CHAPTER 7
Chris was speechless, and Mr. Wicker answered himself.
"Yes, it is a good trick, but before we talk, I should like to showyou one more."
He dropped his hand on Chris's shoulder and somehow the firm touch waswonderfully comforting to the boy.
"You want to be at home, do you not, Christopher?" Mr. Wicker asked.
"Yes sir. Please."
"Well, that cannot be for a time," Mr. Wicker replied, "for you haveimportant work to do."
Mr. Wicker turned and walked back to the two leather chairs with hishand still on Chris's shoulder. He stopped near the table and lookeddown.
"I know that all this--" he waved a hand to take in not only the roombut, Chris thought, the different time as well, "--all this seemsimpossible to understand." He paused, pondering. "Perhaps we hadbetter sit down and I will try to make it understandable."
"Let me put it this way," Mr. Wicker began when they were seated oncemore in their chairs before the fire. "You have a television set athome?"
"Oh yes!" Chris agreed enthusiastically, "And say! Some of theprograms--"
"Yes, they are splendid, I know," Mr. Wicker broke in. "But will youplease explain to me how television works?"
Chris stared at his questioner for a moment and then settled back inhis chair, his forehead puckered with concentration.
"Well, gee--" He stopped. "Well," he began again, "I _think_ it has todo with light rays passing through a--well, hm-mm, there's an electricimpulse, see--I guess it's that that sends out--" He stoppedaltogether. "Well golly Moses, Mr. Wicker," he ended lamely, "it seemsto be pretty complicated to go into."
Mr. Wicker smiled, a wide engaging smile showing strong white teeth.
"It is," he agreed warmly, his eyes twinkling, "Is it not? Verycomplicated. You probably would not be able to describe to me thedetails of how the radio or long-distance telephone work either, wouldyou, young man?"
Chris had to grin back when he saw that Mr. Wicker was not laughing athim, but rather at the complexity of such mechanical things.
"No, sir, I guess not. We're just glad to be able to use them, Iexpect."
"Ah!" said Mr. Wicker in a tone of immense satisfaction, "Quite so.You are just glad to be able to use and enjoy them. Well, then, myboy, the things I have just shown you, and what I am about to showyou now, are parts of knowledge which are yet to be discovered andlearned, in a time beyond your own. And the ability to move _within_Time--_within Time_," Mr. Wicker stressed, leaning forward towardChris, "that faculty is also still in the future. In the meantime itremains a rare gift."
Mr. Wicker put out a lean strong hand and tapped Chris's knee.
"You have it, Christopher. You were born with the ability to movebackward into time that has passed. Whether or not you will evermaster the gift of moving into the future, that, of course"--Mr.Wicker shrugged--"is impossible to tell. You may. But for my purposes,that you have been able to return this far is enough." He lookedsearchingly at Chris. "Have you understood what I have been saying upto now?" he asked.
"I think so, sir," Chris answered slowly.
"This ability to move back and forth in Time," Mr. Wicker continued,"is no more farfetched than the ability to send colored images andsound across the land into your own house, where you can see and hearthem. It is something which, so far, and I mean, of course, in yourtime, has not yet been discovered. But it will be," mused Mr. Wickerthoughtfully, pulling at his underlip with thumb and forefinger. "Yes,it will be." He looked across at Chris as if returning from a greatdistance. "But until it has been it appears fantastic, does it not?"
"It certainly does!" Chris replied with fervor. "If it weren'thappening to me I wouldn't believe it!"
"No," nodded Mr. Wicker, "and I would not blame you. But now," heannounced, rising and turning toward the table, "you must have yourmind set at rest regarding your mother." He motioned for Chris to joinhim. "You will need to know only once and they say--" he smiled downat the boy beside him "--they say that seeing is believing, so youshall see for yourself."
Mr. Wicker picked up the round-bellied silver pitcher and set it infront of Chris.
"They say too," Mr. Wicker said scornfully, "that crystal balls arethe things to look into. Perfect tommyrot. This will do equally well.Look and see."
Chris bent to peer at the polished silver side of the pitcher. Atfirst, it shone as no doubt it always did from Becky Boozer's powerfulrubbing. Then, as he watched, the rounded side of the pitcher mistedover, as if it had been filled with ice water. Next, the center of themisted portion cleared away, and as it cleared a picture formed,welling up into his sight as if from within the pitcher through thesilver of its sides.
What Chris saw was a hospital room. On a white bed lay his mother, andbeside her were his Aunt Rachel and a white-coated man Chris took tobe a doctor. Then, as if inside his head, for he was not conscious ofsound within the room which had grown deeply still, he heard voicesand words, and saw the lips of the doctor and his Aunt Rachel move.
The doctor said, "The turn has come. She will pull through, but shewill need watchful care."
"Oh, thank God! Thank God!" his Aunt Rachel cried, and covering herface with her hands, she burst into tears.
The scene misted over once again and when it cleared, the pitcher wasmerely a pitcher on a table in Mr. Wicker's room. Chris looked up atthe man who regarded him gravely.
"Is that a trick too?" he asked. "Just to make me stay?" he demandedmore loudly.
"No, son," the man replied, and his eyes confirmed his words. "That ishow it really is. My word of honor."
And to Chris's great surprise, all at once he felt tears on his cheekswhile simultaneously a great lightness invaded him, and a wild wish tolaugh.
Mr. Wicker poured him a glass of water and held it out.
"Drink this," he said. "All is well. You can be at peace. And now," hewent on in a brisker tone, replacing the glass Chris had drained, "letus begin our talk."
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