Project Backwards; Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight:

     

     The pale, sallow complexion; that slim build, the mop of fine, unruly hair, Mozart! He knew his face because he’d written a senior dissertation on Mozart when he was in college. “Yes?” he cleverly said.

     Mozart asked, “Pardon me, but might you have a cup of sugar I could borrow? I’ve been so absorbed in writing my latest opera, The Magic Flute, that I forgot to stock up, and I’m out.”

     Steve was amazed; perfect English; just one more thing he hadn't expected.  “Oh, for your tea?”

     “No, for my hot buttered rum; it lights me up real nice!”

     Steve was shocked; Mozart liked to party hardy. “Well, I’ve got some somewhere; please come on in, and I’ll have a look around.”

     Mozart went past him, and sat on the couch. Steve asked him, “Can I get you something?”

     Mozart replied, “A drinking glass of whiskey would be nice.”

     Steve, since he knew dick about the house, went to the kitchen, at least he hoped it was the kitchen door, and pulled it open. Yes, he’d guessed right. Let’s see, whiskey. He opened several cupboards until he found the booze in one; however, he did find the sugar almost immediately. He found a drinking glass, and filled it almost to the top; grabbed the bag of sugar, and went with both back to where Mozart was sitting. “Here’s your drink.”

     Mozart grabbed the glass like it was a life preserver, and guzzled it all down in one long drink. “Ah, thank you, you have no idea how much I needed that!”

     Again Steve was shocked, but replied only, “Here’s your sugar; you can take the bag. I’ve got some more, somewhere.”

     Mozart replied, “Thank you, kind sir; hey, I don’t suppose you’d like to hit my place and wait a bit while I finish The Magic Flute; I’m just about finished, and then we can hit the roadhouse just down the lane from my place; the serve a mean flaming rum punch!”

    Steve was so excited by the prospect of watching the great man compose The Magic Flute, that he completely forgot to watch what he said. Putting his arm around Mozart’s shoulders, he replied, “Sure, let’s get out of here,” and his world went dark.

     He snapped his eyes open, and looked around. The first thing he saw was a sterile-looking empty room. The next thing he saw was an unconscious Mozart. Somehow, they’d both time-jumped. He looked around some more. He knew this place! Just then, the door was opened, and in marched a man who Steve knew well; General H.P. Wells. He’d jumped back to the present!

     “Hello, Steve, welcome back. and who’s this?”

     The figure of Mozart was struggling to wake up. “Oh, sir, may I present Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart; Amadeus, this is General H.P. Wells.”

     Mozart blinked in confusion, and said, “Amadeus, what kind of pansy name is Amadeus?”

     He has no idea who he is! Time travel must mess up your brain the first time; same as happened to me. “Oh, give it time; you’re Amadeus.”

    “I am? I can’t remember s**t. Maybe a glass of something will unclog my memory.”

     General Wells then said, “Wow, that was fast; you just left!”

     Steve thought he must have heard wrong. “Fast? I’ve met Napoleon, Neil Armstrong; Charles Lindbergh; Douglas Macarthur; Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; Rudolph Valentino; Raquel Welsh, and now Mozart. What do you mean, ‘That was fast?’”

     “Well, it hasn’t been 30 second here.”

     30 seconds? “Well, it sure seems longer than that to me.”

     Wells looked at Mozart, who was looking blankly around, shaking his head, and mumbling, “What the f**k?” under his breath, and said, “Why is he here, too?”

     “I don’t know; the only thing I can think of is we touching when I said the magic words, and here we are.”

     “Well, he doesn’t seem to know who he is or that he’s here, in the year 2012.”

     “The effects wear off eventually. I’m glad to be back, but now what about him?”

     A few hours had gone by, and Mozart was gradually returning to normal. “How is this even possible?” he asked.

     “Oh, I came up with a complex mathematical equation that time travel was in theory possible, but I didn’t know.”

     “It’s amazing!”

     “You’re not frightened?”

     “On the contrary; this is incredible! I’d like to see more of this 2012.”

     So, Steve and Mozart were walking down the street. Mozart beheld everything around him with wonder. Cars, electric everything, and all that was invented after his time. Steve soon grew weary of having to explain everything. They came upon a cheap tavern, and Mozart said, 

     “Now that, I know, a roadhouse. Can we go inside and get something to drink? I’m dying for some flaming rum punch.”

     “Ah, flaming rum punch isn’t as popular now, not like it was in your day.”

     “Well, what is popular now?”

     “Oh, whiskey on the rocks, or with mixer, beer, wine...”

     “Let’s have a beer; I’m curious to see how much things have changed since my day.”

     Steve agreed, and asked the bartender for two draft beers.

     The bartender asked, “Domestic, imported, of micro?”

     Mozart leaned close to Steve and whispered, “Better make mine bigger than a micro; I think I can handle a full-sized one.”

     The bartender overheard, and gave both of them a strange look. “Ah, he’s not from around here,” said Steve.

     “Okay, two domestic beers coming up,” and soon there were two frosty mugs of amber liquid sitting before them. Mozart took a huge gulp, and spayed it out, saying with disgust etched on his face,

     “Piss-water!”

     Steve looked around at the bar full of people staring at them, “Ah, Mozart, manners!”

     Mozart glanced at him and replied, “F**k manners; this swill tastes like s**t!”

     Steve glanced, mortified, out of the corner of his eye at the staring customers “Maybe we should just get going?” he urged.

     After Mozart stuffed a napkin in his glass of beer, he agreed, and together they headed for the door. Before they reached it, a man wearing an old army jacket whispered,

     “Psst! Hey dudes, you look like a couple of guys who like to party. Wanna buy some s**t?”

     Mozart replied, “Why would we want to buy s**t? Where I come from, people tend to try to avoid it!”

     Steve immediately corrected him. “Not actual s**t; drugs.”

     “Drugs? Well why didn’t you just say so? Yes, please?”

     Steve then said, “No, we’ve got to get going.”

     Mozart fixed him with an unhappy stare, and spat, “Bulls**t! I didn’t travel through time just to be a shrinking violet; I want to part-a!”

     Steve put his arm around his shoulder, in an attempt to steer him towards the door, “No, let’s get out of here!” He’d blurted it without thinking, and everything went dark.

Reviews

[char]

Aaagh! What'd you do to Mozart?! And in the modern age!

[Michael Stevens]

Sorry!