The Mad Tinkerer and The Drunk

Thomas woke abruptly with a pounding in his head. Once again he had had too much of the drink; too far gone now to even try to quit. The alcohol kept the gruesome deaths of his wife and son locked away deep inside his mind. Whenever he was sober the locked door would swing open and memories rushed to the fore front of his mind and all he wanted to do was die. The pounding in his head forced him to swing his legs off the straw bed in the dirty barn and place his filthy feet onto the frozen dirt. He put on his worn leather boots and buckled them around his ankle. They were so old now that they didn’t do much to keep his feet warm, but it was better than nothing.

He stepped onto the streets and the smell of feces assaulted his nostrils. It had been two years now since the Black Death had wound it’s way through these streets menacingly and ceaselessly until more than half of the population was dead. His wife, Alviva, and their five-year old son, John, among them. Even though so much time had passed, the smell of death still lingered in the air. Thomas wondered why he had survived when they hadn’t. Why had divine providence cast this burden on his soul? He couldn’t take it. He wasn’t strong enough.

He staggered through the streets, still a bit inebriated. Horses and buggies rambled past kicking up dust that swirled with the smell of rot. Dirt-covered children ran barefooted through the market, angry yells from the merchants following on the backs of their heels.

Thomas observed a small group of people gathered around the entrance to a dark alley. They were all talking animatedly among themselves and snickering behind their hands. Curious, Thomas sauntered over to join them and peered over the tops of their heads to look into the alley. He saw a disheveled man standing in front of what looked like a large, dented sphere made of copper. It stood on a stand made of four iron legs. The man never looked at the small crowd staring at him; it was like he wasn’t even aware of their presence. He began picking up different types of metals all in a variety of shapes and sizes and began striking the copper sphere with each one in turn. Loud clashes reverberated off the walls of the alley. Every now and then one of the pieces would throw up red, orange and sometimes blue sparks. Thomas noticed that when the man got the result of blue sparks that he sprinted around and around the sphere beating on it frantically, his oily hair swinging wildly around his head.

“He’s mad, everyone says so. They call him the Tinkerer. He never speaks to any of the people in town. I heard that after his wife died of the sickness, he became very dependent on the poppy,” Thomas heard a squat and homely woman whisper to the man standing beside her. Thomas empathized with the tinkerer over the loss of his wife. He wished the onlookers would disperse so he could have a chance to speak with the Tinkerer alone. He wanted to know more about the copper sphere.

An idea to get rid of the observers popped into his head and he began to fake retching, while grabbing his stomach and bending at the waist. Even though the Black Death had been gone for a while now, it had not been long enough for things to go back to normal. People would still flee at any sign of symptoms. He retched louder and the crowd began to look at him in disgust as they backed away.

When the alleyway entrance was empty except for Thomas, the tinkerer stopped what he was doing and glanced up briefly, making eye contact with him. The man had only one gray eye, the space where the other had once been covered with a brown, leather patch. But, Oh! What an intelligent one eye he had! There was a knowing in that one eye, like he could see straight to the depths of Thomas’ soul. “This man that everyone calls the Tinkerer is not mad!” Thomas thought to himself. The eye quickly flickered back to the copper sphere and his calloused hands resumed their tinkering.

It was impossible to tell exactly how old the tinkerer was. He could very well be in his twenties, having lived a hard life. Or he could be a healthy and robust forty-year old, his so-called madness somehow keeping him young, as oft said it does.

Thomas continued to stare as the sparks flew while the tinkerer beat and beat on the sphere. He was mesmerized and didn’t even notice when his body began moving forward into the alley. The Tinkerer’s head snapped up and he stared at Thomas. Thomas abruptly came to a halt, his right leg frozen in mid-step. He suddenly felt afraid. He felt an intense tingling throughout his body.

“Well, come here then, lad. I have been waiting for you. You are the one they call Drunk Thomas?” the tinkerer asked in a voice that seemed a bit too noble for his appearance.

Thomas’ face turned red and he answered meekly, “Yes, I am Thomas.”

“Ah, yes. Very well then, I am the Mad Tinkerer, but you may call me Hugo… and I will not call you Drunk, but Thomas. Personally, I prefer the nicknames. Much more interesting, don’t you think? But I understand seriousness and the importance of the matter at hand, Thomas. I am Hugo. I am very happy to meet you.” Hugo gave a tremendous bow.

Thomas stared back at Hugo, dumbfounded. “How do you know who I am?”

“Oh yes, yes… I’m sure you are confused. You came to me in a vision, right before I started tinkering. You had a wife, Alviva? And a son, John? The Great Black Death got them, am I right?”

Thomas was now even more confused and the locked door in his mind swung open and he saw the faces of Alviva and John. He grunted, wounded by the pain of remembering, and fell to his knees.

Hugo’s smile fell from his face in an instant and he ran to Thomas, kneeling down on the cold cobblestones beside him. Touching his shoulder lightly, he said, “I had a wife, Lucia. I watched the black death ravage her, until she no longer knew what was happening. I can only hope that maybe that was a comfort to her. She grew wild with hallucinations and didn’t know who I was in the end. I couldn’t even comfort her. She didn’t know I was there. I am so sorry, Thomas, for your loss... and mine.”

Hugo stood up exuberantly, clapping his hands. “But have faith fellow! On the day my Lucia died I began my tinkering. I had visions come to me and tell me how I could fix it and bring my sweet wife back! A time machine! I do believe it is ready, since you have shown up! You are the one to go back and change it. That is what my dreams have told me.”

Thomas looked up at Hugo. He was obviously completely insane. How could he possibly think that Thomas would believe this? “How could I ever stop the Black Death? And why me? Why not you?” Thomas asked.

“It’s all in the visions! It must be you! I won’t try to explain… but you must trust me. You can get your wife and son back.” Hugo’s eye glittered and Thomas thought he saw some cunning trickery there, but he was too shocked at the moment to pay close attention, and the look passed quickly. Hugo continued with his persuasion of Thomas. “If you will agree to trust me and go back to save our families, then I will tell you the plan.”

Thomas thought this man was crazy, but then how did he know his name? How did he know of Alviva and John? Could Hugo actually be a genius in the disguise of a madman? The Black Death had caused so much death and heartache, as well as many fractured minds.

Thomas suddenly wanted to be the hero. Drunk turned hero. He could redeem himself and see Alviva and John again. He could be happy. But he would not be able to do anything with this pounding headache. He needed a drink before he could accept his role in this pivotal moment.

“I will do it, but I must have a drink first, or I will not be able,” Thomas whispered ashamedly.

Hugo winked and held up a small vial of pearly, opalescent liquid. “I have just what you need right here. Better than the drink, I tell you! I can attest… it will liven you right up and your headache will disappear. Like magic.”

Thomas nodded and Hugo handed him the vial. Thomas drew the tincture into the dropper and lifted it above his mouth, only hesitating a few seconds. He dispensed the whole dropper full onto his tongue. The taste was bitter and made the inside of his mouth sting. When he swallowed his throat burned. He felt the exact moment when the liquid reached his stomach and a warmness extended itself from there to his limbs. His headache had begun to ease and he felt an unfamiliar contentedness. A feeling he had not felt in a long while. He breathed deeply and exhaled. He looked up at the copper sphere and it seemed to shine brighter than before. He could see ripples of tangerine orange and golden yellow flowing over the sphere in rippling waves. He smiled and looked once again at Hugo. “Tell me what I must do.”

Hugo and Thomas spoke of their plan until the sun disappeared and the moon rose bright in the sky, periodically dropping more of the bitter liquid onto their tongues. Instead of waves of orange and yellow on the copper sphere, there now glowed waves of silver and blue.

“It is nearly time,” Hugo said softly as he stood. “I will prepare the sphere. You must now sit and mentally rehearse our plan and what your actions will be.” He walked over to the sphere and presumed his tinkering. Thomas sat and thought about the plan.

People had begun laying blame of the Black Death on Pope Gregory IX and his incredible dislike for cats. Gregory had believed that cats held the spirit of Satan inside of them and he declared a Papal Bull to have them killed when they were caught. In time the rat population grew and grew, without the cats to control them and the Black Death emerged. The bacteria ultimately passed from rats to humans, through fleas. Hugo told Thomas that he had heard, many times in passing, that the Pope had been viciously clawed by a cat in his childhood. With the help of his incredible visions, Hugo had pinpointed the exact day that the Pope had been attacked. This was the day that Pope Gregory’s hate for the devilish cat species began. It was the twenty-third of October, in the year 1178, and the pope would be eight years old. The Italy of one-hundred and seventy-five years ago was likely to be somewhat different from the present year of 1353. The plan was to stay hidden until the opportune moment, when he would be able to intercept the cat before it unknowingly wrecked havoc on all of Europe.

Thomas took a deep, unsteady breath and stood. Hugo stood by the sphere staring at him intently. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yes, I suppose,” Thomas whispered excitedly, but also a tad bit dejectedly and began walking closer to the sphere, where Hugo had opened a tiny door that had not been visible a moment ago.

Thomas was just small enough that he could squeeze himself through the opening. If he would have been any bigger it would not have been possible. As it was, his ribs felt sore and scraped when he had finally pulled himself through the copper door. There was nothing inside of the magical, copper globe. It was completely empty. The captivating blue and silver waves flowed over the inside of the sphere in the same way that it did outside. With the absence of any seating, Thomas sat in the middle of the globe with the curved copper walls surrounding him and drew his knees up to his chest.

Hugo’s head popped inside of the sphere. He looked at Thomas with absolute seriousness. “Thomas, do not let anyone see you other than the Pope, do not get sidetracked, and do not do ANYTHING else other than what we have discussed. Do you understand?”

Thomas stared back at Hugo, the waves undulating around him. It was beginning to make him feel nauseous. He was ready to go, if only to make this unbearable nausea stop. “I understand,” he said firmly and determinedly.

Hugo smiled, flashing stained teeth. “Bring Lucia back. And your Alviva and John. Have courage my friend.” Hugo pulled his head from the circular chamber and closed the tiny door softly.

Within seconds Thomas heard a clanging of metal on the copper as Hugo resumed his beating of the sphere. He walked at a normal pace at first, tapping softly. After a few moments his pace quickened, until he was running at a rather impossibly swift clip. The metal tool in his hand fell harder and faster. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! The sounds were ricocheting around the inside of the sphere and Thomas didn’t think he could take it much more. He held his hands to the sides of his head, feeling an odd buzzing pressure.

As he huddled and prayed that the sounds and vibrations would cease, he thought to himself with despair, “What was I thinking? Hugo is mad, but he reeled me in. He gave me hope without any reason for it. This man is utterly delusional.”

The savage clanging finally came to a stop and Thomas lifted his head from between his knees. “Hugo must have gotten tired,” he thought. “Now to climb out of this ridiculous contraption and find a drink.”

He stood and crouched and shuffled toward the door. He heard the singing of birds coming from outside. How strange. He pushed on the door with the palm of his hand, and it swung forward easily. Outside, the sun was high in the sky, and he could see behemoth trees stretching out in front of him. He seemed to be in the middle of a forest, and it was no longer night. He stepped out of the sphere, and he was standing on a blanket of soft, green grass. The air felt crisp and refreshing in his lungs and he breathed deeply. He squinted into the trees in front of him and could just make out what seemed to be a tiny wattle and daub dwelling in the distance. If he listened closely he occasionally heard what sounded like chickens.

By Hugo’s calculations, Thomas should have one hour to get to the tree line near the little shack, where he would crouch in waiting for the boy Pope Gregory IX. Through Hugo’s visions, it was ascertained that the incident would happen near the fenced-in area where the chickens were kept. Thankfully, the Pope had been seen in these visions alone. It would be easier than having to manuever around a group of people.

Thomas’ heartbeat was rapid with fear and exertion as he trekked through the towering beech trees toward his destination. There was a slight chill in the air that caused him to shiver, even as sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. Leaves crunched beneath his feet as he moved and the consistent sound soothed him a bit. His heart beat slowed as he began to see more clearly.

He was close now and could hear that the clucking of the chickens was much louder, and they were joined with a boy’s jovial laughter. He crept slowly and silently closer to the sounds. He hid behind an immense beech, then he stuck his head around it just enough to see the yard where the boy sat with a hen in his lap. Thomas watched as the boy stroked the feathers of the bird. The bird relished the attention and perched perfectly still on his lap. The boy spoke tenderly to the chicken in a lilting, joyful voice. “I will call you Ruby,” the boy declared, “because your feathers look almost as red as rubies in the sunlight. You are my friend, pretty Ruby. I surely need a friend. Things are lonesome since Mama died and Papa is always out and about.” Ruby stirred in the boy’s lap as he began to stand. The chicken looked up into his little face wanting to be held again. The little Pope sat back down on his haunches. “Go play with the chicks now. See Goldie and Victoria are searching for you everywhere.” He laughed and his eyes lit up. Ruby sauntered to the fence where two fluffy yellow chicks were peeping and running in circles.

Thomas continued to watch, searching for the dreaded cat that would ultimately bring so much death to Europe. The boy should be attacked any moment now, but Thomas saw no cat. He instinctively looked behind him and his eyes beheld an orange tom cat creeping toward the chickens inside the fence.

“No! How did Hugo not see this? The cat is going to attack the chickens, not the boy!” Thomas howled to himself in his mind. The cat seemed to direct all his focus on Ruby and the two chicks as it stalked forward stealthily.

Thomas rose to his feet quickly and began sprinting toward the cat. The cat was so intent on his prey that it didn’t notice Thomas coming fast. The boy Pope noticed though. He stood up quickly, placing his hands on his hips and looked right at Thomas. The boy saw him for only a split second before Thomas dived behind the chicken coop on top of the cat. The cat let out a shrill screech and began clawing Thomas’ arms with murder in it’s eyes. Thomas ran back through the forest to the sphere, still clutching the frantic cat in his arms. Blood was dripping in rivulets now from the many scratches. As he ran, he thought to himself, “Maybe the Pope was right after all. I do believe Satan is in this animal.”

He ran toward the sphere and then passed it. There was a river not far from there. Thomas could hear the running water. He wanted to get this devil cat to the other side. He didn’t want him going after the chickens again, thus making everything that had just occurred meaningless.

Thomas reached the river and he smiled to himself. He had done it. Alviva and John had a chance now. Would they be there when he traveled back to the present? His heart began to hammer briskly in his chest once again, not from fear, but from the anticipation of seeing his family again.

With the cat still firmly gripped to his chest, he stepped into the river. The current wasn’t strong, but the water was cold. It felt like tiny needles pricking his legs. As he walked deeper into the water the cat began clawing up the back of his neck, leaving long bloody scratches, in it’s attempt to escape the water. The cold water reached Thomas’ chest, but then the surface began to recede lower on his body with every step he took, as the river bottom began to incline toward the mossy bank on the other side. The cat huddled against his chest, no longer trying to get away, but clinging to him and trembling now. Thomas felt sorry for the cat then. The cat didn’t know what he had caused. He was just a tomcat out looking for dinner, as was his nature. The chickens had been perfectly normal prey for the cat. This poor cat knew nothing of fate and the role he would play in the deaths of millions throughout Europe. He was just hungry.

Thomas reached the bank and pulled himself and the cat up onto the moss. He no longer clung to the cat, but the cat did not try to run away. The tomcat sat licking his paw and staring at Thomas with what seemed to be curious eyes. Thomas winked at the cat, patting him on the head. “Goodbye old boy. Goodbye Destiny. You have been bested.”

Thomas trudged back into the river. He had to get back to the sphere. Hugo had stressed avidly to Thomas that he must be back inside of the sphere as soon as was possible after diverting the cat. He made quicker progress crossing the river this time, knowing that it was not very deep, and he could keep his feet skimming the river bottom all the way across. When he reached the bank he propelled himself out of the water with a splash. Before he began his run back to the sphere, he looked back to where he had left the cat. The old tom was sitting on the bank, gazing across the river to where Thomas stood, dripping and cold. Thomas raised a hand in a small wave and then tripped up the bank. He began to run faster than he could ever remember running before. His breathing now came ragged and gasping.

Thomas tripped into the clearing and saw the great copper sphere flickering. He could see through the sphere to the other side where the big beeches hovered. He ran to the sphere and reached to open the door, but his hand hit only air. He continued to frantically grasp at the air, trying to find a solid area that he could grip. The sphere became fainter and fainter, until finally there was nothing there. No sign of the sphere was left. It was like it had never been here at all. Thomas ran in circles, beginning to panic. When his legs became weak and he could no longer keep himself standing, let alone running in circles, he crumpled to the ground. He instinctively knew what had happened. He wasn’t quick enough. He shouldn’t have taken the stupid cat all the way to the other side of the river. When he altered the future, he altered Hugo’s life as well. Hugo’s wife, Lucia, was alive and had never succumbed to the black death. Therefore, Hugo had never gone mad and begun his insatiable tinkering and the sphere no longer existed. It had never existed. He lay there huddled in the fetal position, until he heard footsteps crunching through the woods.

“Hello?” he heard a child’s voice call. It was the boy Pope, coming to look for the man he had momentarily seen behind the chicken coop.

Thomas snapped his head up and poised himself to run. Before he could bound away, he heard a deeper voice bellow. “Gregory! Where are you?”

The little boy stopped abruptly, turning his head toward his home. “Coming Papa!” He turned and hurried back home.

Thomas didn’t know what to do. He was lost in the past, and he had no idea how he was going to get back to the present and to his beautiful Alviva and their own adventurous little boy. What he did know was that he couldn’t be seen. He had to get farther away from the bright little home with all the chickens.

He ran back to the river, crossed it, and then continued to run even farther. There was nothing here but trees. After running for what felt like hours, he came upon a small clearing filled with delicate yellow flowers. Sunlight could find it’s way through the trees here, and the rays kissed the earth, making it feel warm beneath his feet. He felt calmer here, and here he would stay. If home was now unavailable to him, he never wanted to leave this peaceful place. He couldn’t get back home and he had nowhere to go, and no one to ask for help. He sat down and let the warmth of the sun caress his face. He went about collecting fallen branches and umbrella-like leaves, to make a shelter as tears ran down his face. The tomcat appeared from the trees and walked over to Thomas, rubbing against Thomas’ leg and purring contentedly. Thomas sat down hard, and the cat climbed into his lap.

“I guess you are my family now, Destiny,” Thomas whispered to the cat while he scratched behind Destiny’s velvety ears.

In the year 1353, Hugo found himself sitting across the table from his wife, Lucia. Dinner was in front of them, and Lucia smiled gently at her husband.

“Hugo? Are you okay dear?” she asked concernedly.

“Yes. I had a strange wave of dizziness come over me, but it has passed,” Hugo said to his wife. He had an uncontrollable urge to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. He jumped up from his chair and did just that. He walked to Lucia and wrapped his arms around her, placing soft kisses on the top of her head, breathing her scent deeply into his lungs. Tears sprang to his eyes. He had no idea what had come over him, but he couldn’t bear to be away from Lucia. He wanted to touch her repeatedly, just to be sure that she was real, but he had no idea why this sudden desperate feeling had come over him. With hesitation he finally released Lucia and sat back down at the table, ready to eat and listen to the lovely cadence of his wife’s voice as she spoke.

“Tell me about your day, my sweet,” Hugo said animatedly to Lucia.

“Oh, just another day. I saw Alviva at the markets. She has finally found herself a suitor, a rather good one. She will be the Lord Elias’ wife by summer, you just watch! I am so happy for her!”

A look of consternation flickered across Hugo’s face, but then was gone, without Lucia noticing it. He felt a heavy burden on his conscience, but he couldn’t figure out why. “Good for her. Now, remind me again who this Alviva is, please?”

“Hugo! She is only my dearest friend and confidante! How could you forget that?” Lucia laughed lightly, a look of slight confusion in her eyes. “Are you sure you are okay, dear?”

“I’m sorry. Yes, of course! I thought she was married for some reason. With a little boy. I don’t know where I got that idea.”

“I don’t either, Hugo. I have been trying to find her an adequate match for six months now! Married… how peculiar!” She laughed again, this time a tad more boisterous. Hugo smiled back at her, delighted to bask in her joy.

The year was now 1227 in the past where Thomas remained trapped. Pope Gregory IX had begun his rule of the Papal States and Thomas was now seventy-two years old. He still lived in the forest clearing filled with abundant flowers. Destiny the tomcat had died many, many years before, but Thomas had become quite the caretaker of cats. He lived with a total of twenty-nine cats at this point in time and they filled his days with happiness.

In his sleepless nights after the disappearance of the sphere, he had finally gotten some closure, from visions of his dear Alviva. She was alive in the present time, the black death had not killed her, but she had never met Thomas and John had never been born. Thomas’s heart ached for years over the loss of his only son, but in time he had learned to live with his loss.

Thomas had also formed a friendship with Pope Gregory. No one knew of Thomas and his little shack in the forest, But Gregory did. They met when Gregory was only ten years old and after Thomas had been stuck in the past for almost two years. The boy never told anyone about the strange man living in the woods, but he spent many days talking with Thomas about far off lands and distant times. Gregory loved visiting with all of the cats too. He named all of them, and brought malnourished, stray cats to Thomas whenever he found them in need. Gregory’s great love for cats had stalled the black death enough to keep his dear Alviva alive. Thomas would always be grateful to Gregory, Destiny and all the cats that came after.

Thomas passed away when he was seventy-five years old, surrounded by his beloved cats. With him died any knowledge of the possibilities of time travel. The world would have to wait until another tortured soul began the manic tinkering of time.