The Time Warp Under My Kitchen Sink

Being an interested fan of many science fiction films, such as "Star Trek" and some of Spielburg's films, I had always wondered if it's possible for time-warps to really exist. I mean is it remotely possible that somewhere in the universe there's a time warp that a space ship could go through, and end up in a different time -- say in King Arthur's period? Of course, if we never develop such a technology, we may never find out. I mean, be realistic! Given the state of the world economies, and the American economy, NASA will never have the funds to do that kind of exploration.

Then, I began wondering if it's possible time warps are more common than we suspect, but go un-noticed. They may be small ones -- not big enough for people to go through -- but for things. I always thought there could be one in my laundry room, which could explain why socks keep going missing; and one in the kitchen drawer where we keep the spoons. It was only a theory, of course -- not even a serious one. But just what if -- what if they found a cave man frozen in a glacier in the Alps, with a flint axe, wearing a sabre-tooth lion skin, and one of my socks? Of course, I never took these thoughts really seriously.

It's amazing, though, how you can be thinking about something like that, and then suddenly you find yourself face to face with one. When you do, you find out that no amount of vivid imagination can prepare you for the real thing. There's something inside, which, no matter how much you imagine, or pretend, it knows it's just impossible that such a thing can really exist. It's that part of you that has the capacity, when suddenly faced with that very thing, to send all your emotions, your perceptions and such, into a tizzy! I know, because that's what happened to me.

One day, I went to fix the leak in the drain under the kitchen sink. I knew for a long time it was leaking -- but you know how it is. I put it off. Finally, one Saturday, I knew I had to do it.

So, there I was, under the sink, tinkering away with the wrenches and things. It was dark in there, with only enough light coming in from the kitchen to see what I was doing. For some reason or other, I put my hand out to support myself against the back side of the counter -- you know, the one that's against the kitchen wall. My hand failed to find the back side, but instead, came down on what appeared to be -- grass!

It felt just like the grass in our back yard, only somewhat longer. My first thought was, "Oh dear! I must remember to mow the lawn."

My next thought was, "But I just mowed the lawn last week!" Then, after twisting some more with the spanner: "Why am I finding that lawn needs mowing when I'm under the kitchen sink?"

I put my hand down one more time, and this time, I looked. It seemed that I could actually see some grass there. A little further, was more grass, and what appeared to be semi rural countryside. It appeared to be either early morning, or twilight, so the light hadn't been obvious to me before that.

That part of you that sends you into a tizzy, didn't actually send me into a tizzy just yet. Just then, I think it must have been in a psychological state they call, "denial." That's the same as when something tragic has happened, like a marriage break up, or you're told by the doctor you only have one month to live, and you simply deny it. You can't believe it's really truly happening.

At least I think that's what must have been happening then, as I was walking around, looking around about me, seeing the hillside, and the stone houses scattered around about. That part of me was saying, "I'm really dreaming. This is a dream." Another part of me was saying, "But I was just fixing the sink. You don't dream when you're fixing the sink, you have to go to bed and go to sleep first." The other part of me answered, "Oh yes you can. If you've been knocked on the head. The sink caved in and I'm lying there helplessly, waiting for someone to come and find me." Then, I thought, "Oh dear! I live alone! No one will think of coming to look for me for weeks! I'll die like that!"

I then hurried back into what appeared to be a gap between a stone wall and a bush, behind which was some undergrowth, that effectively concealed to the casual observer that anything there was other than normal undergrowth. As I stooped down to crawl back in, there, before me, I saw the kitchen floor with the Saturday mid-morning sun shining in. I crawled back through, stood up, slammed the door under the sink, and stood there a minute, relieved that at least I wasn't lying there, helpless, with the sink sitting on my face. Then I went into the lounge, and sank into the sofa.

Then, I went into a tizzy.

One of the people noticed me, and seemed to be taken aback by my presence. He stared at me for a while, and then walked on, looking back at me over his shoulder.

Then, I crawled back, this time, convinced that there was indeed something under my sink that science had yet to explain.

It was late, so I put on my night clothes, and went to bed. However, I didn't sleep at all. That part of me that was in a tizzy was making it extremely difficult to sleep.

I was just thinking, or saying -- I forget which -- "A time warp, a time warp! There's really a time warp under my sink! But I don't want a time warp to be under my sink! Why can't it be under someone else's sink? I just want to read about it in the newspaper, or read a book about it later on, but I don't want a time warp under my sink!"

My perception of reality had just been altered, and I didn't like it one bit!

For a whole week, people at my office noticed that I walked around like a zombie. Some how, word got around that a close loved one had died, or something. I soon realised that I can't go on like this, so I went to the boss to ask for time off. He must have assumed that I had been bereaved and didn't want to ask too many painful questions, so he gave me one week's leave.

In the mean time, I didn't go near the sink. When I needed to do washing up, I went into the back yard and used the garden hose. I ate a lot of my meals out.

All the while, my mind was working, trying desperately to come up with an alternate perception of reality -- trying to find a rational sounding explanation for the time warp. There were all kinds of queries. What exactly is that place beyond the kitchen sink? Is it another world? Is it our world, but a different time? I remembered having read something by C.S.Lewis about some children going through a wardrobe and coming out in a strange place called "Narnia." That was more of a fairyland. There, they saw satyrs, dwarves, talking animals -- all of whom spoke to the children in perfect Oxford English. What I saw was only people, dressed a little differently -- some not at all. What sounds I did remember hearing seemed to be some other language -- not English. It was no fairyland. At least I didn't think it was.

About the time my boss gave me a week off, I was beginning to realise that I won't find out anything further if I don't go back in and see what is actually there. It took one whole day to mentally prepare myself for the thought of going back.

This time, I planned it out a bit more carefully. I decided that I could dress up differently so as to pass a bit more unnoticed in this new world. I wore my night shirt, and wrapped myself in a woollen blanket from the linen cupboard.

When I had thus dressed myself, I again stooped under the kitchen sink, and went out into the mid afternoon sunlight of my "Narnia". I carefully took note of the bush, the stone fence, and any other land marks nearby, so that I would be able to find my way back to my own world without getting hopelessly lost in where ever this was.

I noted that most of the houses were clustered in one spot along a winding road. I made for the cluster of houses, and found myself in a small market, where travellers seemed to be resting. Many of the buildings appeared to be shops, and some had signs in what I thought was Russian. Now, I know it was Greek, but then it was such a new world that I was totally disoriented. There was a shrine which I thought was to one of the Catholic or Russian Orthodox saints, but on closer examination, it turned out to be to a Greek god.

I seemed to be dressed appropriately enough not to attract undue attention, although the garments of those in the market seemed to be of much coarser material then my blanket and night shirt. Some of those resting in the small market area, sitting under a tree, looked at me with mild curiosity, and seemed to be admiring the fineness of my clothing. Otherwise, they were jabbering with each other in some language I had no idea of. However, one old man with a grey beard who stood back from the rest, seemed to be looking me over. After sitting in that place awhile, I got up and began to look around, and soon decided to go home.

I made more trips after that, and usually found different people there each time, sometimes arriving or leaving with bags, some with mules, sometimes resting as I had found them the first time.

Often, the same old man with the grey beard was there. I concluded that he must be a local resident. He was often talking with travellers, and sometimes I noticed him rather deep in conversation. On occasion, the travellers with whom he was speaking, would express surprise, or some other emotion like anger. The old man somehow always managed to quiet them down with something that sounded quite authoritative. He would always acknowledge my presence with a nod, or sometimes a greeting I couldn't understand. I simply said, "How do you do?"

I discovered on one trip that my cat was already quite familiar with "Narnia," and from what I could see, was having the time of his life hunting rodents. I had wondered where my cat was disappearing to for such long periods without my having let him out of the house. Now, I think he has mated with some of the local cats, and possibly become his own great great whatever grandfather.

One day, I decided to take a pad and pen, and copy some of the inscriptions on the sign boards. I also once tried to take in a camera, and take some pictures, but I found that the time warp isn't film-safe. What I ended up with were some wildly exotic colour schemes (which impressed the man at the photo lab), with just a faint hint of the actual scenes I had tried to capture. The same thing happened when I took a friends video camera -- discretely of course, so as not to raise the curiosity of the local people.

What I did discover, when I compared the inscriptions I had copied with some books in the library, was that the writing was, in fact, Greek. After further searching, and deciphering, I finally found that the name of the village was Dyloricum, located somewhere in Dalmatia, which is in what is now, Albania. I don't think the town survived as a town into the present century. I've never since found any trace of it on any maps of the ancient world, or any histories of Albania.

I started taking night courses in Classical Greek, thinking that that might help me navigate my way in my new "Narnia" world. It did help in the end. It took a long time to build up a vocabulary, for one thing. I guess it was my keen interest in the subject, and the fact that I was constantly practising what I was learning with the people I met in Dyloricum that helped me pick it up as fast as I did. At the beginning, it took a while to be able to engage in the simplest conversations. Classical Greek, as taught in our universities, is meant to help one read classical literature, not to converse with travellers. In order to find out the simplest greetings, and "how are you's" and such, I had to do a lot of research on my own. Even then, I found out that the way Socrates greeted his colleagues at the Lyceum, was much too formal for the travellers stopping in Dyloricum. The old man was especially helpful in helping me learn the language. He seemed to be some sort of a teacher, and always gently corrected my mistakes. I found out his name was Carpos.

I also found out that letters and sounds were pronounced just slightly differently than my professor told us they were pronounced. That caused a little friction in class, when it came my turn to recite. I would invariably pronounce it the way I had learned to pronounce in Dyloricum, and the professor would always be correcting me. He had a difficult time trying to figure out how I came up with the sounds and word usage that I did.

As time went on, I became quite fluent in Greek, or the particular dialect they were using on the road under my kitchen sink. I was conversing with travellers, and finding out quite a lot about the world I was finding myself in. I found out, through enquiring about current events, and comparing it with the history books in the library, that this was the earlier part of the second century a.d.

My cat was having no end of enjoyment in the fields and meadows of Dyloricum. However, he was neglecting the second century rodents that were beginning to infest my house, so I had to start setting out mouse traps.

One day, I made the mistake of wearing my CASIO digital watch to Dyloricum. I didn't notice it until some of the travellers began looking in wonder at the blinking numbers. I was finally compelled to tell them what the numbers meant, and how they told the hour of the day. They couldn't read the Arabic numerals, but the "beep beep" at each hour seemed like something they couldn't resist. I was finally offered three gold pieces for my watch, which I accepted. That was my first Roman currency.

Back in twentieth century London, I took the gold pieces to the museum. I was told there, that they were very good replicas of first century roman "denarii" pieces. Of course, they were too newly minted to be the real thing! However the gold on them was worth a lot. I sold one of them to a jewellery shop, and had enough to buy three more watches, which I took to Dyloricum. They sold very quickly.

Now, I was in business, earning more money than I was at the office. I went to the boss, and asked for an extended leave of absence, so that I could "further my education." He told me just to quit, and come and reapply when I was finished my studies. I opted for that. He wished me good luck, and I went.

With part of my new flow of revenue, I decided to buy the plot of land on the other side of my "time warp." By doing so, I found that I became a "landed gentry." Next, I had a house built around the time warp. I had it built as closely to the plans of my original house in London as I could. However, I had to be constantly on hand to supervise, so that none of the work men would find my time warp. The last thing I needed was second century Greeks stumbling into twentieth century London. The parts around the "hole," I built myself. I thought that was quite a novel concept. Adding rooms to one's house, without adding to the size, or taking away space from the present rooms. All you need is a time warp! If only I could write that suggestion in to the building journals!

The sad fact was, I couldn't tell anyone about my secret "Narnia." If I did, they'd either think I was crazy, or worse yet, they'd believe me, and then my house would be taken over for scientific research. However, I thought I was doing just fine with my lucrative income derived from selling watches to travellers in the ancient world, and cashing gold coins at the jewellery shops.

Now free from my work at the office, I spent more time both in Dyloricum, and at the university. I was learning a lot about the ancient world. At least enough to interest some of the professors, including my Greek professor. He seemed to have lots of contacts with those in the field of archaeology and study of the Graeco Roman world.

One day, he asked me, "How do you know so much about ancient Greece? Obviously, you haven't been studying about it at the university."

"Well," I said, "I've been having these recurring dreams of a little town in Dalmatia called Dyloricum. I talk to the people in my dream and they tell me all these things."

At least that was more believable than, "I have a time warp under my kitchen sink." Now it's in the realm of psychic phenomenon. They can then surmise that I am the reincarnation of someone from back then, or something like that. Anyway, I did enjoy impressing the professors with my titbits of knowledge of the ancient world.

I think that I must have started to become complacent, and overly comfortable in my new lifestyle. At least, Carpos seemed to think so. As time went on, he began warning me of the dangers of too much greed, and hoarding up of riches for this life. I began to realise, after a while, that he was one of the early Christians. He was always mentioning names like Paulos, and Timotheos, and such, which I hadn't realised at first, were actually Saint Paul and Saint Timothy. Apparently he knew these people.

However, when he began to take a disapproving stance towards my ambitious salesmanship, I began trying to avoid him.

One day, I had a shock that rather brought me to my senses. I was casually conversing with my Greek professor, when he said:

"Now, tell me if you can explain this. My close friend, who is involved in an archaeological dig in the regions of Macedonia, has come across some highly unusual artefacts. You know, things like this will never be published in a journal, because it just isn't something that will be believed. However, what he has come up with appear to be plastic casings for digital wrist watches, and what parts of the silicon materials that have survived time. Some of them actually have the name in Latin characters, 'CASIO' barely discernible on the casings."

"I have one such artefact in my possession. I've had it dated, and it is from the early second century. Moreover, it is made from the same synthetic material CASIO watches are made of, which certainly was not available in the second century, and I've even compared it with an actual CASIO watch in a jewellery shop."

I had somewhat regained my composure, and was saying "Uh huh, uh huh..."

"This, of course, explains a reference by Marcus Aurelius's to 'The black bracelet of Casio,' and also to the 'blinking eyes of Casio,' said to have been in the possession of Pliny the Younger.'"

"Uh huh."

Then he dropped the bomb shell. "Now, the same jeweller who allowed me to compare my watch with his, sold me this:" Here, he pulled out one of my gold pieces. "...what appears to be a convincing replica of a first century denarius. He said that the same one who sold him the denarius also bought several CASIO watches with the proceeds, and it isn't the first time it has happened to him. Moreover, he said other jewellers have reported the same thing. Now, who do you suppose is minting exact replicas of first century denarii just to trade them in for CASIO watches?" At that he looked at me as though he thought I were the culprit.

"I - I - I don't know sir," I said.

"I think someone has found some way to sell watches in the second century, and make a lucrative income for himself. Such a person may upset the whole apple cart both for himself and for the rest of us, if he insists on such a greedy enterprise."

I just kept sounding like I was agreeing with him, despite the fact that he looked at me as though he knew who "such a person" was. I walked out of there very much shaken -- too shaken to judge whether I was making my exit prematurely.

Now, my system was again in a tizzy. I was upsetting apple carts -- both for the scientific world, and for myself! Now, the realities were hitting me in a new way. How many people have time warps under the kitchen sink? Who, in all of the history of the world has had a time warp under their kitchen sink? This was away beyond joking about missing socks and spoons. This was too big for me. I needed to talk to someone. I just had to talk to someone.

But who could I talk to? The professor? No. He would just look at me coldly, and shake his finger at me. Even if he did know more than he let on, he wasn't the type of person I needed. A psychiatrist? "Doctor, I have a time warp under my kitchen sink!" "Of course you do. Now tell me more about your time warp." No. They probably have a special ward for patients who think they have time warps under their kitchen sinks!

There was one other man who seemed to know more than he let on. That was the old man, Carpos in Dyloricum. At least he was the warm friendly type, even if he did call a spade "a spade." But then, that's just what I needed just then. Someone who called a spade "a spade."

I made once more for the kitchen sink, and went into my "other" house. I changed into the appropriate clothing (which I now had in abundance -- of the authentic variety), and went out to find Old Carpos.

He was a good listener, just as I knew he was. I told him my story -- as much as I thought he would understand. Surprisingly enough, he believed the part about the time warp. He even seemed to have suspected as much. My! How much of my secret life has really been secret?

Anyway, I've been going back regularly to his house, and he's been telling me a lot.

Whatever was or wasn't a secret, doesn't really matter to me anymore. I learned a few secrets from him, which have made all the difference. What are those secrets, you ask? Well, they can't be put into any neat concise one line phrases. If they could be, they've been repeated over and over in my original twentieth century world, to the extent they've been cheapened, and no one cares to listen anymore. Half of those who repeat them don't even know what they themselves are saying.

The only way is to recount the story of Carpos and his acquaintances, as I've learned it from him. I've added a bit from Carpos's own journal at the end that sums it all up. It's a long story, but it says it all.

I'll just sign my name here as Baruch, the name by which I'm known here in Dyloricum. I don't want to give my real name just yet, because I don't want people enquiring about that time warp under my kitchen sink. But don't worry. I won't be selling watches any more. However, this story may upset your apple cart!

Editor's note: This was written as a possible introduction to the book The Emissary, but the author decided not to use it as it doesn't seem to fit the flavour of the book; a fictionalised account of one of the apostle Paul's missionary journeys. At this posting, The Emissary hasn't been released yet, but you can read the synopsis and some exerpts by clicking here.