Lord Rotshchild and the Girl Who Turns Back Time

I’m visiting Lord Rothschild on his country estate. He’s my boss. We discuss the view from a spinning, square largely glass, building on a beach. When I try to leave, I realise its spinning. I put my foot in the ground to slow it down, so I can jump off. Like a roundabout when I was a child. 

I’m in the Lords house. It’s late. A girl brings me a picture of Krishna she has drawn on a raffle ticket. I explain that Krishna can eat food but leave it for us to eat. She puts the ticket in my mouth, telling me to eat Krishna. I use a soft toy to show how Krishna would reappear at the other end, unchanged. The girl asks me what she will be remembered for. In a class case behind her is an alarm clock. I tell her that she will always be remembered, for inventing time travel and proving, beyond doubt, the cyclical nature of time. The clock spins backwards. My voice goes backwards. Time goes backwards. She asks me again. 

Everyone else has fallen asleep. A black dog befriends me. The girl sits at a table, drawing. A TV is on in the background. Music comes from next door. I look up. The girl is in a small window above me, throwing down toys that want to say hello. 

I look at the time. I’ll be late for work. The Lord awakes, and leads me upstairs, to a small bedroom for breakfast. He gets into bed with his secretary, the mattress is plastic, like the bag inside a cereal box. It is filled with cornflakes and milk. They laugh as they open the bag and eat. 

I pick up a spoon from a windowsill. Outside, in a 1900’s village, a woman is crying hysterically about the death of her son, killed in the war. I say, “There’s nothing all your money can do to help her,” to Lord Rothschild. We go out. My motorbike is damaged. No postal delivery. We walk to the train station. I tell the Lord he should visit us at work undercover, then he’d see what the quality of our work is like. He thinks he’d be recognised. I tell him I won’t let on if I recognise him. 

On the platform, soldiers tell everyone to be alert. I ask if we are at war. Not yet, he replies. I lead my group along a platform, hoping to make it to the beach. I have a monkey on my back. A young recruit thinks I’m an officer. I play along, until he spots the monkey, and it punches him. I take his gun, and the monkey his life vest. 

We walk out onto a beach, where a slowly spinning, square glass structure, is slowly being surrounded by the incoming tide. 



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