And Hast Thou Slain the Jabberwock

I said, trying to sound casual, "Sit down, I just have to change." He plopped into a couch still gazing around like he'd never seen such splendor.

My bedroom was by the pool on the ground floor at the back. I really didn't need a change of clothes but the safe was in there and I wanted to get a few things. I was hoping that I would find what I was looking for there - which would confirm that I was now part of this dimension.

I swiveled the picture on the wall by the walk-in closet door and sure-enough, the safe was exactly where I expected it to be. I spun the dial. I always use the same combination. This was the point where I would either confirm that I was now well established in this dimension... or find out I was truly fucked.

I slowly turned the dial to the last number. The tumblers clicked into place and the safe unlocked. The transition to this world was complete. It was the same feeling you would get reaching safe harbor after a particularly deadly storm. I hadn't realized that I'd been holding my breath.

There was a bundle of cash in the safe along with other valuables. So, I peeled off a handful of bills and stuffed them in my wallet. Then I dropped the money I had brought over from another world into my sock drawer. With the evidence of my past life safely buried under a pile of argyles, I went back out to reclaim my new one.

The redneck was sitting on the couch, his eyes blank and his mouth hanging open. It looked like he might be dead. But I knew that it was just his version of thinking. I said jovially, "You know -- I've been traveling and I have a bunch of things to attend to tomorrow. So, why don't we just have a drink here? You've probably got to get back to the airfield anyhow."

The guys eyes were like saucers as I pulled out a bottle of Chivas and poured him a healthy three fingers. He took a gulp of my expensive scotch and said, "Man!! That's smooth!" I took a sip of the finger that I'd poured for myself and said, "Yep!" Getting this dude drunk would be the easiest thing in the world.

I needed information and my newfound acquaintance was the likeliest source. He wasn't bright by any means, and he was getting less and less aware as he got drunker. So, I planned to keep pouring scotch down his throat until I was certain he wouldn't blink if I told him that I was from the planet Tatooine... which in many respects wasn't any less probable than my real origins.

Now... it was time for this hillbilly to give me a little history, assuming he knew any. I said, "It's stuffy in here. Why don't we sit out by the pool and talk. You seem like a guy who knows his way around and I want to get your opinion about the mess those people have gotten us into." What the Hell... why not flatter the dude.

The "those people" I was referring to remained unspecified. But guys like him always have a "them," and it's usually, "the gummiment." I turned the poolside decorative lights on as we walked out onto the deck. I didn't have to think about where things were. It was instinctual. I was fully the "me" in this dimension.

We sat in a couple of deck chairs, and I offered him a big fat Panatela. He lit up and puffed for a minute while sipping my scotch. He was clearly very drunk. So, I hazarded conversationally, "What do you think REALLY caused the problem with the Germans?" I would have said "Hitler" but I needed to keep my questions as vague as possible.

He blew out a cloud of smoke, took another gulp of my expensive scotch and said, "Waaaall, as far as I'm concerned it all started when Lindbergh was elected back in forty." Yikes!! Charles Lindbergh was President!! That must have been a doozy of a populist movement.

Lucky Lindy was an international celebrity. But he was also king of the America Firsters and a notorious racist and antisemite. Of course, that described most of the U.S. back in 1940. So, maybe it wasn't so shocking. But the guy had no qualifications to lead the Country.

My drunken friend slurred, "We were all in favor of isolationism back then. The U.S. had the Atlantic Ocean between us and Europe. So, we could sit on the sidelines without worryin' about what was going on over there."

He got the smirk that the truly stupid get when imparting their special version of wisdom, and added, "We all agreed with Lindy... you hear. Nobody wanted nothin' to do with that dirty European war. Joe Kennedy was Secretary of Defense back then, and he drew down the military so as to not provoke the Nazis. Saved us a lot of money too -- you betcha."

That explained a lot. Lindbergh was a renowned aviator, not a strategic thinker. He had no experience whatsoever in geopolitics. And even though he'd made a lot of money after his famous flight, he still had a minimal Midwestern understanding of the world. He would be easy prey for Hitler and his cronies.

Even worse, Joe Kennedy was no statesman. He had made the family fortune bootlegging and he was IRA to the core. Ireland wanted independence and Kennedy knew that a pro-German or even strictly neutral U.S. would spell disaster for the British. So, any bullshit pretext would do.

I was disgusted by what I'd heard so far. Yet, I wanted to keep my boozy friend talking because he was filling in some important blank spaces. I gave him a "go on" gesture and said, trying to sound impatient, like I already knew all that, "But how does that relate to where we are at now?"

He looked at me like I was a moron and said disbelievingly, "Hey man -- are you tellin' me that you don't know that the English gave up, just like the French did." He paused and added with grudging respect, "But it took nine long years for them to wave the white flag." Then he snorted and added, "Instead of the six weeks it took the Frogs."

I said loftily, "Of course I do," and I DID sort-of know that. The scenario of Britain alone had been discussed in my dimension - under the heading of what if... and the conclusion was always the same. Without help from the U.S., England didn't have the manpower or resources to stand up to the Axis forever.

My companion laughed and said snarkily, "They held out a lot longer than we all expected. We thought they were a bunch of pansies with their superior attitude and snotty accents. But between the U-Boat blockade and the fact that we'd left them to twist, they finally knuckled under."

I was beginning to like this guy less and less.

My drunken pal continued with, "That freed up all the German tanks for Russia. Stalin didn't think his pal Hitler would stab him in the back - HAH!! The Nazis blitzed the Commies out of the war in less than a year, just like they did back in World War One."

He poured himself another drink and said, "Them steppes was perfect for tanks. It only took nine months for the Nazis to drive all the way from the Polish border to the Ural Mountains. Most people think it might've been a different story if that part of the war had lasted into the winter."

I had been metaphorically hitting myself in the head while my grizzly friend was talking. How could the people in this dimension have BEEN so stupid. But I had to sit there looking like the two of us were reminiscing about the good -- or perhaps a more descriptive term would be clueless -- old days.

He added, looking at me suspiciously, "I know you remember when they invaded Iceland."

I was following his timeline. Nine years, plus two more for Russia, plus a couple of years prep time, and said, "Sure! That was in '53, right?"

He looked like I'd answered more than his simple question. He said, "Yep, it was embarrassing. The Germans just showed up and took over. I thought them Vikings was tough. They were pussies."

In my dimension there were maybe 300,000 men, women and children living on the entire island. I'll bet the Germans landed more troops than that in the first wave.

I could see what was coming next. Iceland would give the Reich a perfect staging area to invade Canada. Their justification would be that Canada was a Commonwealth territory, so it belonged to them. I mean after all... the Nazis owned the British fleet now. So, "Germania ruled the waves."

I said, "I remember that - it was what finally started the national mobilization." I was guessing but it wasn't unreasonable to assume that having a Nazi army show up in Canada would kick things off in the U.S. - and I had to start sounding knowledgeable.

The dude took another long drag on the bottle, which he was now drinking out of directly, and said, "Yeah... that's right. It was after the invasion of Newfoundland. By that time, public opinion had swung from appeasement to war. Eisenhower was the Vice President when Lindbergh died from that stroke and he took over running things." He sat back and said wistfully, "Ike sure knew how to set up an Army."

I said, that was in '55 if I recall correctly." I was guessing. But I wanted to keep the ball rolling. So, I did an estimate based on what he'd told me so far.

He laughed and said, "Where you been buddy? That was in '57. We were already fighting the damn Japs. But like you said, it was the Germans we were afraid of."

Oh shit! I'd forgotten about the Japanese. But my redneck friend had already decided that I was a clueless rich guy - just like the rest of us unjustifiably wealthy losers. So, he kept on talking.

He said angrily," The fucking Japs did a backdoor deal with the Mexicans to let them land three whole armies in the south of that Country -- far enough down that we didn't notice. Fortunately, they invaded into the Arizona desert east of the Rockies and General MacArthur's forces held onto the passes into California and Nevada leaving the Japs stuck in the middle of all them lizards, snakes, and heat."

He took another drag and added, "Then, in '58 Arizona, Oklahoma and the rest of the battleship squadron caught the Jap's main re-supply fleet off Ensenada and pounded it. That same week, Lexington, Yorktown, and Wasp sank all their carriers, at Midway. It was a coordinated attack and our first step in fighting back."

He snickered and added, "That left a lot of Japs stranded on the wrong continent with their supply lines cut. So, they just set up shop in Mexico. They call it New Yamato now."

He got a spiteful look and added, "The Japs have been brutal since they took over Central America. Which is why they're still having a bitch of a time stamping out the revolutions that keep popping up down there. Nobody in South America wants them and that's good news for us because it keeps the Nips out of our business while we settle with the Krauts."

I was getting pretty good at guessing events based on what I'd already heard. I said, "I forget the name of the treaty that nailed the Japanese back on the other side of the Rio Grande?"

The dude said distractedly, "Monterrey."

So that was it. The Americans and Canadians were wrestling with the Wehrmacht in the wilds of Quebec while the Japanese were sitting on our southern border fighting fires in their own patch and waiting for a new opportunity to invade. At least it explained the paranoid reaction when I just appeared on the military's radar.

It made sense that things wouldn't be exactly like they were in my dimension. The fact that I was in a parallel universe with '40s technology was probably due to the fact that we were still fighting the Second World War. You put your resources into bullets and guns, not improving consumer goods. And yet, the whole thing had a time travel aspect to it too.

Anyhow, THIS was my reality now, and after the most eventful day of my life I was drained. Fortunately, my ratty visitor was now out cold, lying with his head back snoring like a blast furnace, and with drool running out of his open, mostly toothless mouth. So, I just went off to the same bed that I'd roused from a couple of days ago... in an entirely different universe.

The difference was that I was able to sleep -- like I'd been unable to do since the dreadful day my life stopped having any meaning. I woke as usual, yawned, stretched, and it hit me like a cartoon safe dropped on my head. I was in my familiar bedroom -- but it wasn't in my usual world.

The sun shone like it always did in Florida and it was already getting hot. I remembered air conditioning was a rarity here. That situation would take some getting used to. I donned shorts and a t-shirt, which, of course, fit me perfectly and went out to see if I'd killed the ridge runner from last night.

He must've come-to sometime before dawn. Because he was gone, as was his car. A bottle of my good scotch was also AWOL -- I didn't think it was a coincidence. I was sipping my first cup of coffee, which I had to make using an old-fashioned percolator and the stove, when there was a knock at the door... actually it was more like a pounding.

I was sorta expecting it, so I wasn't surprised when I opened the door to find a bulldog in a sheriff's uniform, standing at the entrance.

He yelled, shocked, "What the Hell!!" And nearly fell off the porch.

I said, is if law enforcement always showed up on my doorstep, "Morning Sheriff... want some coffee?"

He continued to stand there - mouth open. Finally, he shook himself and said, "But you're dead! I saw you transported after the crash!"

So that was the source of his astonishment. Well... I'd better have a good story. I said, "You were almost right." I was getting pretty good at bullshitting but my attempt to sluff off my death did absolutely no good with this dude.

He said disbelievingly, "When we got reports your place was occupied, I thought I'd come over and see for myself. But I never expected to find YOU here. What's the story... Why are you back. In fact, how are you alive!!?"

I was improvising. But the riff was getting easier. I knew that the record-keeping back then was restricted to paper files. So, it made sense to simply lie. The Sheriff would have to dig through a lot of old records to refute my story and he looked shiftless.

I said, like I couldn't believe he didn't know it, "Didn't they tell you!!?"

Then I stopped and mused theatrically, like I was thinking about it, "Well, I guess they wouldn't. It wasn't really a law enforcement matter anymore."

The Sheriff looked both confused and pissed off. So, I added with a ghoulish chuckle, "I actually woke up on the undertaker's table. They told me that it happens sometimes."

He got a disbelieving look and was about to interject something. So, I hastily continued with, "They were getting ready to embalm me when I opened my eyes. It scared the shit out of everybody." Another grisly laugh.

I added, "Maybe I'm immortal, what do you think?"

The Sheriff was clearly starting to buy my glib little story. I added trying to look like I was reminiscing, "I was in rough shape for a long time, and it took months of rehabilitation. But I'm here now, and right as rain." I thought that the little self-effacing platitude at the end was a nice touch.

I added tentatively because this was the REAL question, "Did anybody miss me?"

He laughed uproariously and said, "Who would miss an asshole like you?" Okay, THAT was a little hurtful and a whole lot mystifying.

I said, uneasily, "Didn't Cat miss me?"

I'd just assumed that Cat was alive. I mean, my house was the same and I appeared to be as wealthy as I ever was. It was inconceivable that she would be accidently killed in both worlds. As my old man used to put it, "Lightning don't strike twice, Erik." But where was she?

The Sheriff asked puzzled, "Why in the fuck do you care about whether your cat missed you!"

I said, trying to be polite even though I was beginning to think I was talking to an idiot, "No... CAT! My wife."

He laughed so hard that his three chins quivered. He looked at me like he still thought I was messing with him and said, "As far's I know you don't have a wife. Of course, with all the pussy you paraded through here I suppose one of them might have been a real cat."

Well... THAT was weird. What sort of person had the "me" been in this dimension? I knew that I was that guy in every aspect. But we apparently had a totally different approach to marriage.

The Sheriff was starting to make me nervous. He was a local authority and he clearly knew me from my old life. So, he might be able to bust my story. Hence, I wanted him off my doorstep and out of my life as soon as possible... before he asked me a question I couldn't answer.

I said hurriedly, like I had something vitally important to do, "If there's nothing else Sheriff, I really need to go. I left my plane at the Broward Airport last night and I've gotta get over there ASAP to secure it."

He looked me over one last time, like he still didn't believe I was alive. Finally, he tapped the brim of his round hat, and said, "Well you have a nice day -- heah?" And he turned on one heel and waddled back to his black and white.

I was formulating a plan as I walked out to my garage. There were two vehicles inside, a white 1955 Cadillac Coupe Deville, soaring tail fins and all, and a powder blue 1956 Thunderbird convertible. Both looked like they'd just rolled off the assembly line.

I chose the Bird simply because I liked the way that it looked and the heat of the new day suggested that it would be better to have the top down. Nothing was air conditioned in that dimension. I hadn't eaten in almost 24 hours. So, my first stop was the Howard Johnsons over on Atlantic. This was 1962. Where else could I find a quick breakfast?

Then I went straight over to the Broward County public library. Of course, there were no computers. It was all card catalogues back then. But I did collect the local newspapers from two years ago. I had the approximate date thanks to Sheriff Grissom.

It wasn't what I'd thought. An article dated July 31st, 1960, described a gruesome accident involving a drunken fool -- moi -- in a fiberglass Arena Craft ski boat and the rock jetty on the Stanahan river entrance to Lauderdale Harbor.

I could understand why the Sheriff was confused. Apparently, I was flipped out of the boat and onto the rocks and pronounced dead on the scene. The article mentioned that I was the thirty-year-old heir to millionaire developer Stanford Grayson III, owner of multiple hotels on Miami beach. Wow!! In my other reality my old man, Stanley, owned a hardware store!

It DID mention that I had been married to a Catherine Grayson, twenty-eight. But it didn't say what had happened to her or where she was now. The wave of relief that rocketed through me was indescribable. I'd really been afraid that I had lost Cat in two dimensions.

Okay... as might be expected, things in this dimension were different. But the players were the same. I spent several hours searching through every resource I could lay hands on looking for any trace of my wife. But she was nowhere to be found.

Meanwhile, I still had to do something about my plane. That's where I discovered another one of those differences. Nine-eleven was still forty years in the future in this world. So, there was no security at the gate. Hence, I was able to just drive over to where my plane was sitting on the grass off the runway.

I was doing a post flight walk-around when I saw a jeep headed my way. It was one of those old-fashioned Willys models like you see in World War Two movies. The guy driving it looked like a regular Army soldier, high, tight and no nonsense. I started talking the moment he got out of the Jeep. I said, "Sorry about that Boss. But I was low on fuel. So, I had to make an emergency landing."

The guy looked me over with a little smile, like I was a green recruit. He was a few inches shorter than me and about the same weight, muscular, with a chiseled face. There were two silver bars on his collar. He said, "That's no problem, Sir. But you're going to have to move it."