Asimov is Wrong #2
It came to me lying in my hospital bed, starving.
For the next 48 hours, there will be no solid or liquid food, not even Camel milk.
“We need to do more tests,” said Dr. Ungry, who appeared less than kind, disrespectful, unintelligent, and the doc who stretched my neck after I broke it a bit, so I spent most of the morning walking around inside my head.
There was a lot more forestry in there than I remember.
This morning, Jenny arrived without warning, catching me on my laptop. Hell’s fury… or something like that, came to mind. Fortunately for me, she has a hair appointment. I know where I lie in the run of things. ‘Harry’s life — hair appointment?’ Jenny left at 11:00 A.M., just as Steve was arriving. I suspect a plot is afoot.
He first grabbed a piece of cold pepperoni pizza, not because he was hungry, but simply to torture me. “And just so you know, I’m on duty to make sure you keep your head out of the laptop.”
“And just so you know, try it and you’ll be eating the rest of that pizza through your arse. Did you think any more about what we talked about?”
“What was that?”
“Time travel, you asshole. You know what.”
Here’s the thing about Steve: I had given him a new dimension to explore and knew it would likely receive low to moderate enthusiasm at best. Trying to get Steve to understand such a concept as traveling through Time is like granting him the occasion to test the waters without the parental lifeguards always on duty. Translated. He’s a dumbass.
“Oh yeh, this bee in your bonnet (Steve loves cliche’s) about writing science fiction. Last week it was poetry, the week before that comedy, and before…”
“Steve just shut the fuck up and eat your pizza.” Talking with Steve is like attending church, but the choir is gone home. “I think the clue is in the Bible. Do you remember reading a book? When was it? I don’t know; it was in my teens. ‘Is God an Alien’?
“No.”
“Well, someone did. But I don’t think so, and the clues are in the Bible, right?”
“No.”
“Yes, they are. Listen.” I open the hospital Bible. This sounds like the perfect opportunity to air my point of view, which is hardly orthodox from a scientific perspective but which I feel has some bearing on our discussion.
Steve is a friend who has always placed his faith in a carpenter from Galilee and is unlikely to hear my off-the-wall interpretation of scripture.
“Look here, Steve, in verse two of this particular psalm, the writer says of God, ‘From everlasting to everlasting, Thou art God,’ and then two verses later states that a thousand years in God’s sight is like yesterday. Get it, God is Time traveling. Then,” I turn the pages to one I’ve marked, “here it tells us that God’s place of habitation is called Eternity.”
“Wow! Do you want a piece of pizza, it’s better cold.”
“Fuck off, you’re supposed to be the clever shit. Doesn’t using this sort of language indicate that God existed in a state of Time, as we understand it. How would the word ‘eternity’ be defined two thousand years ago?”
“A clock, maybe?”
“Fuck, Steve, close your mouth when you’re eating.”
“You keep asking me questions!”
“Look, the totality of Time, past, present and future. Those work if we are limiting our discussion to chronological definitions. But what if there is something outside this realm that we call Time?”
There’s a knock on the door. “Okay, Mr. Hogg, we’re taking you to prep.”
“Yeh, yeh, give me a damn minute. Steve, I can invalidate Newton’s work on physics? You believe in the Bible, right, Steve?”
“On Sundays.”
“Well, there are only a few accounts in the Bible of angels arriving. Their appearances were usually accompanied by words like ‘behold’ or ‘suddenly,’ indicating an arrival that surprised the witnesses. To appear out of thin air would bypass a number of Newton’s laws, would it not?”
“Could you give him a little extra of the whatever shuts his mind down,” Steve said, looking at the hospital porters.
“Come back tomorrow, Steve, I have proof.”
“The only proof you believe in, Harry, is written on a whisky bottle.
This conversation will continue tomorrow if the porters ever find their way back, or they have to explain to Jenny why I’m never coming home again.
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