In such summer days like this, the sky is so clear- nearly transparent- and the breeze so cool, that midday time resembles a crystal clear spring morning. I am so glad that I postponed all my responsibilities for tomorrow; all the paperwork, all the boring seriousness of my everyday routine. Mornings like this are not designed to be spent between four walls. It should be considered a sin to work on such divine days. Now I understand why we, all the worms of this earth, should think twice before we refer to the divine. I was told that all the great things that surround us are far beyond the capabilities of our finite mind to comprehend.

That’s why little children find joy in trifles, and based on that, theyŕe undoubtedly a lot wiser than we are.

Forgive me Heavenly Father for my lack of faith.

August 17th 1922

When it happens that three people are having a conversation on the pavement, in the midst of the complete silence of the night, itś normal that someone could overhear them, no matter how low the volume of their voice is, especially if that someoneś open window is right above their heads...

Half an hour ago, I was lucky enough to experience such an annoying situation, without them knowing I was listening. At first they were talking loudly about local matters. I could hear the deep voice of a hotel owner, the typical tone of our family doctor’s voice and a third person talking, whose voice I couldn’t recognize. At some point, they realized where they were standing and turned the conversation to me. They asked the doctor what exactly was wrong with me and he gave them a few minutes lecture on lethargy. The other two kept on asking more questions and a few “shhhs” interrupted the conversation every time someone was raising their voice.

Then the idea popped into my mind. I remembered the motif from the second part of Ruthemir’s composition. Once, twice, three times I played it in my head without any mistakes. I could easily play in on the piano. I sat on my stool, with my window open and then, the divine melody broke the silence of the night, like a storm of happiness, a genuine expression of the knowledge of the future. Then I approached my window. The doctor, the hotel owner and the third man were still standing there talking, like nothing had ever happened; unbelievable! I think that even the human flocks that used to carry massive stones for the pyramids would be less indifferent to the sound of this melody.

In a few days I’m leaving for Athens. I’ve already made all the arrangements. I need a more temperate climate, the doctors agreed with me on that. Psychologically I’m fine but physically I’m weak; the tuberculosis never went away, I know I haven’t got much time left. Maybe a couple of years…

Chronicles from the Future: A new life in

Athens - October 20 to November 2, 1922

Athens, October 20th 1922

I feel so settled in the white city now. I have got used to the warmth brought by the winter sun, the voices of the street vendors, the odor of chrysanthemums and the car fumes. I think I’ll fit in just fine here. My greatest pleasure is, however, to go out in the evenings and get lost in the crowded streets, among the bright windows of the stores and with the characteristic, rhythmic sound of the rubber wheels as a soundtrack. You have to be either sick or crazy to stay at home at dusk. No one in this city finds any pleasure by staying inside anymore.

The place is poor - it’s shown by the many beggars on the streets and the sympathetic elderly men with their tormented violins - but the women here are all well-groomed and elegant, with an inexplicable air of true nobility.

I just recalled, without really wanting to, the somehow unjust words that Stefan uttered one day in conversation, when he wondered “what would it be like to suddenly find ourselves in the heart of the 20th century, among the most proud and rebellious of the underdeveloped and nearly uncivilized nations of the South?’’, in order to emphasize that the cultural centers had now moved up North. “What ignorant opinions are formed in the absence of any historical knowledge…”, I now think. Stefan, my friend from the future, with all his pride and affection for the ancient Scandinavian blood that runs through his veins, easily came to unjustified conclusions about the “uncivilized South”. But I, on the contrary, am well aware of all the excesses that this lucky race got dragged into. And I say lucky because they couldn’t have achieved anything on their own. They were merely representatives of the other big winning force, with the authorization of which they came and re-colonized this tortured continent that was almost emptied out by the fatal war of ’-87 (our 2309 AD*). This is when a thermonuclear war of a medium intensity took place that destroyed Europe with the exception of the northern Scandinavian countries. After that, Europe was re-colonized by the Northern Europeans. (* When a global government is established in 2396 AD, the year is reset to 0.) And as far as the Greek nation is concerned, I think there’s not a more relaxed nation under the Mediterranean sun, unless everyone is pretending, including my landlady that does everything in her power to help and please me, and the little eight-year-old boy that went late to school so that he could take me all the way to the Odeon of Herodes Atticus on his own, and didn’t even accept the tip I gave him.

I don’t know about the rest, but I could walk the most remote and secluded streets and districts after midnight, felling as safe as I would in broad daylight. Here I’ve met both decent morals and remarkable internal civilization.

These Mediterranean shores are where civilization was born and I’m proud to live here now. I feel so light in this foreign but so beloved country among strangers. I’ve now settled just fine in my humble room. The only thing I fear, however, is starting to feel the same weight in my chest again, the one caused by the limited-time issue.

Wednesday November 2nd, 1922

In a foreign country the first few weeks are quite difficult. Everything - the morning, the evening, your habits, the way you’re going to spend your day - needs to be redefined. I truly believe, though, that with the passage of time things will get better, and I rely on the reassurance of Mr. De La S*… that he will recommend me to German foreign learners, who he has in abundance. After my visit to the archaeological school, with the recommendation letter of Μ r. M*, I have every reason to be optimistic. (* Dienach didn’t want to reveal their real names).

During the past few days, the weather has been reminding me of home and loneliness keeps flooding my world and my eyes. If I find private lessons I will accept them all even if they’re underpaid, with the hope of finally meeting someone that I can actually trust and communicate with… Hilda, Stefan, Silvia, where are you…?

This evening I sat down across from the Parthenon – by the northern side – and got lost in my thoughts for hours, stroking with my eyes the inscriptions carved into the rock. Suddenly, a small noise interrupted my daydreaming. I heard steps nearby and raised my head. It was a tall young man who looked like a civilized person. He apologized in French. I introduced myself and he shook my hand, expressing his joy about me not being Prussian. That’s all he got from my accent.

“I understand… I understand you very well”, he told me. “When you concentrate your thought entirely on this rock, without allowing your mind to think about anything else, it’s like you’re living in that era, two thousand years ago… What more would a person see back then, if spent at this spot for a couple of minutes? For those minutes, this rock would be their world…”

I got carried away and answered him: “And after the same amount of years it will still be the same… This land has strong and solid foundations. So many things will have happened in the meantime, so much will have changed until then, and yet this piece of rock will remain exactly the same; this is the incredible thing! So, staring at it, and forgetting for a moment everything else around us, isn’t it like we’re living in the future for a second?

He turned around and looked deeply into my eyes. I hushed…

“Except,” I said after a minute, like suddenly remembering something, “Except then, there will be no bars around it, they will have gotten rid of them.

He looked at me with a strange expression on his face, almost like questioning me. He seemed a bit offended, not by what I had said but more by the simple and confident tone of my voice.

“I should go now,” he said right after, “the doors close by the time the sun sets.”

Chronicles from the Future: The truth

about his sickness - March and April 1923

March 20th 1923

Here we go again. The slight breathlessness and the small but gradual rise of fever every night have returned with the same hostile intentions, with the same malevolent persistence; hints of small and sneaky cracks inside me. The end is near. I have to deal with it now. The need to get all these things out of my system becomes more imperative by the second. At an age when other people feel young and plan ahead, I will die, having a mercilessly intolerable moral burden inside me.

Everyone in my hometown knows that the doctors were wrong to believe that the disease that tortured me for 14 days back in 1917 wouldn’t come back to torture me again. It came back once more and not for a couple of weeks like before but for approximately twelve months.

They remember rushing me to Zurich in mid-May 1921 and me looking like a dead man.

Everybody there knows it. What they don’t know, however, is that the first time I recovered I didn’t remember anything from the time of my sickness - for me it was as if I had lost touch with myself and the world just for a second, not for two weeks. On the contrary, the second time I opened my eyes, I was filled with fresh, crystal clear memories of a real 360-day life; so recent and so vivid in my mind!

You can give whichever explanation fits you better – medical, scientific or whichever else -

and I will accept them all. Just do not tell me it was a dream or a product of my imagination because you will have never been more wrong! There are things that the human mind doesn’t know or understand. Only if someone had put themselves in my shoes could they ever feel my absolute certainty. God be my witness; and I say God because he and he alone can see in the depths of my soul. And he knows how much I respect and cherish his name.

Listen to me, the truth cannot be covered. The signs are innumerable; first and foremost the passing of the time. When one has lived a certain reality for a certain amount of time, when they have seen and touched all these tangible things and their embossed details, it’s very hard to assert that it was all a dream and not an actual part of their real life. The same goes for my experience. It’s now been months since I re-found myself and the logical thing would be for these “memories” to have blurred or faded away. Well, I assure you that, never, throughout this period, have I doubted my firm conviction that all these things that happened to me were incidents of actual live experience and that I spent 360 days of real life in the distant future!

March 21st 1923

I’m not feeling better. I think I’ve gotten worse from the surprising temperature drop over the past few days. This cough – which in the beginning I thought would pass - doesn’t seem to be leaving me alone. I didn’t like the look on the doctor’s face yesterday. But what else is there to tell me? If I am to die, let it be. After what I’ve experienced, what else remains for me to see? For as much life as I’ve got left, that will be my prayer and that will my soul await.

April 1923

I remembered the myth of the white-haired hermit: back when he was young, his loved one took him out of the monastery after many years, and made him spend some time with her.

Before she left, she put her emerald ring on the middle finger of his right hand. The hermit, woke up again in this life, among the shrubs where he had laid down on, believing he had seen a dream and that everything he remembered - the golden lampposts, the thick carpets he was walking on, her sweet kiss – was part of that dream. But after looking at his hand he shuddered; the ring was there. The other hermits confirmed it afterwards.

I’m sitting here, staring at my empty hands and I wonder, why can’t reality, no matter how distant in time, leave behind the slightest tangible sign, when a dream once could? But these things only happen in myths and legends. If, however, I could choose what tangible sign I’d like to find on me, last May, surrounded by the physicians of Zurich, it would be neither her emerald ring, nor her picture, nor any other of her precious little presents. You can make all the assumptions you want about me, but what I’d really wish to find would be my original manuscripts. (Note: this is a reference to the diary in the future, the one he tried to remember and write anew). That’s what’s been constantly messing with my mind. What happened to

that diary? It took me a great amount of time - almost a year - and many sleepless nights to finish it. With true joy and genuine passion I put down on paper every single detail of what I had experienced during each day in the future. The memory of Andrew Northam, whose body I lived in, and of my manuscripts -“The Diary”- that I left behind, provokes a burning pain in my heart.

No, no! I must at all costs dismiss these disturbing thoughts from my mind - the belief that nothing is really irreversible in this universe and that we have no right to measure everything in the finite capabilities of our human mind. And after all, what do I have to worry about?

One day, in a couple of thousand years’ time, Andrew Northam is going to write these pages himself!