They saw not a single mention of Sarah Palin. Wesley wasn’t surprised. He thought that if they stumbled on her, it would be more by luck than by probability, and not just because Mitt Romney showed up more often as the Republican nominee than John McCain did. Palin had always been an outsider, a longshot, the one nobody expected.
Robbie wanted to check the Red Sox. Wesley felt it was a waste of time, but Don came down on the kid’s side, so Wesley agreed. The two of them checked the sports pages for October in ten different Urs, plugging in dates from 1918 to 2009.
‘This is depressing,’ Robbie said after the tenth try. Don Allman agreed.
‘Why?’ Wesley asked. ‘They win the Series lots of times.’
‘Which means there’s no Curse,’ Don said. ‘Which is sort of boring.’
‘What curse?’ Wesley was mystified.
Don opened his mouth to explain, then sighed. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘It would take too long, and you wouldn’t get it, anyway.’
‘Look on the bright side,’ Robbie said. ‘The Bombers are always there, so it isn’t all luck.’
‘Yeah,’ Don said glumly. ‘Fuckin Yankees. The military-industrial complex of the sporting world.’
‘Soh-ree. Does anyone want that last slice?’
Don and Wes shook their heads. Robbie scarfed it and said, ‘Check one more. Check Ur 4121989. It’s my birthday. Gotta be lucky.’
Only it was quite the opposite. When Wesley selected the Ur and added a date – January 20, 1973 – not quite at random, what came up instead of ENJOY YOUR SELECTION was this: NO TIMES THIS UR AFTER NOVEMBER 19, 1962.
Wesley clapped a hand to his mouth. ‘Oh my dear sweet God.’
‘What?’ Robbie asked. ‘What is it?’
‘I think I know,’ Don said. He tried to take the pink Kindle.
Wesley, who guessed he had gone pale (but probably not as pale as he felt inside), put a hand over Don’s. ‘No. I don’t think I can bear it.’
‘Bear what?’ Robbie nearly shouted.
‘Didn’t you cover the Cuban Missile Crisis in Twentieth Century American History?’ Don asked. ‘Or didn’t you get that far yet?’
‘What missile crisis? Was it something to do with Castro?’
Don was looking at Wesley. ‘I don’t really want to see, either,’ he said, ‘but I won’t sleep tonight unless I make sure.’
‘Okay,’ Wesley said, and thought – not for the first time – that curiosity rather than rage was the true bane of the human spirit. ‘You’ll have to do it, though. My hands are trembling too much.’
Don filled in the fields for NOVEMBER 19, 1962. The Kindle told him to enjoy his selection, but he didn’t. None of them did. The headlines were stark and huge:
NYC TOLL SURPASSES 6 MILLION
MANHATTAN DECIMATED BY RADIATION
RUSSIA SAID TO BE OBLITERATED
LOSSES IN EUROPE AND ASIA ‘INCALCULABLE’
CHINESE LAUNCH 40 ICBMS
‘Turn it off,’ Robbie said in a small, sick voice. ‘It’s like that song says – I don’t wanna see no more.’
Don said, ‘Look on the bright side, you two. It seems we dodged the bullet in most of the Urs, including this one.’ But his voice wasn’t quite steady.
‘Robbie’s right,’ Wesley said. He had discovered that the final issue of The New York Times in Ur 4121989 was only three pages long, and every article was death. ‘Turn it off. I wish I’d never seen the damn Kindle in the first place.’
‘Too late now,’ Robbie said. And how right he was.
They went downstairs together and stood on the sidewalk in front of Wesley’s apartment building. Main Street was almost deserted. The rising wind moaned around the buildings and rattled late-November leaves along the sidewalks. A trio of drunk students stumbled back toward Fraternity Row, singing what might have been ‘Paradise City.’
‘I can’t tell you what to do – it’s your gadget – but if it was mine, I’d get rid of it,’ Don said. ‘It’ll suck you in.’
Wesley thought of telling him he’d already been sucked, but didn’t. ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow.
‘Nope,’ Don said. ‘I’m driving the wife and kids to Frankfort for a wonderful three-day weekend at my in-laws’. Suzy Montanaro’s taking my classes. And after this little seminar tonight, I’m delighted to be getting away. Robbie? Drop you somewhere?’
‘Thanks, but no need. I share an apartment with a couple of other guys two blocks up the street. Above Susan and Nan’s Place.’
‘Isn’t that a little noisy?’ Wesley asked. Susan and Nan’s was the local café, and opened at 6:00 a.m. seven days a week.
‘Most days I sleep right through it.’ Robbie flashed a grin. ‘Also, when it comes to the rent, the price is right.’
‘Good deal. Night, you guys,’ Don started for his Tercel, then turned back. ‘I intend to kiss my kids before I turn in. Maybe it’ll help me get to sleep. That last story—’ He shook his head. ‘I could have done without that. No offense, Robbie, but stick your birthday up your ass.’
They watched his diminishing taillights and Robbie said thoughtfully, ‘Nobody ever told me to stick my birthday before. That’s a first.’
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to take it personally. And he’s probably right about the Kindle, you know. It’s fascinating – too fascinating – but useless in any practical sense.’
Robbie stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘You’re calling access to thousands of undiscovered novels by the great masters of the craft useless? Sheezis, what kind of English teacher are you?’
Wesley had no comeback. Especially when he knew that, late or not, he’d probably be reading more of Cortland’s Dogs before turning in.
‘Besides,’ Robbie said. ‘It might not be entirely useless. You could type up one of those books and send it in to a publisher, ever think of that? You know, submit it under your own name. Become the next big thing. They’d call you the heir to Vonnegut or Roth or whoever.’
It was an attractive idea, especially when Wesley thought of the useless scribbles in his briefcase. But he shook his head. ‘It’d probably violate the Paradox Laws … whatever they are. More importantly, it would eat me like acid. From the inside out.’ He hesitated, not wanting to sound prissy, but wanting to articulate what felt like the real reason for not doing such a thing. ‘I would feel ashamed.’
The kid smiled. ‘You’re a good dude, Wes.’ They were walking in the direction of Robbie’s apartment now, the leaves rattling around their feet, a quarter moon flying through the wind-driven clouds overhead.
‘You think so?’
‘I do. And so does Coach Silverman.’
Wesley stopped, caught by surprise. ‘What do you know about me and Coach Silverman?’
‘Personally? Not a thing. But you must know Josie’s on the team. Josie Quinn from class?’
‘Of course I know Josie.’ The one who’d sounded like a kindly anthropologist when they’d been discussing the Kindle. And yes, he had known she was a Lady Meerkat, although one of the subs who usually got into the game only if it was a total blowout.
‘Josie says Coach has been really sad since you and her broke up. Grouchy, too. She makes them run all the time, and kicked one girl right off the team.’
‘She booted the Deeson girl before we broke up.’ Thinking: In a way that’s why we broke up. ‘Um … does the whole team know about us?’
Robbie Henderson looked at him as though he were mad. ‘If Josie knows, they all know.’
‘How?’ Ellen wouldn’t have told them; briefing the team on your love life was not a coachly thing to do.