was me, out of all the possible people who might have been walking up the street, that watched you appear out of thin air. That sort of thing doesn’t go over well with the general populace, you know.” He stood up. “Speaking of walking, we should do some ourselves. The barn workers will be here in a minute, and we don’t want to interrupt their duties.”
He turned and walked out the door. By the time Quentin and Eissa had gathered their wits and moved to follow him, he was disappearing down the ladder.
“He really moves for an old guy,” Eissa said.
“I can’t imagine who he is,” Quentin replied. “I swear he’s just as much an Indian as you are though, and I can’t figure that out.”
“Native American,” she said absently. “I was thinking the same thing. The light wasn’t great, but who else has long black hair as an old man? Not to mention the whole name thing.” She looked down the ladder to the floor below. “You go down first. If I fall, I need you to cushion my impact.”
“Nice.” Quentin grimaced at the thought. “I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s all we’ve got right now, so we can’t lose him.”
When they got to the bottom, Tocho was waiting for them near the door. He poked his head out, surveyed the area, and motioned to them.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Maybe we can weasel some breakfast out of my old friend Bob.”
“I don’t want to sound ungrateful, and we could use some breakfast,” Quentin said, hurrying to get beside Tocho. “But we’re in a serious situation here. We’ve got bigger problems than some rednecks with shotguns running around the woods. There are people back on our side of that DimGate that know who we are, and they’re not the kind of people you can cross. We’re in major trouble here. Can you tell us anything to help us with that?”
“All in good time,” Tocho said. “You don’t have to worry too much about anyone finding you here. We’ll go eat some breakfast with Bob, and talk all this out, and then we’ll make a plan, okay?”
They set out down the perimeter road, following the same route that they had walked the previous day. The grass was wet with dew, and pockets of fog hung about like small clouds hovering at ground level. Birds sang in the trees, competing with the squeak of a pump handle nearby, as someone pulled a bucket of water.
Quentin tried to imagine how Tocho fit into the picture. He seemed to know about the DimGate, probably more than they did, but he definitely didn’t seem like the corporate type, or a security guy, like Holt. He also didn’t seem to fit in with the locals here, what few they had met. Tocho was an anomaly, every IT person’s worst nightmare. Hopefully Bob would be better at explaining things than Tocho had been so far.
“So, tell us about your friend, Bob,” Quentin said, breaking the silence. “What’s his story? Does he know anything about the DimGate?”
“Bob’s a hoot,” Tocho said with a laugh. “He used to tell me that he’d turn me in for a scalp bounty, but he can’t find anybody else that can beat him in chess. Bob’s great, you’ll like him.” He glanced at Eissa. “Speaking of scalp bounties, how’s your chess game?”
“Are you messing with me again?” Eissa asked, slowing slightly.
“Of course,” Tocho chuckled. “Bob hasn’t sold anybody out in months.”
“That’s not reassuring.” Eissa’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Trust me.” Tocho grinned at her. “When have I ever steered you wrong?”
Quentin started. “In the twenty minutes that we’ve known you, you’ve led us astray like three times. Outside of that, though, you have a flawless history.”
Tocho roared with laughter. “I knew I was going to like you,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “That’s good stuff. I just had to warm you up a little bit. Flawless history.” He laughed again, which turned into a coughing fit that bent him over.
“Easy there,” Eissa said, patting him on the back. “You’re going to need that lung, go easy on it.” She glanced at Quentin over Tocho’s back with her eyebrows raised, as if to ask what the hell they were doing. Quentin shrugged helplessly.
After Tocho had recovered his breath, they moved on. When the perimeter road turned back to the north, they continued on an old rutted track to the west. The town fell away behind them, and the land quickly became wild, with small farms interspersed within the jungles of forest and vines. Quentin decided to try again to get some answers from Tocho as they walked.
“As you might imagine, I have a few questions,” Quentin said. “You seem to be familiar with our situation, at least to some degree.”
“Yes, you probably have a thousand questions,
” Tocho agreed. “I’m guessing this is your first dimension change, and you don’t act like you intended to come here.”
“That pretty much says it,” Quentin said. “I didn’t know the DimGate was a portal to another dimension when I turned it on. I thought it was a computer. The security guard sort of forced us through it.”
Tocho shook his head, and walked on in silence for a bit, clearly deep in thought. Quentin waited impatiently for him to say something. At last, Tocho cleared his throat, pointed to a track leading off to the left, and spoke up.
“This is the turnoff to Bob’s house. It’s just over that rise. He’s got a little cabin in the middle of a beautiful meadow, lots of live oaks that keep it shady all year.” He fell silent for a few steps as they turned onto the trail. “Generally when people move between dimensions, they do it on purpose. The fact that you managed to get here on accident is somewhat alarming.”
“Is traveling from one side to the other a thing?” Quentin asked. “I mean, is this something that lots of people do all the time?”
“Oh, no,” Tocho said. “Very few people do it. It’s very dangerous. No different than time travel, really. There are infinite ramifications for everything you say and do. If you show up here and teach someone how to do something that doesn’t exist here, then you change the timeline of this dimension, and possibly create another dimension, and neither one of those are good things.”
Quentin immediately thought about everything that had happened since they came running through the DimGate. What had they impacted? They had only interacted with a few people, but it hadn’t all been uneventful, by any means. Had they already screwed things up here?
“So, are you a dimension policeman or something?” Eissa asked. “Are you here to keep us from screwing up this dimension?”
“You can think of it that way,” Tocho said elusively. “Now then, no more questions until after breakfast. The brain needs energy to function effectively.”
“Wait, you said time travel,” Quentin said. “It was the middle of the night in our dimension, and the middle of the day here. Did we time travel?”
Tocho stopped and turned to face Quentin. “Did you travel through time?”
Quentin raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me if we traveled through time? That’s what I’m asking you.”
“What was the date in your dimension?”
“The night we found the DimGate was June 10th, 2015. That was yesterday, sort of.”
“Okay,” Tocho said, turning back to the trail. “You probably went forward in time, but it wasn’t very far. Maybe half a day or so. That shouldn’t hurt you.”
“I… but…” Quentin’s brain was overloading, and he felt dizzy.
“Food first,” Tocho repeated. “You can’t comprehend all of this right away, so don’t try.” He walked on down the trail, leaving Quentin standing there with his mouth opening and closing. Eissa poked him in the back, and he finally followed Tocho.
When they arrived at the cabin, Quentin was immediately taken in by its rustic charm. The dark brown, wood-shingled roof and siding was old and worn, and a crooked stovepipe chimney directed a small white cloud of smoke out one end. Giant live oak trees dominated the yard, with Spanish moss hanging in great tendrils from the branches. If Bob Ross, one of Quentin’s many heroes, had done a painting set in Florida, this was the place he would have used as inspiration.
Bob was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch. He held a cup of coffee in one hand, and a book in the other. His hair was pure white, and hung down past his shoulders, and his matching white beard flowed across his thin stomach to his belt line. He appeared to be frail, but he hopped to his feet as they climbed the steps to the porch, and the sureness of his movements displayed the confident litheness of a much younger man.
“Good morning,” he said, tucking the book into his armpit and holding the door open, as he waved them into the cabin. “Come in, come in. Mind your head on the low doorframe.”
Once they were all inside, he hustled back to the kitchen and began pouring coffee for everyone. Quentin found it odd that Tocho didn’t explain who they were, and that Bob didn’t ask.
“Coffee all around, I presume,” Bob shouted. “I hope you like it black; I’m all out of milk.”
“That’ll be fine,” Tocho called back to him. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Of course they can,” Bob said, carrying in the cups and dispersing them around the group. “They just have to accept the risk of having even less, that’s all.”
“That’s true,” Tocho agreed. “Well, let not this beggar be choosy, lest he go without.” He raised his coffee in a salute to Bob. “Thank you for the coffee. This is…” He trailed off, looking at Quentin and Eissa. “Uh, I’ll just let them introduce themselves.”
“I’m Eissa, and this is Quentin,” Eissa said quickly. “We really appreciate your hospitality.”
“I’m Bob,” he said, shaking their hands. “So, who wants some breakfast? I’ve got eggs and sausage, and a few of yesterday’s biscuits.”
“That sounds great,” Quentin said, glancing around. The walls were lined with shelves, and every available space was jammed with books. Apparently, Bob was a serious reader.
Eissa stepped forward. “Can I help you with it?”
“Sure,” Bob said. “Come on, I’ll put you to work. It’ll be good to have someone else in the kitchen. It gets a little too monotheistic in there, with just me using it most of the time.”
“Monotheistic?” Eissa asked, following him through the wide opening into the kitchen. “I’m not making the connection.”
“Well, a god is a being that creates, rules, and destroys the things within his or her realm at will,” Bob explained. “That makes me a god in this kitchen, and when you only have one god, things tend to get a little out of whack after a while. You need at least two to maintain balance and direction.”
“I see,” Eissa said doubtfully. “I guess that makes sense.”
Tocho leaned back in his chair, and put his feet up on the footstool.
“This ought to be good,” he said, winking at Quentin. “Bob can make anything make sense, if you give him five minutes.”
“Well, let’s use your perspective as an example,” Bob said. “How long have you and Quentin been together?”
“Oh, we’re not a couple. Quentin is my best friend, but I don’t generally associate with men.” She paused, and then amended her statement. “Not romantically, that is. I’m gay. I don’t hate men, though. Well, not all men.”
“I get the picture,” Bob chuckled. “But as your best friend, you confide in him, use his opinion on things to assist you in drawing conclusions, that sort of thing, yes?”
“Right.”
“And in that, you are drawing on the experience, knowledge, and perspective of someone else. Whether you use his experience and knowledge to fill in gaps in your own experience and knowledge, or you get his opinion and then do the opposite of what he recommends every time, you are seeking external input as a part of your process. That’s what helps you stay on course.” Bob paused, handing a wooden spoon to Eissa. “Here, crack about a dozen of those eggs into this pan, and scramble them. I’ll see to the sausage.”
“Uh, where do I cook them?” Eissa asked, as she surveyed the kitchen.
“Woodstove, right beside you,” Bob said. “You don’t spend much time in a kitchen, do you?”
Quentin laughed, watching merrily through the open doorway as Eissa blushed, and busied herself cracking eggs into the cast iron skillet. It wasn’t often that he got to see someone make her uncomfortable.
“So, where was I?” Bob asked.
“Monotheistic kitchen,” Tocho prompted from the front room. “Using Quentin’s input.”
“Ah, yes,” Bob said. “That’s right. So, what happens when you don’t have a secondary source of input, is that you don’t realize when you start getting off track. We’re all following an invisible trail, r
ight? It’s a trail that’s built by your moral code, and your sense of purpose, and your goals. The problem is the committee of fools in your head. They give you all kinds of conflicting information, and sometimes you need to run that stuff by someone outside your head, just to get some sunshine on the ideas, and make sure you’re still on track.”
He paused and flipped the sausage patties.
“If you don’t have anyone to help you air out those ideas, then it’s easy to get off the trail, just a little bit. At first, you’re still right beside your trail, no big deal. Over time, though, you get farther and farther away from the trail, without even realizing it, until one day you wake up and you just don’t even know where the hell you are, or how you managed to get so far off the path.”
“I follow you on that,” Eissa said, “but how does that tie into the kitchen?”
