The Circular Life

Joshua started caring for himself when he was twenty-five and he was ninety-six. Unemployment had been high, and, with the population ageing, the Government created the perfect answer to both problems: Circle of Life. Joshua had the freedom to work as little or as much as he liked, able as he was to finish at the exact moment he started, and from the comfort of his own home too. The instructions were simple: wear the lanyard, stand on the mat, and clock in to the future. Don’t worry, went the tagline, they’re expecting you.

It was the same every shift, he remembered. After a moment of temporary blindness he found himself standing on the exact same mat, now frayed and worn from the several decades that had passed. The only light came through thin curtains from a grey morning outside. He smelled the usual stale smoke and damp. He smelled his older self in the bedroom on the other side of the lounge. He needed a wash. Joshua rubbed his eyes and said good morning, to which there was no response but strained breathing.

“Morning,” he said again, loudly. He walked over to the bed where his older self was lying half asleep. “How are we today?”

“How are we, indeed,” said the old man, waking up fully and recoiling as Joshua turned on a reading lamp. “Think you’re funny do you?” Joshua shrugged and tilted his head. “Well, you’re not. Anyway I’m fine and how are you?”

Joshua thought back to the long-ago morning when he’d woken up and started work, all the shifts that had passed that day, maybe twenty hours. A few details began to stand out and he was about to tell himself all about them when his lanyard started making a tiny yet powerful noise, like a little electric shock going up to his brain. The noise pushed the details out of his memory. “Well, it was raining when I left for work,” he said.

“You’ve said that every day for two weeks,” said the old man. Joshua could almost feel the strain in his own eyes when his older self tried to focus. There was a tired suspicion in his gaze.

“I suppose it rains a lot,” said Joshua. He didn’t want to have to explain, again, that the past fortnight had been a matter of hours from his point of view. A familiar question occurred to him, but he was sure it was the first time he’d thought to ask. “You were there,” he said. “Why don’t you remember?”

“I can’t afford to,” said his older self. And that was the end of it. The old man seemed to lie further back on his bed, ready for their routine.

Joshua put on his latex gloves. He ran hot water from the kitchen sink, carefully carried the bowl to the bedside, then added a dash of ointment and began the bed bath. There was always a mess to clean up, he remembered that much. It seemed to him a grim twist in the fate of the human race that someone will invent time travel before a cure for incontinence. It was probably a different branch of science, he thought. Questions like these kept him happily distracted from the job, and he inevitably got some mess on his arm or the bedsheet. He felt a sense of nostalgia for his own body, somehow so bloated and skinny at the same time, the skin both damp and dry.

It was the same every shift, he remembered. He used a sponge to gently clean the whole lower half, and an awkward quietness thickened the lamplight as he finished drying the legs and pulled up the elasticated incontinence pad. Conversation between them could be a struggle in those moments when it was obvious neither could think of what to say to himself.

“Hey,” he said, finally. “It’s the lottery in a couple of days.” The old man just looked at him. “Got any tips...I mean, how about you tell me the numbers and then we’re both out of this...situation.”

“Ha,” said the old man. He wheezed a long laugh at the end of his comment. “Haaaaa. You think asking me every day is going to change anything? I’ve told you before, everyone in your job has this idea.”

Joshua was gathering up trouser legs to get them over the swollen ankles. He realised it was always carers queuing up at the corner shop on a Saturday night, spending, it seemed, the majority of their wages on row after row of lottery numbers. It suddenly occurred to him that he was one of them, that he’d also stood in the queues, tired and desperate and certain he was onto a good thing. He imagined all the older selves of all the carers rattling off numbers, just as random and hopeless as ever. All the younger versions believing them, trusting the wisdom of age. The lanyard sent its electric noise through his brain again, pushing the word lottery away.

He pulled up the trousers and the old man raised his hips automatically to shuffle the corduroy up to his waist. His skinny pelvis and distended stomach fitted snugly inside; the button, the fly and the limp leather belt made a neat little arrangement, and he began to look more like a person than a body.

“So you’re not gonna tell me?” said Joshua.

“I’ve told you. I’ve told you there’s no changing things. Do you want me to make something up?”

“Perhaps it’ll come to you. Like...subconsciously.”

“I can’t remember our dead wife’s name, I can’t remember how to use a toilet, do you think the only thing that would stick is a bunch of numbers from seventy bloody years ago?”

The agitation caused a small coughing fit, and Joshua helped himself sit up slightly to clear his throat. It was a good position, since he needed him upright to change his baggy nighttime vest for a clean shirt. His older self motioned for a glass of water at the bedside, and Joshua handed it to him while supporting most of its weight to prevent any spills. “Tissue,” he wheezed, and Joshua performed the difficult operation of keeping him upright, levelling the glass of water, and leaning for the box of tissues.

The lanyard dangled on the rim of the glass, then dipped fully underwater as the tissues evaded Joshua’s grasp. The electric noise shrieked especially hard for a moment, and Joshua dropped everything. His older self fell backwards, still coughing. The glass hit the floor but didn’t smash. The tissues sat motionless on the bedside table, responsible for everything. Joshua scowled at them, and winced again at the sudden lanyard noise. Then it stopped making any noise at all. Something was wrong.

Some vague thought stuck in Joshua’s brain as they finished the bed bath. It stayed with him as they made the risky journey from bed to armchair, while his older self vaunted the near-indestructible glassware of the modern era. The thought slowly took shape as he prepared a lunch in advance, joined the old man for a smoke, and told him he would be back in the evening. One more shift, he promised himself, then we’ll both be ready for bed. The thought finally emerged as a whisper just as he stood on the Circle of Life and pressed the button.

“Dead wife?” he said, and vanished into the future.

There was something different about the lounge when he landed on the mat that evening. He knew this even before the blindness subsided and an unexpected multitude of lamps filled his eyes with their homely glow. It smelled clean. It smelled of fresh bedsheets and the breeze from an open window.

“Ah, hello Josh, just in time for a cup of tea,” said a woman’s voice.

“Lily?” said Joshua.

The lanyard made a strange noise that strained his chest and brain, pulsing halfway between on and off. He remembered the words dead wife. A slight jolt pushed the words away again. He remembered the name Lily. The lanyard nudged it out.

“Here you go,” said the smiling voice. Lily, he remembered.

The mug of tea sat warmly in his hand, and his vision slowly returned. He looked around the room, at the stylish furniture and the abundance of small pillows and throw-blankets. His older self sat napping in a sleek armchair beneath a reading light. He was about to ask a very serious question but other words came out of his mouth instead.

“How are we this evening?”

The napping old man looked up and spoke with the practiced speed of someone who pretends he doesn’t take naps. “Hilarious,” he said.

His voice was smooth and, Joshua realised, healthy. He suddenly noticed a new smell: that of a man needing a wash, whose aura was conspicuously saturated with cigarette smoke. His own smell. The lanyard tried to zap him again. He remembered that he quit smoking in the future.

“Time for bed then, dear,” said Lily. She walked with a slight limp, but confident strides that belied her age. Joshua remembered her recovering from a hip operation, two days of mild soreness as her body adjusted to the nanotubes printed directly into her bone. She was a few years younger than his older self, bending with relative ease to help the old man stand up.

Joshua walked his older self across to the bedroom, where the hospital bed was waiting. It was the same every shift, he remembered. A simple change of clothes, a few areas that needed various creams, the occasional awkward silence.

“It’s nice to see Lily doing so well after the op,” he said during the most naked part of the proceedings. The lanyard tried to make a noise.

“Lily?” said his older self. “She...she…”

“Um…” said Joshua.

There was a troubled zap from the lanyard as Lily died from lung cancer at the age of forty and Lily quit smoking at twenty-eight to grow old with grace and humour. The noise stopped and Joshua remembered that his older self frequently got confused about names. With the creams fully applied he walked over to the dresser where a large collection of pills lay in blister packs.

“Here,” said Joshua, “time for your medication.”

“I can’t afford it.”

“Looks like you can,” said Joshua, placing a yellow pill into the old man’s curved palm.

As it touched his dry tongue it dissolved, immediately fizzing through the blood into his brain. “Lily’s spent too much on these,” he sighed. A perspicacious gleam returned to his eyes.

“So,” said Joshua. “You gonna tell me those lottery numbers?”

“I’ve told you before. This is as good as it gets. There’s no taking anything with you through time.”

Lily was preparing her bed on the convertible sofa in the lounge. “What are you boys muttering about? Lottery numbers again?”

“Just buttoning the PJs, dear.” Old Joshua’s smile looked young and full of love.

“Give the kid a row, Josh,” said Lily. “Maybe it’ll be the one.”

Joshua’s older self gave in and reached for a notepad. He scribbled on it with a long, mocking sigh. “You better buy us a nicer flat,” he said, and winked as Joshua folded the numbers into his pocket. The lanyard tried to protest.

His older self was already asleep as Joshua turned off the bedroom lamp, gathered up a couple of glasses and plates and put them in the kitchen sink. “Oh, leave that, dear,” said Lily, exiting the bathroom in her nightie. “I’ll do it in the morning.”

Joshua stood on the mat and smiled at her. “See you tomorrow,” he said. There was something comforting about the the future that made him happy to return to the past. He pressed the button and landed in his own time.

The neighbours were just finishing a loud conversation he vaguely remembered them starting. It was still raining. The place smelled of cigarettes. How have I not noticed this before? he wondered. He showered the smell off himself and put his stained uniform in the washing machine, but remembered to save the lottery note before turning it on. There was no time for that now, though, he needed rest. “No time,” he said into the pillow as he fell asleep. The bed was still warm from when he’d woken up, twenty minutes and twenty hours ago. He dreamt of an ageless woman whom he knew so well and had yet to meet.

It was late afternoon when the banging on the front door began. Six hours of sleep felt worse than none as Joshua awoke to the panicked heartbeat shaking his entire body. The angry noise at the door continued steadily until he finally put on some trousers and answered it. There were three men outside — one little man in a suit, clearly the door-knocker, and two huge men in bomber jackets. They stood in an arrow shape, the point of which was the little man’s grin. Joshua suddenly felt very protective of his exposed torso. Daylight glinted on the man’s ID badge, and he immediately recognised the logo as that on his own broken lanyard. It was The Department of Work and Pensions and Time Travel.

“Ah,” said the little man in a soft voice. He pretended to check something on a clipboard. “Mister, um...whatever. DWPTT. We received a signal from your lanyard. I understand it was somehow damaged.”

“How did you…” Joshua began.

“We’ve been sent to issue a new one,” said the man, dangling a new lanyard on his finger. Joshua’s confused face matched the newly printed ID photo. “We’ll be needing the old one, please.” One of the large men held out a hand.

Joshua walked quickly inside and returned with the broken lanyard. The sound of intense feedback made everyone wince as the two lanyards passed each other, then the men nodded amongst themselves at the completion of the exchange. They had some follow-up questions, and Joshua assured them that, no, he hadn’t felt any nausea, and, no, he hadn’t noticed any changes in time — present or future. Judging that the interview was over, he was about to close the front door but one of the large men did it for him. He was topless, tired and alone once more.

Sleep was impossible now. His brain churned like a lottery machine, with the name Lily being announced as every winning number in an endless string. Joshua finally gave up, got up and made his evening meal for breakfast. It was still a few days till the weekend so there was no queue when he took his reliably foreseen numbers to the corner shop. The stink of cigarettes hit him again when he got home. He’d already made the decision to quit.

As the sky darkened he found himself bored and watching television. He knew he would meet Lily someday soon, but he couldn’t wait for that. He knew there was a future out there needing his attention. Give the old man his pills and bask in the cosiness of their small life together. A one bedroom flat was enough when you were old and in love, and that thought gave him more energy than sleep ever could. His uniform was still wet when he put it on and stepped onto the Circle of Life, draping the new lanyard around his neck. It had barely begun to screech in his brain as he pushed the button. In his sudden blindness the smell of faeces and cigarettes hit harder than ever, while memories of the future and the past were forced out of his mind with bureaucratic precision. The lonely old man needed a wash. It was the same every shift, he remembered.