FOR WANT OF A DOLLAR: By Michael A. Kechula
Tuesday, February 28th, 2012Talbot saw an intriguing ad in the morning paper: “Relive the Past. Not Yours. Somebody Else’s. Call for Details.”
Disgusted with his miserable life, Talbot dialed the number.
“Past Lives Incorporated. Zero speaking.”
“I’m calling about your ad,” Talbot said. “What does it cost to relive somebody else’s past?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“Aw, hell. I shoulda known you guys were fast-buck artists.”
“I assure you, Sir, we’re a highly respected, legitimate corporation. In fact we’re listed on the New York Stock Exchange. We’re registered with the Better Business Bureau, and we sponsor a Little League team. Plus we have plenty of references from highly satisfied customers. Many are very famous people whose names you’d recognize immediately. Right now we’re having an end-of-month sale.”
“Sale or no, I can’t afford thousands of dollars.”
“Perhaps we can work something out. This is our slowest time of year. How about a dollar…and your soul? You’ll have the time of your life. Guaranteed, or your double your money back.”
Thirty minutes later, Talbot was in the Past Lives office.
“Whose past would you like to relive?” Zero asked.
“Julius Caesar’s.”
“Wonderful choice! Checking a computer printout, Zero added, “Right now Caesar’s last twenty years are available. Do you mind at the end of twenty years being dispatched by multiple stab wounds at the hands of Brutus? For an additional dollar, we can arrange to make it painless.”
“What happens after he stabs me?”
“You’ll die, of course. But when you’re dead, we can bring you back to life for a dollar. Guaranteed. How can you lose? Wanna make a deal to relive Caesar’s last twenty years?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. That’ll be a dollar, plus another dollar to make your stabbing painless. As to your soul, we won’t require that today. Our soul extractors are booked solid for the next year.”
Talbot paid and signed the contract.
“When do you wanna get started?” Zero asked.
“How about tonight?”
“Sure. Take this pill before bedtime. It’ll put you into a deep sleep so we can transfer your brain waves and essentital essences. When you wake up, you’ll be in Julius Caesar’s body. By the way, you’ll be in Cisalpine Gaul.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s the ancient Roman name for the area around France and Switzerland. It’s gonna be chilly.”
“Should I wear a coat to bed?”
“No. You’ll wake up wearing Caesar’s winter clothes. By the way, you’re scheduled to lead Roman legions in battle tomorrow at sunrise. In case you’re not familiar with Roman history, you’re gonna whip the hell out Vercingetorix.”
“Who’s he?”
“A two-bit, renegade, tribal Chief. The idiot drank too much wine and threatened Rome. Caesar’s gonna teach him a lesson. Actually, it’ll be over in a few hours, with you the winner. Included in the spoils will be his magnificent daughter. She’ll be your slave for the next ten years. Think you can handle an eighteen year old, wanton wildcat tomorrow night?”
Talbot had a fabulous time whipping Vercingetorix and his tribesmen. His night with Vercingetorix’s insatiable daughter was indescribable.
Reliving Caesar’s past was more fun than Talbot had imagined. Especially since Caesar’s last twenty years had been filled with wine, women, and song, with some wars tossed in for diversion.
For nineteen years and eleven months, Talbot Caesar had the time of his life. As the days dwindled, he recalled his high school history lesson about Brutus’ dirty deed. Brutus was due to assassinate Caesar in two weeks. Talbot decided to beat him to the punch with a preemptive strike. He figured if he eliminated his assassin, he could extend Caesar’s life long enough to be declared Emperor.
“Imagine,” Talbot muttered. “I only paid a buck to end up as the next Emperor of the entire Roman Empire. What a helluva deal!”
Eleven days before zero hour, Brutus jumped Caesar and stabbed him as he approached the Forum. Stunned, Talbot Caesar said, “What the hell are you doing? You’re way off schedule.”
“Nay,” Brutus replied, plunging a knife into Caesar’s heart. “Today is the Ides of March.”
As he drew his last breath, Talbot heard somebody calling his name.
“Hey, Talbot. Welcome to Gehenna.”
“What the hell am I doing here?” he asked Zero.
“You ain’t here. Your soul is. Remember our deal?”
“Yeah. Damn it’s hot. Stinks too. Who are all those ugly broads?”
“Your tormentors.”
“Hey, that wasn’t in the contract.”
“Wrong. It was in the small print. Well, you got your twenty years as promised. Now, I have your soul. Did I ever tell you how I loathe mankind? And that I’m a hyper-sadist?”
“This can’t be. I was all set to wipe out Brutus in a preemptive strike. But he got me first. I can’t figure how.”
“Maybe somebody tipped him off,” Zero said with a fiendish grin. “Well, no matter. You’re mine now.”
“Wait! You said for a dollar I could be brought back to life.”
“True. Got one?”
“Sure.” Talbot reached into his toga and removed some Roman coins.
“Our deal was for a US dollar, not some worthless Roman coins,” Zero said.
“Would somebody please lend me a dollar?” Talbot yelled to the horrid entities moving toward him.
Before he could ask again, tormentors pulled him into a flaming pit.
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©2005 Michael A. Kechula
