Traveller's Christmas

Henry stares at the fading screen and rubs his stubbled chin. Almost time to leave his cosy basement refuge and stand up to the unpleasant reality of Christmas Eve. A quick glance at his watch confirms it is midafternoon. A few hours left till the dreaded family dinner.

Slowly, he runs his fingers over the keyboard, caressing the individual keys, fighting temptation. What if...? No, he must face his wife and children, there hardly remains time for another trip. They probably decorate the Christmas tree this moment, hoping he'll join. But he feels out of his depth with Margery hitting her teens and nine-year-old Denis compensating for his troubles at school with stupid pranks and budding violence. Not to mention the ongoing war of will with his wife.

Between Susan concentrating on her marketing career and himself cobbling together a time machine, saving their relationship seems a lost cause. He didn't even tell her of his success. She wouldn't believe him, anyway. Her reaction the day he tried to explain his pet basement project is still vivid in his memory. Susan called him nuts and ever since stopped pretending their marriage was healthy.

Bile rises in his throat as he remembers their last fight. Was it only this morning?
Thoughtfully, he runs a finger over the genuine dinosaur tooth he brought back as a gift for Denis from his short test trip to the Jurassic era. Henry isn't even sure the boy will appreciate it. He might have outgrown his fascination with dinosaurs.

Torn between going upstairs and hitting the temporal road again, Henry sighs. He might sneak away a few hours. Or for the whole night, no one can hinder him. The temptation is huge, and the decision comes as a relief.
He will not spend the holiday with this pretence of a happy family. Not in the poisoned atmosphere he fled a few hours ago.

Henry's fingers touch the keys, searching for a destination where life is easy and a positive spirit reigns. A place like... Paris, the city of love. And times like... well, why not? The period earned the name "les années folles", the crazy years, for a reason.

A last check of the coordinates. Paris, Montparnasse, December 1931. On the screen, a red warning light blinks. Henry studies the accompanying message.

Period of extreme cold recorded for Paris, France in winter 1931. Additional equipment strongly recommended. Readjust coordinates? 

Henry shrugs. The prototype of his time machine is still limited to a yearly setting. This means it will be December 24th wherever he goes. Unless he's heading for a tropical location, he will have to put up with winter. But better safe than sorry. He reaches for a jacket hanging over the back of his chair and tentatively changes the year to 1930. The light on the screen changes to green.

Confirmation for Paris, December 1930. No restrictions apply.

Henry smiles. Good thing he linked his creation with a few powerful search engines and major archives. Helped to prevent accidents.
He slips off his wristwatch and pulls the lever to initiate another time jump.

~

The first thing Henry registers is a shoulder clad in a dark brown coat. Moments later, it connects with his face. He steps back, uttering a curse and rubbing his hurting nose. The owner of the shoulder, a tall man with black hair slicked back and a slightly bulbous nose stares at him.

"And where for Christ's sake did you appear from?"

Henry shrugs an apology. He takes a mental note of another necessary feature to add to the time machine. Prevent materialising in front of strangers. Luckily, another arrival distracts his new acquaintance. The blonde can't be much older than twenty and has a winning smile but a harsh accent.

"Peter! Glad you could make it. And who's your friend? Hey, I'm Rudolf, Rudolf Haussener, writer. My plan is to publish a best-selling novel about artists' life in Paris. That's why I hang out with this uprising painter here. What about you?"

While pumping the offered hand, Henry searches his brain for a convincing story. He should have come prepared. The words finally leaving his lips are too close to the truth for his comfort, but they do the trick.

"Henry Marshal, engineer. I'm working on... well, I build a time machine."

The man called Peter raises his brows.

"Really? Is this even possible?"

"Well, not if you believe your physics teacher."

Both men laugh and Peter slaps Henry's back in camaraderie.

"That's brilliant! Agnes will love you. She can go on about physics the whole night if she finds someone ready to listen. Join us, we're meeting friends in La Rotonde for an early Christmas party."

What a stroke of luck. Henry follows his two new friends to a crowded café on the Carrefour Vavin. Wide-eyed, he takes in the multicultural crowd as Rudolf steers him to a table occupied by a young man and woman. The German introduces them as Agnes Kowalski and Andy Sharon, an American architect.

~

Time passes quickly. The grey daylight filtering through misted windows fades to nothing and Henry is caught in a heated discussion about politics and sciences with a bunch of artists.

Peter was right about Agnes. The fiery-eyed Polish Jew is engaged as a musician in the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées, but she's a physicist at heart. Her in-depth knowledge of Max Planck's quantum theory and Einstein's work are impressive. Triggered by Peter's remark about Henry's earlier claim, the discussion turns to the feasibility of time travel. Agnes' eyes brighten.

"Yes, it is possible. If you build a spaceship and travel at light speed away from earth, time will move slower for you than for those who remain at home. Technically, you can outlive your family this way, so it is a form of time travel. It is not possible to travel to the past though. The ensuing paradoxes prevent you from returning into your own time. You might reach a parallel world or nowhere at all. So, while time travel is possible, visiting ancient Egypt or seeing Stonehenge built is out of the question."

Henry smiles, ready to launch into a lengthy explanation of his own theory, the one he proofed by his short visit to the Jurassic this morning. But he is interrupted by an attractive woman in a tight, sleeveless golden dress and a bob of dark hair. She steps up to the table with a broad smile, elegant fingers with red nails retrieving a cigarette from matching glossy lips.

"Found another victim interested in time travel, Agnes? Well, H. G. Wells nailed it in his story, didn't he? And if it is imaginable why shouldn't it be possible?"

A strong accent tells Henry she's French. She holds out her hand to kiss for him.

"Florence, mon chéri. Enchanted to meet you."

It turns out Florence is an actress and close friend of Agnes though the women couldn't be more different. Intrigued, Henry doesn't mind the topic shifting to the value of fictional literature and the fine arts. He sits back and soaks in the atmosphere.
Rudolf signals a waiter to bring another round of drinks for the table. As soon as everyone has settled, Henry tunes in to the talk again. Florence and Agnes, sitting across from each other, analyse a recent scandal in a famous music hall. Andy, to Henry's right, sends him a wink.

"Theirs is a very special world. Welcome to Paris where we are all members of one big family yet no one has a real family. Merry Christmas, may the sun of inspiration shine forever on this circle of friends!"

Together with the others, Henry lifts his drink, but he can't help observing the sadness in Andy's eyes. He lowers his voice to ask a personal question.

"And why are you in the city of love instead of spending Christmas with your own family?"

"Ah, that's a long story. To cut it short, my father doesn't approve of my chosen profession. I want to build skyscrapers, higher than the Chrysler Building. Have you seen pictures? It's amazing, a true pillar of modern knowledge and technology. Well, dad hoped I'd follow him in the family business, running a grocery store. We're estranged, haven't talked in years. But it hurts, especially during the holidays."

Listening to Andy's story, a picture of Denis and Margery pops up in front of Henry's inner eye. Will they understand his decision to forgo the Christmas dinner? They must be aware their parents' relationship is in shambles. Yet they are innocent and don't deserve to carry the brunt of their elders' problems. And soon, they will be too grown up to care for their peculiar father...

The clock above the counter says it a quarter past six when Henry excuses himself. If he hurries, he might reach home in time for dinner.

~

Back in the basement, Henry slips on his watch and tries to gather his courage for the encounter with Susan. But first, curiosity drives him to check a few facts.

The mask of the search engine loads and Henry types a name. Agnes Kowalski. The result pops up immediately. She became a famous violinist in 1931, a rising star on the horizon of the Parisian music scene, even during the depression. Depression? Suddenly wary, he reads on. When the threat of war became imminent, Agnes left Paris to return to her hometown. Her name turned up one last time on the list of victims of the Auschwitz-Birkenau gas chambers, end of 1941.

Henry frowns, already researching another name: Andy Sharon. Did he ever reunite with his Dad? He learns Andy became a renowned architect, building bridges instead of skyscrapers. Relieved, he reads on, and his face falls. In the early years of the war, Andy volunteered for the US Navy. He was reported dead after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, 7th December 1941.

A shiver runs down Henry's spine while he hastily types the remembered names, one after the other.

Rudolf Haussener never finished his novel. He worked as a journalist before he returned to Germany and joined the Wehrmacht. His name is listed as Gefreiter Haussener of the 6th Army, deceased during the siege of Stalingrad, December 16th, 1942.

The Brit, Peter Fowler, having won a reputation as a cubist painter, became a member of the RAF. His Lancaster was shot down during the bombing of Berlin in late November 1943.

Florence Fresnel ran out of luck when the crisis hit and there was no further use for an ageing actress in the empty theatres of Paris. She joined the French Résistance but disappeared after her arrest by the Gestapo in 1942.

How is this possible? When and where did the devastating, world-altering mistake occur? The one creating a past containing horrors like Auschwitz, Stalingrad and Pearl Harbor?

Henry groans, aware there is no way to undo what's done. He succeeded to travel in time, but at what cost? The consequences of his achievement call for further research. He presses his lips together, ready to launch on this new quest.

A cheery child's voice tears him out of his dark thoughts.

"Dad, are you co-o-ming?"

Hastily, Henry wraps the dinosaur tooth in red paper.

"Just a second, Denis!"

He picks up the gifts for his wife and children and is about to lock the basement door. Footsteps on the stairs and a woman's soft voice make him glance up in surprise.

"Darling? Dinner is ready, and the children are antsy for the presents. I know how much this project means to you, but I think you should allow yourself a break for Christmas Eve."

Henry stares at Susan for a moment, feeling apprehensive. Her curls fall in long waves over her shoulders, a look he's never seen on her, and her smile seems genuine. He smiles back, wary.

While Henry climbs the stairs behind the virtual stranger, he mulls over Agnes' theory. If she was right, this new world might hold some exciting surprises.