From: Philippa Chapman (Glastonbury, Somerset, UK.) Date: Sun, 23 Feb 1997 15:00 +0000 Subject: Double Dragon, Part 1/2 DOUBLE DRAGON Dateline June 2nd, 1962 'Y cariad bydd yn talu'r pris' 'The love that pays the price...' Once again I leaped, but this time the falling, rippling sensations seemed to go on and on a lot longer. Like the time I'd leaped into 'Nam....did that mean I was going outside the States again? There was a sudden jolt and I found myself sitting down abruptly on a tarmac sidewalk. Ouch! I picked myself up, hearing a peal of childish laughter near me. I turned around slowly, dusting off my trousers as I did so. Yuk, blue nylon and probably full of static. And topped by a very anonymous pale blue short-sleeved shirt. No clues there. I looked down and found the source of the laughter. It was a little girl, out riding a huge tricycle that must have been at least two sizes too large. She had short brown hair, a huge crop of freckles and wide blue eyes. She was wearing a green check dress with a wide white collar. The Sixties? I seem to remember someone; was it Katie? wearing a dress like that back in '63. Never mind, on with the business in hand. I crouched down closer to her level. "Hello. I certainly tripped up then, didn't I?" Well, that was safe enough, for a start. I looked around, but the street seemed to be deserted. On the other side of a low brick wall next to the sidewalk a dark red peony was in bloom. Early Summer, at a guess, though goodness knows I'm no horticulturalist. Was I perhaps the father of this child? Did she know where she lived? And where was Al?! "You're not Uncle Evan, are you?" She spoke with a strange lilting accent which I couldn't quite place. It certainly wasn't an American one. Oh, boy. And she could see *me* too, which put her under 5. She was a tall kid for her age, despite the huge tricycle. "Er, no, I'm not Uncle Evan, I'm kinda taking his place for a while. I'm....uh... his guardian angel." Apologies to the One in charge, but it worked before. You figure out how else to explain it to a kid without frightening them half to death. At that moment Al popped up. The kid's eyes went as wide as saucers. "Is *he* an angel too? He hasn't got his long white nightie on." (His *what*? Oh, I get it). "Well I haven't got one on, have I?" She looked carefully at me, then her eyes drifted back to Al. She giggled. "He looks like the sofa in our lounge!" Oh, no; another strange word. Al tried very hard to look offended, but I think even he must have realised that he'd certainly dressed to kill this time. He was wearing a silver-gray shirt, a silk burgundy tie, matching jacket and trousers in the shiny material he sometimes favored. That may not sound too bad, except that the suit was covered in two inch high burgundy fleur-de-lys. I hoped that Evan wasn't prone to migraines. Al moved next to me on the sidewalk and crouched down. "Hello, Patti; hello again, Sam. You've certainly leaped a long way this time. You're in South Wales." That was it! I knew the accent had been tickling at some Swiss-cheesed part of my brain. " 'How Green was my Valley'" my mouth supplied. I must have seen the old black and white film, years ago. I don't think I fully appreciated all the nuances at the time, but obviously the lilting Welsh accent had lodged itself somewhere in my subconscious. "Sorry, Patti," I smiled warmly at her, "I sometimes....remember things out of the blue like that. Er....do you know where your house is? I guess your Mom and Dad must be waiting for me to bring you home." Patti nodded solemnly and began to pedal her way back up the street. As we walked, Al filled me in on Evan's background. "Your name is Evan Evans, aged twenty four, the last of five children. Probably explains why they ran outta inspiration when naming you. Sorry, Sam." he added, on seeing the expression on my face. "Anyway, Evan's a commercial artist, does things like bill-boards and posters, dabbles in reproduction work in his spare time. His repro work is quite good, according to Ziggy. She says he has an innate sense of period design, whatever that means. However, *you're* in a place that seems to be called Landaff, which is sorta part of Cardiff, the capital city of Wales; although Evan was originally born in the mid-Wales town of Mac....Mac....Ziggy are you sure that's right? Oh, boy; it's one of those place names with far too many 'ls' in it. OK, I'll have a go. Mac...Mac..." "Macynlleth!" supplied Patti. "Gezundheit!" retorted Al, without missing a beat. It was too much; I began to giggle helplessly. I was just about recovering when I got a mental picture of Gooshi, Doctor Beeks and Tina watching all this, and it set me off again. When I'd finally dried the tears of laughter from my face and pulled myself together, I saw that Patti had stopped and Al was just standing there with his mouth in the kind of wavy line that it goes into whenever he's trying very hard to control his emotions. His eyes were twinkling brightly and he made a great show of punching the buttons on his handlink. He coughed quite a bit, too. "Gushi says that Ziggy is asking whether Doctor Sam Beckett is feeling alright now." I smiled ruefully, "Yes, I'm OK. And it's about 1963, right?" Al looked around him very carefully, "Well I don't know how you guessed that, but you're one year out, it's '62, Saturday June second, to be precise." For a moment I was tempted to break into a rendition of 'June is busting out all over', but I knew exactly what Al would make of *that*. I squatted down to talk with Patti. "Look, I'm sorry about this, Patti. I was sent here for a reason; I'm not sure what it was, yet, but when it's over, Al and I will disappear and Uncle Evan will come back. I promise." (I hope). "Al's a sort of.....naughty angel" (Al snorted loudly). "Anyway, he's invisible to everyone except us, OK.?" He certainly wasn't fit to be seen in Sixties Britain. At that moment, the door of a house just up the street opened and a woman stepped half- way out. Her hair was several shades lighter than Patti's, but there was no mistaking the family resemblance. "That's Patti's mother," Al supplied helpfully, if a little unnecessarily,"Her name is Bethan, Bethan Jones, but Evan...you...call her....Beth. Not too often when I'm around, please, Sam." I could see the thinly veiled pain in his eyes and I just nodded. As we got closer, I could see Bethan's eyes were blue like her daughter's. I must find out soon if I took after the rest of the family. Knowing what other people see can be very important, especially if the one they see has another color skin, or is female, or both. At least that wasn't going to happen in this case. I followed Bethan into the house and helped her put away Patti's tricycle. "I don't know which one of you is worse, Evan Evans; you or that child!" she was scolding, but her voice held a great deal of affection and humor, "I sometimes wonder if you are ever going to grow up." She had a lovely full Welsh accent. I just hoped I'd never have to try to imitate it. "You're all covered in dust from the pavement, you'd better have a wash and brush up before dinner." But I hadn't been on the road, had I?, and anyway, on closer inspection, the marks had been made by my initial fall on the sidewalk. Then I remembered; there was a whole different vocabulary at work here. Somebody once said that the Americans and the Brits were two nations divided by a single language. I was beginning to see what they meant. I dived upstairs, with Al floating gracefully beside me all the way. I couldn't for the moment remember the logistics that helped him move like that, but the effect was almost ghostly. I managed to find the bathroom at the top of the stairs, it had frosted glass set in the door. There was a casement window surrounded by violent green and yellow curtains. Victorian red brick housing meets the swinging Sixties. It looked like the Sixties were winning at the moment. Luckily the bathroom suite was plain white. I took a good look in the mirrored cabinet over the wash-basin. Evan was a few inches smaller than me and a good deal thinner. He had a very full head of dark brown, almost black hair and blue eyes just like his sister and niece, plus what would later be described as 'designer stubble'. "My goodness, Al," I expostulated, "I could pass for Heathcliffe's younger brother." Al 'hmphed', "You think you've got problems; Evan's already taught Ziggy several interesting phrases in Welsh and when Dr Beeks sedated him, he started singing Rugby songs. You're gonna have to wash your mouth out with soap when you get back! Mind you, I've learned a whole new set of words I didn't know before!" He made some expansive and enthusiastic waves in the air with his hands. I know it must be different from Al's point of view, but I'd spent quite enough time here in the dark. "What does Ziggy say that I'm here for, Al?" Al obligingly punched his handlink a few times. "Looks like you're here to save *someone's* life; and no, Ziggy doesn't know whose yet. She's still trying to interface with the Cardiff network *and* pick up Welsh at the same time. I really can't help you any more than that at the moment. I'll get back and see how Ziggy's getting on." His eyes gleamed,"I ought to see whether she's got all those rugby songs taped yet." I lunged towards him, but I knew it would do no good. Al had his dramatic exits down to a fine art, and he knew I couldn't touch him. He was piling up a monstrous amount of personal apologies for when I got back home. I continued giving myself a wash and brush-up and went back downstairs to dinner. I heard a man's voice in the kitchen alongside Bethan's and Patti's, so I cautiously went to investigate. The man stood close to Bethan at the stove. He had receding curly red hair, a very stocky build, like a bass/baritone or perhaps a smallish quarter-back. Except that this man was virtually guaranteed to be a Rugby player, so I had no idea what position he might play. Al, where are you? I might need an idiot's guide to Rugby, preferably within the next few minutes. "Shw mae, Evan, it's good to see you again." He came over and shook my hand enthusiastically. I took an educated guess that this was Patti's father. "Er,...hi," I managed. There was no way I was going to attempt what he'd just said. Luckily he accepted my greeting and we all sat down to 'dinner', though I'd have been more at home if they'd called it 'lunch'. Over the meal I found out that Patti's father was called either Di or Dewi, he seemed happy to answer to either from Bethan. I settled for listening to domesticity in action. It was warm and homely, and reminded me of similar meals taken round the farmhouse table in Elk Ridge. The food offered would have been different in some respects, but the feeling of 'family' was just the same. I hope I will be able to feel just as welcome if I end up in India or China some day. After the meal, I assisted Patti in helping dry the dishes. I managed to pass her the least breakable things, then when she ran outside to play, I surreptitiously checked everything she'd done. I was invited to sit down in the lounge for a while, and immediately saw why Patti had compared Al with the 'sofa', or rather, couch. It was covered in material that, although not shiny, was a mirror image of the pattern on Al's suit. I chuckled and deliberately went and sat on it. Opposite the couch was a wonderful old phonogram with a radio that had all sorts of exotic sounding stations like 'Hilversum' that one could tune into. I opened the lid and found that the mono record deck had four speeds, rather than the usual two. I wondered briefly what Di or Bethan would say if I described the enormous strides forward that the music industry would take in the next thirty-odd years. I browsed through the Jones' record collection, which was mainly 78's, a few singles and mono L.P.s. I found a sound-track 78 from 'Pinnochio' and put it on. The wonderfully scratchy strains of 'Give a little whistle' came seeping out of the speaker. I smiled; perhaps I was like Pinnochio, travelling through the world to earn my humanity. Mind you, that would make Al my conscience, and anyone less like a conscience would be difficult to find! He'd enjoy wearing the 'Conscience' badge just to annoy me as well. I turned the record over, it had 'When you wish upon a Star.' on the other side. There's something about that song that always gets to me; especially now, so far from home. At the end, I put the record back in the sleeve and sat on the floor. "I wish I could go home, please," I whispered. A little girl's voice interrupted my brief reverie. "Are you feeling sad?" It was Patti, the concern in her big blue eyes almost palpable. "Yes, I guess so, a little bit. I've been away from home for a long time. Let me tell you a story." We sat together on the couch and I told her everything I could remember about a certain Sam Beckett and his wonderful machine. I hoped she was young enough to forget anything that might cause problems back here in '62. After I'd finished she thanked me and ran back out to play. I envied her the resilience of youth. When she'd gone, Al turned back up again at last. He'd changed into a copper-colored jacket and dark blue pants, but the look on his face when he saw the couch was a picture. For the umpteenth time I wished I had a camera that could capture him on film. Maybe Ziggy was storing everything in her vast memory. "Hi, Sam. Ziggy's managed to confirm that you're here to save Patti's life and maybe somebody else's too. Ziggy's having real trouble pinning down the identity of the second person, but she's adamant that you must save Patti's life in the next twenty-four hours. All you have to do is stick to her like glue, save her, and you're outta here. Guaranteed." I nodded, "OK., Al; though knowing what I've got to save her *from* would be a big help. And knowing who the second person is. Hey, I was looking through the records in there a moment ago, but I didn't see any Beatles records." Al shook his head slowly,"Sorry, Sam; your Swiss cheesed memory must be giving out on you. The Beatles don't release their first record till later this year." I smiled inspite of myself,"That would be something wouldn't it? To see it through right from the very beginning!" A sudden thought struck me,"Hey, Al; maybe that's it! Maybe I'm here to save John's life, too. I could write or phone him, warn him about what's going to happen." Al pressed his lips together,"Hmm. It's a bit of a long shot, Sam; but I'll run it through Ziggy. In the mean time, keep your eyes on Patti." He disappeared back into the imaging chamber. I got up and went in search of Patti. When I walked into the kitchen, Patti was there with her parents. She and her mother were wearing identically styled white cardigans. "Are you coming with us to the Church tea?" asked Patti. From the looks on her parents' faces, they were trying to hide disbelief that I would want to attend. "Yeah, I guess so; it could be fun." Bethan shook her head, "I don't know, Evan. I swear those American comics you read are affecting you more and more. You're even starting to sound American now." If only she knew! - but at least I had a reason for lapsing from the vernacular. I followed them out of the front door and down to the end of the street. The weather was a good deal warmer, it was going to be a lovely afternoon. Patti came back and held my hand. From time to time I was conscious of her looking at me sideways. We got to the junction and turned left. Just round the corner there was a bright yellow car parked by the curb. I looked at the back; it was a Hillman Sunbeam, which considering it's color was a bit of an obvious joke. Next in line was a classic Mini, then a brand new Daimler. Wow, if I could leap that little lot into 1999 in their current condition, I could make a mint. Though their current owners wouldn't be too happy about it. We carried on walking along the road, which was lined with trees on the opposite side. The houses on this side were either red brick or covered with something that looked like thick whitewash. They all emanated a strong feeling of solid age. We reached a wider crossroads without a crossing zone on any of the junctions. I had a bit of a shock when I saw a car approaching on what was, for me, the wrong side of the road. I instinctively started backwards, but caught myself about half-way through the manoeuvre when I remembered where I was. Luckily I had not pulled Patti over. If I carried on like this, she'd have to be protected from *me*. I pulled myself together severely. Fortunately both Bethan and Di were concentrating on the traffic. Patti pulled my hand. "It's look right, look left, look right again, Sam...er..Uncle Evan." she supplied helpfully. "Where did you learn that? Kindergarten?" She giggled, "No, silly; the Tufty Club!" (Oh, boy. Where's Al's travelling translation service?). To my amazement we managed to cross the road safely and carry on down a very narrow road with a high wall on the left side and a solid row of small houses on the other side. Goodness knows how you'd get opposing lines of traffic down it; trucks would be right out. We emerged from the road after a couple of minutes and I was treated to a view of the classic village green, complete with pigeons, grass and a war memorial. "It's like something out of Dickens!" I exclaimed. "I don't think Mr Dickens ever came to Llandaff," observed Di a little drily. He pronounced it with the same strange slushy sort of noise that Patti had made for Macynlleth this morning. He carried on, unaware of the struggle my brain was having in trying to figure out how he did it. "Bethan and I have to drop into the Cathedral before going on to the tea party. Do you mind coming with us and keeping an eye on Patti?" A Cathedral? I couldn't see one yet. Then we passed some ruins and the war memorial and there it was, below us at the bottom of a steep path.