CHAPTER 11
SAINT PAUL'S (BROADWAY)
“Aha, that is indeed a trump card, and I see that you save yourself from accusations of hindsight by rightfully pointing out that the war stemmed directly from principles that were most wretchedly compromised, to the point that, thinking back on it just a moment ago, I grimaced while staring out the window.”
“And yet, for the first time, thanks to your clear thinking – not to mention your willingness to engage in these discussions, which is rare enough in our present-day world with its relentlessly mercantile outlook – I see that my notion of a Southern slave state withering on the vine is romanticized.”
“Yes – today, it would wither, but in my time, certainly not, and probably not for far more than the hundred or so years that elapsed between the Convention and the War.”
“I agree, so we are left with the question whether it is better to have lost more than three hundred thousand in war dead during 1861 to 1865 or for hundreds of thousands more to have endured slavery for further decades.”
That is the question,” agreed Franklin, but said no more.
Looking silently down into the bottom of his empty coffee mug, Edward said, “Shall we be on our way?”
In answer, Franklin slipped off his stool, and they made their way back out the door, then proceeded on to the corner of Broadway.
The crowd at the corner charged off with the change of the light, leaving Edward and Franklin to straggle along behind. Franklin said, “The signal said, ‘Don’t Walk,’ but everyone …”
“Yes, but they are really looking at the traffic signal,” said Edward, hurrying Franklin along, for now the pedestrian signal had cycled back to a flashing ‘Don’t Walk.’
“What signal? Oh!” said Franklin, craning his neck up and back at the traffic signal. “So that’s how it is they stop of themselves. I had thought it like the parting of the waters.”
“Very funny, now here is a place you should recognize,” and Edward pointed beyond Vesey Street at the columns of St. Paul’s church.
“How true, shall we go in?”
And, after another perilous street crossing, Edward helped him up the steps and through the doors which, thankfully, were not locked. Once inside, they paused to let their eyes adjust, then took a pew halfway to the altar. There was no morning service, or, if there had been, it was over.
At first, each sat in silence, being of the same mind: to reflect upon what had happened that morning.
Franklin was first to speak, “I suppose that panic might be the reaction of many of my contemporaries to finding themselves in such a fantastic situation.”
“An understandable reaction. One can hardly be expected to calmly take in the occurrence of the impossible.”
“And yet, neither of us has succumbed.”
“But in my case, there is the additional consideration that your appearance comes in fulfillment of my longtime wish.”
“I happen to have a habit of daydreaming about the future, so that may constitute some connection between us.”
“Wouldn’t you say that most everyone daydreams about the future?”
“I have not commonly found such habits in my contemporaries, no. What is more,” Franklin added, “my daydreaming, like yours, takes a most specific form. For example, I muse as to where the knowledge of electrical properties may lead, and in my musings, I find it pleasing to imagine future conversations.”
Edward gave this some thought. “Come to think of it,” he said after some moments, “there may be some evidence in the history of our fiction literature that supports what you say about daydreaming. In the last one hundred years, a new genre called science fiction has arisen. Since such writing was almost unknown in earlier centuries, I take it to be strongly indicated that future thinking was not yet popular.”
“Which would accord with what we have observed and discussed, indicating an acceleration in the pace of change,” said Franklin.
“Or at least accelerating technological change,” added Edward.
“But have we not just observed,” objected Franklin, “that there has been an impact on everyday habits of thought?”
“You are right. I withdraw my qualifier and concur that, merely by virtue of your habit of daydreaming about the future, you have a connection with my wishful thinking about time travel. Now, where does that leave us? Ah yes, it gives us some explanation as to how we can have survived an occurrence such as this without going into a state of shock.”
Unbeknownst, the minister had approached them, and now, still wearing the robes of his morning commuter service, he said, “Gentlemen, how can I be of assistance to you?”
“Aha, that is indeed a trump card, and I see that you save yourself from accusations of hindsight by rightfully pointing out that the war stemmed directly from principles that were most wretchedly compromised, to the point that, thinking back on it just a moment ago, I grimaced while staring out the window.”
“And yet, for the first time, thanks to your clear thinking – not to mention your willingness to engage in these discussions, which is rare enough in our present-day world with its relentlessly mercantile outlook – I see that my notion of a Southern slave state withering on the vine is romanticized.”
“Yes – today, it would wither, but in my time, certainly not, and probably not for far more than the hundred or so years that elapsed between the Convention and the War.”
“I agree, so we are left with the question whether it is better to have lost more than three hundred thousand in war dead during 1861 to 1865 or for hundreds of thousands more to have endured slavery for further decades.”
That is the question,” agreed Franklin, but said no more.
Looking silently down into the bottom of his empty coffee mug, Edward said, “Shall we be on our way?”
In answer, Franklin slipped off his stool, and they made their way back out the door, then proceeded on to the corner of Broadway.
The crowd at the corner charged off with the change of the light, leaving Edward and Franklin to straggle along behind. Franklin said, “The signal said, ‘Don’t Walk,’ but everyone …”
“Yes, but they are really looking at the traffic signal,” said Edward, hurrying Franklin along, for now the pedestrian signal had cycled back to a flashing ‘Don’t Walk.’
“What signal? Oh!” said Franklin, craning his neck up and back at the traffic signal. “So that’s how it is they stop of themselves. I had thought it like the parting of the waters.”
“Very funny, now here is a place you should recognize,” and Edward pointed beyond Vesey Street at the columns of St. Paul’s church.
“How true, shall we go in?”
And, after another perilous street crossing, Edward helped him up the steps and through the doors which, thankfully, were not locked. Once inside, they paused to let their eyes adjust, then took a pew halfway to the altar. There was no morning service, or, if there had been, it was over.
At first, each sat in silence, being of the same mind: to reflect upon what had happened that morning.
Franklin was first to speak, “I suppose that panic might be the reaction of many of my contemporaries to finding themselves in such a fantastic situation.”
“An understandable reaction. One can hardly be expected to calmly take in the occurrence of the impossible.”
“And yet, neither of us has succumbed.”
“But in my case, there is the additional consideration that your appearance comes in fulfillment of my longtime wish.”
“I happen to have a habit of daydreaming about the future, so that may constitute some connection between us.”
“Wouldn’t you say that most everyone daydreams about the future?”
“I have not commonly found such habits in my contemporaries, no. What is more,” Franklin added, “my daydreaming, like yours, takes a most specific form. For example, I muse as to where the knowledge of electrical properties may lead, and in my musings, I find it pleasing to imagine future conversations.”
Edward gave this some thought. “Come to think of it,” he said after some moments, “there may be some evidence in the history of our fiction literature that supports what you say about daydreaming. In the last one hundred years, a new genre called science fiction has arisen. Since such writing was almost unknown in earlier centuries, I take it to be strongly indicated that future thinking was not yet popular.”
“Which would accord with what we have observed and discussed, indicating an acceleration in the pace of change,” said Franklin.
“Or at least accelerating technological change,” added Edward.
“But have we not just observed,” objected Franklin, “that there has been an impact on everyday habits of thought?”
“You are right. I withdraw my qualifier and concur that, merely by virtue of your habit of daydreaming about the future, you have a connection with my wishful thinking about time travel. Now, where does that leave us? Ah yes, it gives us some explanation as to how we can have survived an occurrence such as this without going into a state of shock.”
Unbeknownst, the minister had approached them, and now, still wearing the robes of his morning commuter service, he said, “Gentlemen, how can I be of assistance to you?”
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