Adrift On The River Of Time by Uncle Jasper - HTML preview

 

 

 

 

 

 

ADRIFT ON THE

RIVER OF TIME

 

 

 

 

And other stories

 

 

 

 

By Uncle Jasper

 

 

ISBN 978-0-9954192-6-1 (e-book)

 

 

 

 

Copyright© 2019 by Uncle Jasper

jasperlawson@hotmail.com

 

 

 

 

All rights reserved. The book contains material protected under international and national copyright laws and treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without express permission from the publisher.

 

 

 

 

Other books by this author

 

Derek Vortimer, MBA – Manager Of Worlds (ebook, 2018)

 

Detective In Time (ebook, 2018)

 

Queen Purrpuss & Owl (ebook, 2018)

 

The Young Marvel (ebook, 2018)

 

 

 

Cover image: detail from the Last Judgement fresco by Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some strange short stories

By Uncle Jasper

 

Suitable for weirdos, nerds, misfits and the downtrodden.

The rest of you keep clear.

 

 

 

Adrift on the River of Time

 

Patrick and the Serpent

 

The Veteran

 

The Lost City

 

The Ugly Duckling

 

The Soldier

 

The Bird of Life

 

The Art Appreciation Society

 

Pillow talk

 

Noah God and Mrs Noah

 

The Crooked Man

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Adrift On The River Of Time

 

 

 

 

I was caught off guard by members of the Local Chapter of the Killjoy Club they jumped me, forced me into a wooden, barrel, nailed down the top, and threw me, barrel and all, into the River of Time.

Before my barrel bobbed away from the bank someone shouted through the bung hole that the average speed of the current was about five kilometers an hour and that would give me plenty of time to arrange my thoughts before the barrel plunged over the edge into the Devil’s Throat, which, he said, was about five kilometers downstream.

The Devil’s Throat? Surely that was a mistake. The Devil’s Throat was much further away than five kilometers. It was certainly on a river, but not the River of Time. It is a chasm, part of the Iguazu falls of South America. Vast volumes of water do not so much fall as collapse over the edge into The Devil’s Throat with a terrible roaring noise. There are birds down there too, about the size of a magpie-lark. They fly through a mist of spume and spray churned up by the falling column of water

 

These birds prey on startled insects whose peaceful passage, floating along the river, had been turned into chaos. Water and spray is the world of these birds and they make nests on sheer rock faces protected by tumbling curtains of water. You can see them flying straight into a waterfall to get to the nest behind. If you don’t believe me go to Buenos Aires and take the tour.

To return to our story.The River of Time could go anywhere. To Iguazu as well as countless other destinations. No one could predict the future and so I set out to an unknown ending in a leaking barrel and only a telephone for company.

I had pleaded with my enemies not to drop the phone into the barrel before they started to nail it shut. Arguing was useless with these bitter people, they just wanted me to suffer.

My wife rang soon after I was pushed away from the bank and was gliding through peaceful waters far from any waterfall. She wanted to know where I was.

I explained that I had been forced into a leaky barrel, thrown into the River of Time and could possibly disappear into the Devil’s Throat in about an hour after the beginning of our conversation. I said 'If that is to be my fate I hope the barrel would not injure any birds on the way down.'

‘You're a liar,’ she screamed. ‘I’ve never heard such a bizarre excuse for not coming home. You’re in a sleazy club somewhere with those low-life, good for nothing, useless mongrels you call friends!’

‘I don’t know where they are,’ I retorted, ‘but I am sitting in a leaky barrel and floating to an unknown destination. Even if I don’t go into the Devil’s Throat I am bound to end up somewhere equally discouraging. Once one is afloat on the River of Time there is no saying where the voyage will end. Every one of us is on a one way trip into the future; apart from that all is uncertain.’

.’Your future is to end up in a shelter for hopeless drunks because I’m not going to hang around waiting for you to come home,

I said ‘I admit I do enjoy the company of cheerful, jovial friends, and am not averse to the occasional drink, but to imply that I am a victim of alcohol is going too far.’

She slammed the phone down before I could say anything further, perhaps we were fated never to meet again. At least that was one comforting thought to cheer me on this dismal voyage.

I was wondering if I could force the telephone through the bung-hole and let the river take care of the problem. It rang once more.

I pressed the button expecting another round of abuse, but it was someone else altogether. A familiar voice cried out ‘Bernie, where are you? We’re all down at the tavern waiting and the boys are getting restless. We can’t start the serious drinking until you get here’, and the quartette can’t get going without its bass man.’

Once again I explained my predicament and the uncertain fate that awaited me.

‘Oh, that’s too bad Bernie’, was the response. ‘Have you rung triple zero yet? They might be able to send someone to look for you.’

I pointed out that the River of Time has neither a beginning nor an end, and if the cops went looking for me in the twenty-first century the barrel may have drifted into the twenty-second, or there may be a loop in time and I was back in the nineteenth or twentieth. If a river has no beginning and no ending then it can’t have a middle either, so the cops would not have the remotest idea where to search for me.

‘Hard luck, Bernie.’ Was the response. ‘We’re gunna miss ya. I’ll tell the boys they’ll have to find another bass man. Have a nice day, now, and don’t you do anything I wouldn’t do.’ He rang off.

Those conversations seemed to have cut me away from the life I knew, which was a relief but I was not free yet because I could not force the telephone through the bung-hole and dreaded another call from my wife.

The barrel was riding low in the water because of the leaks, and cold water was lapping around my behind. Most uncomfortable! I peered through the bung-hole to see where I was.

It was pitch black out there and I thought the river must have gone underground because the rustling, burbling sound of flowing water seemed to re-echo quietly from stony walls. The barrel would sink presently and I wondered how long I would lie in this watery grave before a maintenance crew found me.

My thoughts were interrupted by a heavy banging on the top of the barrel. The impact seemed to start the seams and even more water flowed in.

 

Someone, or something very powerful ripped the top off the barrel and a huge, angry face glared down at me.

‘What the hell do you think yer doin?’ It roared. ‘You an illegal immigrant or somethin’; and ‘you’re a fare evader, aren’t you? Thought you’d sneak in without paying the ferryman. Well, you thought wrong, pal. This is my patch and I’ve worked the ferry for the past three thousand years and never lost anyone overboard yet, Though I might start now I’ve found a low-down rotten scab trying to sneak past without paying.’

These remarks put me in mind of my wife but said ‘It’s not my fault! The Killjoys hate people who take a drink now and then and laugh a lot, so they jumped me, nailed me into the barrel and dropped it into the River of Time.’

The face said ‘How do I know you didn’t nail it shut and climb in afterwards?’

‘Gimme a break will ya! How could I do that?’

The stranger had to think about this. He was not the sharpest reasoner I had ever met so it took a while, but at last he had a mental breakthrough and realized the position that I was in.

‘OK. Maybe it’s not your fault,’ he grumbled, ‘but I’m still the ferryman here and no one crosses the river except I take ‘em.’

I thought of something the ferryman had said.

‘You say you’ve been on the job for three thousand years?’

‘Yeah, give or take a century or two. I took over from me dad. He was getting a bit long in the tooth and I was old enough to look after the business, so I been here ever since.’

 

It was clear where we were. This was Charon the Ferryman, and the river was the Styx, which divided hell from the rest of the underworld. My barrel had drifted far off course.

Charon said, ‘Let me help you out.’ He caught my collar and lifted me out of the barrel one-handed.

It was dark and we were standing on a stone quay. The River Styx ran steadily between us and a distant bank on the other side which was illuminated from time to time by wandering plumes of fire.

I was cramped after sitting all that time squashed in a barrel, but managed to stand up. The barrel drifted away into the darkness.

A large and ancient rowing-boat was tied to the quay where it strained against the mooring ropes. The Styx was running so strongly past the quay that the stationary boat had a bow wave of its own.

‘You’re Charon?’

'How’d ya know I’m Charon? he asked.

I said 'I went on a tour of the Vatican once and in the Sistine Chapel Michelangelo painted a picture of you driving your passengers off the boat. They didn’t want hell as a destination. Have you seen your picture?’

''I haven’t seen it, but I've heard about it often enough. All the cardinals and bishops who come through bound for hell tell me what a handsome fellow I am, and that it's the most popular picture in the chapel, even though Michelangelo had painted the walls and ceiling with pictures. They all try to suck up to me, see, but it doesn’t do them any good. They go to hell anyway. I've even ferried a few Popes across in me time, but not so many since the Reformation.’

'You should ask for leave to visit the Vatican' I suggested, ‘and join one of the tours that go through the Sistine Chapel. Even though you’re a minor Greek deity they wouldn’t mind. Anyone can go on a tour, as long as they pay’.

Charon seemed interested in the idea so I pressed on. ‘Michelangelo did a good job with the painting. You look very commanding belting your passengers with an oar to make them get off the boat and finish their trip to hell.’

Charon looked even more thoughtful. I had appealed to his vanity and he would like to see the painting. If Michelangelo had painted my picture I would want to see it too.

‘Don’t forget, Charon, you haven’t had a holiday in three thousand years. You must have accrued a decent wad of long-service leave in all that time.’

‘Three hundred years,’ he said. ‘That’s not bad; and I could really use a holiday. But who would look after the business while I was away?’

‘I could do that,’ I said. 'The Fates must have had some reason for sending me here.’

Charon looked at me thoughtfully.‘Pick up that oar.’

The oars were lying on the cobblestones at our feet. They was not as thick as a telegraph pole, and not quite as long, but not far off. After a struggle I managed to raise one end.

Charon laughed at my endeavours.. ‘A pip-squeak like you couldn’t handle my job. How would you cross a river with this current if you can’t handle the oar, and how would drive the passengers off on the other side if you can’t even lift one end of it?’

‘You’ve been on this job a thousand years too long,’ I retorted. ‘All you need is the most powerful outboard motor on the market. It’d make this old boat of yours slice through the water like a hot knife through butter. Oars have had it. And as for getting the passengers off on the other side you can order a good quality electric cattle-prod, that should get rid of them in no time.

Charon seemed impressed by this

'By the way', I asked. 'What sort of night life do they have here?’

‘Terrific!’ He said. ‘Go to the Firepit, tell them I sent you and you’ll get the hottest drinks in any known world; always good company there, too. The barmaids are beaut kids but you wouldn’t want to start any trouble; they got forked tails and they know how to use them.’

We talked things over for a while and eventually he decided to take his accrued leave and put me in charge of the business, together with the modern improvements I had suggested..

So Charon might be away for the next three hundred years and when you come this way you will probably meet me. The fare is no longer a penny because one has to allow for inflation. Bring $50, nothing less, otherwise you will never be able to cross the river Styx and go to hell.

 

Replacing Charon

 

I was drifting down the river Styx, in charge of a boat full of lost souls destined for hell, when the phone rang. It was my wife calling; naturally I was upset.

Several times I had tried to throw the cell phone away but it kept coming back. I cautiously said, 'Hello dear'.

'Don’t you hello dear, me. Where are you now?'

I'm drifting down the Styx with a boat-load of discontented lost souls. I told you before, Charon, the ferryman, had a lot of long service leave to use up so I took over the business while he was away. I should be home in about three hundred years.'

I could hear heavy breathing at the other end of the phone.

‘These stories of yours are getting wilder and wilder. Now get out of the pub, night-club, wherever you are, and you come straight home. The children are crying for you, God knows why, and the rent’s due. The Housing Commission people say I have to pay up or else.'

'Or else, what?'

'They say we can have a house in Nar Nar Goon West. But first they have to buy some plastic sheeting to cover the holes in the roof, and get rid of a pack of dingos that are living off the rats in the house.'

‘Sorry dear, I can’t do anything about it. When I took over the business from Charon he ordered a large outboard motor because I couldn’t handle the oars; and an electric cattle prod so I could persuade the passengers to get out when we reached hell. Well, the outboard cut out a little while ago and I can’t fix it.'

An exasperated sigh was breathed into the phone. She said, ' Just come home,. I’ll go to Centrelink and explain that I’ve got a lunatic on my hands and maybe Medicare will pay for psychiatric treatment.’

‘I don’t need a psychiatrist, I need a mechanic who can fix an outboard motor. None of the lost souls on board know a thing about outboards. Anyway, I sent you some money, didn’t you get it?.

She answered through what seemed to be gritted teeth. 'Yes, I got it. A messenger brought the money. Very amusing, I don’t think. He was almost naked, had wings on his heels a funny looking helmet and he carried a stick with snakes writhing round it. He said his name was Hermie.’

‘No, no! My dear, that was Hermes, messenger of the gods; the stick you saw with the snakes on it is actually the Caduceus, his symbol of office. He plays an important part in the story of Mount Olympus which was the home of the Greek gods -She screeched, 'Bernie Shut up. I don’t want any semi-naked men, even if they have winged heels, ringing the door bell, and I could have done without the snakes.'

'He tried every apartment on the ground floor looking for me. But no one could understand him, not that they were listening much on account of the snakes. I wish Xantippe hadn't been at home. He tried her apartment. She understands ancient Greek, and doesn't mind snakes, so she brought him up to me. We had the elevator to ourselves too.'

'Who's Xantippe?'

'Xantippe Socrates. You know her, ground floor, always fighting with the neighbors and screaming at her husband, poor old Mr Socrates, though she seems to like me.

'Oh yeah, Mr Socrates. He's a bit of a Bolshie, isn't he? Always against the government, always speaking on street corners, stirring up young people to riot. What a nutter!'

‘Yeah, that was the problem, Xantippe wanted him to get a decent job, and earn some money well he's died since you left, drank a big cup of hemlock. Xantippe said the government made him do it because they were sick of his agitating and causing trouble.'

'That's a bit extreme isn't it?' I said. 'He probably did it to get away from her nagging. I'm sorry the old boy's gone but you got the money didn't you? It was very kind of Hermes to go to all that trouble; we are only casual acquaintances after all. I suppose being messenger of the gods he likes to deliver things.'

'Yes, but what’s the use of a lot of old Greek coins to me. The bank wouldn’t take them.’

‘Alright, if the bank won’t take them try the landlord'.

'That didn't work either, and Hermie disappeared before the police and three ambulances arrived, and no one believed my story.'

'What were the ambulances for?'

'You idiot, they were there to revive the people who had seen the snakes. Some had heart attacks and had to be taken to the hospital. The government snake catcher was here too. He was telling me off for bringing snakes into a built up area. He asked me Hermie's address and I couldn't tell him.

‘I’m sorry but I can’t talk right now. The lost souls are restless. We’ve passed the landing place at hell, and we’re just drifting with the stream. They want to know where we’re going and I don’t know any more than they do.’

'Bernard, don’t you hang up on me! If you want to send me something sensible do it through Australia Post. At least the posties don't carry snakes round with them'.

I had to close the phone at that point. There were other things to think about; the passengers were becoming menacing. Their leader was a fat bishop who had committed all fourteen deadly sins. There used to be seven but one of the Popes added seven more and the bishop broke those too. He was now trying to stir up trouble on the ferry.

The bishop was fat, still wore his clerical collar, and addressed me as though I was a congregation that was not putting enough money into the collection plate

‘My man!' he said. I hate it when people call me “my man”.

'My man, there are about a hundred people on this boat and we each paid $50 for our fare.'

I hurriedly checked my phone to make sure it was off. I did not want my wife to hear any mention of people paying me $50 per head for my services. Women should not have to worry about financial matters; besides she would squander the money on housekeeping or rent.

I threw the phone overboard but it bounced back after hitting the river and landed in my pocket. It always does that.

'The other passengers tell me you are not Charon the regular ferryman. If so I must enquire why is he not in charge. And why are we subject to this shameful incompetence. We appear to have missed the regular landing place because the “Welcome to Hell” signs are now behind us, and we are drifting further away.’

'Charon’s away because he worked the ferry for three thousand years and now he’s on three hundred years long service leave; so he won’t be back for a while. Anyway bishop, you're more anxious than most people to get to hell.'

'I have urgent appointments, and duties to fulfill’. Some of my students at the theology college have predeceased me and were waiting at the landing in a welcome party; I saw them!'

'There has been a change of plans, the motor has cut out so we’re not going to hell.'

'Well, where are we going?'

'I don’t know. This river runs pretty fast but we’ll have to come ashore somewhere.'

The Bishop was enraged. 'But I am to deliver a lecture tonight on “Current Trends in Theology”. It is most important that I get there.'

'You’ll probably arrive at hell in the end, but not for a while.'

The bishop turned away. I think he wanted to stir up some trouble with the passengers.

A young man dressed in a tunic, once white but now grey and tattered, which reached to his knees, and with a frayed rope tied round his waist approached me when the bishop left. He carried a lyre, which is a sort of harp, and had been busking on the ferry, plucking away at the strings, singing, and trying to cadge a few coins, without much success.

He introduced himself. 'I am Prometheus, a fallen Greek god.'

'Oh, yeah!, and I’m Emperor of China.' I had heard this line before. There were quite a few beggars around the landing stage who claimed to be Prometheus.

No, no. I am the real one. I saved the human race once because I stole fire from heaven and brought it down to earth. You humans were in a bad way until I gave you fire, You couldn’t cook you're food, you couldn’t warm yourselves.'

'That was very kind, but could you do us another favor and tell me how to fix this outboard motor?’

'I don’t know about such things, but I think its vital essence has gone.’

‘What, it’s out of fuel?’

'I don’t know but I feel its life force has drained away.'

I checked, and the god was right. The tank was bone dry. We drifted on with the current.

‘Zeus, the chief god, Lord of Mount Olympus, punished me for giving you that great gift. He had me chained to the highest peak in the Caucasus Mountains, and every day an eagle came and tore out my liver with its beak’

'That’s terrible, but you do look a bit pale and skinny. Surely you must have a liver otherwise you wouldn’t be still be walking around. I guess even a god needs a liver.'

‘The liver grew back magically every night. Zeus didn’t believe in easy punishments. Anyway the whole thing undermined my health; I’m not the god I was.’

His story could have been true. He looked young, and gods never age or die, no matter how far they fall, or what happens to their livers.

The bishop had been making a speech. He turned back to me, now supported by a group of very angry passengers.

'I am told there is nothing wrong with the motor, it is merely out of fuel. You must use your oars to get us to our destination.’

'Look, bishop. Don’t be a dill. You’re going spend eternity in hell, why are you in such a hurry to get there.'

‘I am a bishop of the church and I have a lecture to deliver. Now, where are the oars to row us to hell?'

'Sorry bishop. There are none on the ferry, Charon never used more than two and they’re still lying on the quay where he left them.'

'I have never heard of such incompetence. You can be sure my man that this will be reported to the highest authorities. I will put in a formal complaint as soon as we reach hell.

He would probably have other things to worry about when, and if, he reached hell, but we were all distracted by a huge noise made by someone on the side of the river that we had left a short while before.

A giant, angry figure was running along the bank. He carried two lengths of timber over his shoulders and was roaring at us to stop; which, of course, we could not do.

With a sudden sinking of my heart I recognised the giant as Charon and the two lengths of timber were the missing oars.

He must have been told about our mishap, but I knew there had been other complaints about the service. Every time the ferry crossed the river with a load of passengers there were unhappy souls on board, and they complained bitterly. The bishop was the first person I met who actually wanted to go to hell. Naturally people blamed the ferryman, and word of this must have got to Charon.

It was not long before he caught up and started roaring insults at me.

'You wait until I get you, Bernard, you hopeless idiot, I’ll take you apart. I been the ferryman here for three thousand years, and you ruined the business as soon as I turned me back.'

He mentioned something about ripping off my head and what he would do with it afterwards.

He took one of the oars in his hand and threw it like a spear towards the ferry. It landed short and splashed down in the middle of the river. He then threw the other one. and followed it with a run to hurl himself off the bank, an exercise which caused the most tremendous belly flop into the water that I have ever seen.

As part of my wasted youth my mates and I used to water bomb the local pool from the top diving board, but I had never seen anything like the wave created by Charon.

When he arose from the deep puffing and ferocious, he started to swim towards the ferry pushing the oars before him.

It was time to abandon ship. I moved towards the far rail.

Prometheus grabbed my arm. He said, 'If you’re thinking of going over the side, whatever you do don’t open your mouth underwater. Keep it shut all the time; this river’s deadly. I’ll come with you. He doesn’t like me either.’

We jumped together into the River Styx, no water bombing this time, it was a matter of life or death. I kept my mouth firmly closed.

We came up, not far from the bank and heard a rattling behind us as Charon threw the oars into the ferry.

He climbed aboard, rushed to the side and shook his fist at us.

'You keep out of me sight, Prometheus,’ he roared. I know what you done, and if I catch you you’ll wish you were back with the eagle. And as for you Bernard, you’ll have to take the ferry ride someday, same as everyone else, and when you do I’ll give you the worst passage anyone’s ever had. By the time I finish with yer you’ll be glad to get off at hell. No one mucks up my business and gets away with it.’

I am ashamed to say I made a rude gesture at him, but no doubt I will regret it when next we meet.

The waves created by Charon washed us up the river bank on to a dreary looking shore. I gazed around w