Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [77]
But it suggested a strategy. It was, in any case, all he had. He and Dave subsequently began showing up at the Lincoln-Douglas debates. They attended the first one, in Ottawa, Illinois, on August 21, 1858, and each of the other six, which concluded in Alton, October 15, of that same year. Douglas pleaded for an America that would be “the north star that shall guide the friends of freedom,” and that it would do this by maintaining slavery within its borders.
“I’d love to ask the son of a bitch a few questions,” said Dave.
“I’m sure you would,” Shel said. “But I thought Mr. Lincoln managed a reasonable response.”
In the end, of course, the voters elected Douglas. And if Shel’s father showed up, they never saw him.
AFTER Lincoln-Douglas, they needed something light, something that came with a party. Consequently, they went to New York on August 15, 1945, V-J Day, where they joined the end-of-war celebration. (Shel had suggested they don military uniforms for the event, but Dave refused. “No. That’s more or less what we did at Selma.” Shel was offended, but he gave in.)
Unsure how to continue the search, they drifted. They went to concerts by the Kingston Trio. They attended festivals in classical Athens, enthusiastically celebrating the rites of spring, watching the annual petition to Athena, and attending performances of plays not seen in two thousand years.
They were giddy times.
And there were more serious moments. On January 10, 49 B.C., when Caesar and his army crossed the Rubicon, Shel and Dave sat in a boat, apparently fishing in the middle of the river. “He never came,” said Dave, as the army ferried itself across.
“Who never came? Dad?”
“According to the story, Caesar wasn’t sure he wanted to go through with this, so he hesitated at the river’s edge until a god showed up and directed him to cross.”
“You didn’t actually think it would happen that way?”
“No. But I was tempted to play the role of the deity.” He grinned at Shel’s shocked reaction. “Just kidding.”
They joined the crowd on the mall for the “I Have a Dream” speech. In August 1944, they were in Paris when the Allies arrived.
MICHAEL Shelborne had liked Charles Lamb. So they went to London in the spring of 1820, planning to meet the celebrated essayist. But they arrived outside the city and were almost immediately accosted by highwaymen. It was broad daylight, but it didn’t seem to matter. The bandits laughed while inviting them to empty their pockets. Dave and Shel shrugged, said good-bye, and returned to the town house.
They tried again, after resetting the converters to get closer to London. They arrived during early evening, having allowed time for Lamb to get home from his job clerking for India House. They got lucky this time, and stepped out into Covent Garden, only a few blocks from his home on Russell Street. They picked up a bottle of wine en route, and presented themselves at the front door as admirers of Lamb’s work. At that point, though Lamb was in his forties, the great essayist had written little of note.
“We’re reviving the London Magazine next year, Mr. Lamb,” Shel told him. “We’d like very much to have some of your time, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, gentlemen,” he said. “Please come in.” Lamb was thin, about average height, with an easy smile. He led them back to a sitting room, where a middle-aged woman was reading.
They did a round of introductions. The woman was Mary Lamb, who had murdered her mother twenty years earlier in one of her occasional bouts of insanity. Fortunately, at the moment she seemed fine. She was not unattractive, although there was a stolidity in her features that suggested she wasn’t especially flexible.
The sitting room looked out onto Russell Street, where several children were playing with a ball. Framed pictures of people