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realized that I was going to have to guard my speech. "Movies" were no longer "grabbies."
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"From Los Angeles. That and `Danny' is all that is necessary; we don't use last names, unless offered.
So, honey, you spread the word, as if it were something everybody already knew. Then in about half an
hour you have to meet us down by the gate. But come here instead. And fetch my overnight bag."
"Why the bag, dear?"
"To conceal that masquerade costume. It's pretty conspicuous, even for anyone who is as eccentric
as Danny said he is."
I got up and went at once behind some bushes to undress, since I wouldn't have any excuse for
locker-room modesty once Jenny Sutton left us. I had to do it; I couldn't peel down and reveal that I had
twenty thousand dollars' worth of gold, figured at the 1970 standard of sixty dollars an ounce, wrapped
around my waist. It did not take long, as I had made a belt of the gold, instead of a girdle, the first time I
had had trouble getting it off and on to bathe; I had double-looped it and wired it together in front.
When I had my clothes off I wrapped the gold in them and tried to pretend that it all weighed only
what clothes should. John Sutton glanced at the bundle but said nothing. He offered me a cigarette-he
carried them strapped to his ankle. They were a brand I had never expected to see again.
I waved it but it didn't light. Then I let him light it for me. "Now," he said quietly, "that we are alone,
do you have anything you want to tell me? If I'm going to vouch for you to the club, I'm honor-bound to
be sure, at the very least, that you won't make trouble."
I took a puff. It felt raw in my throat. "John, I won't make any trouble. That's the last thing on earth
that I want."
"Mmm. . . probably. Just `dizzy spells' then?"
I thought about it. It was an impossible situation. The man had a right to know. But he certainly
would not believe the truth, at least I would not have in his shoes. But it would be worse if he did believe
me; it would kick up the very hoorah that I did not want. I suppose that if I had been a real, honest,
legitimate time traveler, engaged in scientific research, I would have sought publicity, brought along
indisputable proof, and invited tests by scientists.
But I wasn't; I was a private and somewhat shady citizen, engaged in hanky-panky I didn't want to
call attention to. I was simply looking for my Door into Summer, as quietly as possible.
"John, you wouldn't believe it if I told you."
"Mmm. . . perhaps. Still, I saw a man fall out of empty sky but he didn't hit hard enough to hurt him. He's
wearing funny clothes. He doesn't seem to know where he is or what day it is. Danny, I've read Charles
Fort, the same as most people. But I never expected to meet a case. But, having met one, I don't expect
the explanation to be as simple as a card trick. So?"
"John, something you said earlier-the way you phrased something-made me think you were a
lawyer."
"Yes, I am. Why?"
"Can I make a privileged communication?"
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"Hmm-are you asking me to accept you as a client?"
"If you want to put it that way, yes. I'm probably going to need advice."
"Shoot. Privileged."
"Okay. I'm from the future. Time travel."
He didn't say anything for several moments. We were lying stretched out in the sun. I was doing it to
keep warm; May in Colorado is sunshiny but brisk. John Sutton seemed used to it and was simply
lounging, chewing a pine needle.
"You're right," he answered. "I don't believe it. Let's stick to `dizzy spells.'"
"I told you you wouldn't."
He sighed. "Let's say I don't want to. I don't want to believe in ghosts, either, or reincarnation, or any
of this ESP magic. I like simple things that I can understand. I think most people do. So my first advice to
you is to keep it a privileged communication. Don't spread it around."
"That suits me."
He rolled over. "But I think it would be a good idea if we burned these clothes. I'll find you something
to wear. Will they burn?"
"Uh, not very easily. They'll melt."
"Better put your shoes back on. We wear shoes mostly, and those will get by. Anybody asks you
questions about them, they're custom-made. Health shoes."
"They are, both."
"Okay." He started to unroll my clothes before I could stop him. "What the devil!"
It was too late, so I let him uncover it. "Danny," he said in a queer voice, "is this stuff what it appears
to be?"
"What does it appear to be?"
"Gold."
"Where did you get it?"
"I bought it."
He felt it, tried the dead softness of the stuff, sensuous as putty, then hefted it. "Cripes! Danny . . .
listen to me carefully. I'm going to ask you one question, and be damned careful how you answer it.
Because I've got no use for a client who lies to me. I dump him. And I won't be a party to a felony. Did
you come by this stuff legally?"
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"Yes."
"Maybe you haven't heard of the Gold Reserve Act of 1968?"
"I have. I came by it legally. I intend to sell it to the Denver Mint, for dollars."
"Jeweler's license, maybe?"
"No. John, I told the simple truth, whether you believe me or not. Where I came from I bought that
over the counter, legal as breathing. Now I want to turn it in for dollars at the earliest possible moment. I
know that it is against the law to keep it. What can they do to me if I lay it on the counter at the mint and
tell them to weigh it?"
"Nothing, in the long run. . . if you stick to your `dizzy spells.' But they can surely make your life
miserable in the meantime." He looked at it. "I think you had better kick a little dirt over it."
"Bury it?"
"You don't have to go that far. But if what you tell me is true, you found this stuff in the mountains.
That's where prospectors usually find gold."
"Well . . . whatever you say. I don't mind some little white lies, since it is legitimately mine anyhow."
"But is it a lie? When did you first lay eyes on this gold? What was the earliest date when it was in
your possession?"
I tried to think back. It was the same day I left Yuma, which was sometime in May, 2001. About
two weeks ago.
Huh!
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