The Love Machine & Other Contraptions Read Online Free PDF Page A

both of them. And I’m still here.
    How did he do that? How? If there’s no Uncle Haim, there’s no record. If there’s no record, there’s no time travel. How the hell am I still here?
    Maybe it’s a dream?
    In any case, I have to hide the bodies. And find some excuse. Real quick. If Grandpa catches me, it’s the end of the story, and this time not only for my poor ear. He’s absolutely deranged. No chance he’ll understand.
    ~
    May 26, 1964, 12:32
    There’s a big mess. Grandpa and Grandma came home yesterday evening and found me unconscious on the floor, with a bruise the size of an egg on my head. I did that myself, with Grandpa’s hoe. It hurt like hell, but not as much as it did when the doctor stitched me later. I told them that someone hit me on the head and that I couldn’t remember anything. Everyone feels sorry for me now, and Grandpa and Grandma are crazy with worry for the babies. I feel kind of sorry for them, but Uncle Haim had it coming.
    Wait a minute.
    If I killed Dad, how come I’m still here?
    Something’s really wrong here.
    Really.
    I’ve got a terrible headache.
    ~
    June 12, 1964, 19:40
    They took out the stitches today. It hurt almost as much as when the doctor put them in. I yelled like crazy. Hanna, the neighbor’s kid, came to visit me today. Nice girl. Definitely not a Nudnik . I have to get home somehow. If there’s no other way, I’ll just spin that record until my finger is gone.
    ~
    August 14, 1968, 13:01
    All my fingers are gone, and today—the phonograph too. I don’t know how long I’ve been doing this. Years. It just doesn’t go fast enough. It’s horrible. Whenever Grandpa and Grandma are gone I spin the record, over and over and over again, until they come home. When they come home I have to stop, otherwise Grandpa grabs my ear and throws me out of the house. There’s no going through him, that man. Why are there no home computers in sixties? Why?
    ~
    February 15, 1972, 17:34
    I have a great idea! I’m a genius!
    A tape recorder!
    I’ll buy me one of those old reel-to-reel tape recorders, record the damned song—which I really can’t stand listening to anymore—on a tape, put the tape back in it in reverse, play it in fast-forward! I’m a genius! That’s how you break the rules! I’m going home!
    ~
    February 28, 1972, 11:20
    It took me almost a week to convince Grandma to help me buy the tape recorder, and several more days to find out where I could buy one, and then a few more days to locate some tapes. Where did all those stories about the coolness of the seventies come from? Phooey!
    But now I have everything I need, and I’m going to fly home like a rocket and never use a turntable or a phonograph in my whole life. I’m a genius!
    ~
    February 28, 1972, 11:28
    So much for being a genius. It seems that after each playing you have to run the tape backwards, and every time you do that, it tangles up in the machine, and the fast forward isn’t really fast. It’s even slower than spinning the record with my finger.
    Hanna suggested that I record the song several times on the tape, to save time. That’s a good idea. She’s kinda smart, that Hanna.
    ~
    June 7, 1976, 13:08
    She doesn’t look that bad, either.
    But after one test run, which brought me to this time, the tape recorder blew up.
    Grandma won’t buy me another one, and Grandpa is still strong enough to grab my ear and throw me out. At least they bought a new phonograph, and I keep turning the record, underground, as before.
    ~
    March 3, 1980, 15:55
    Smart, eh? Doesn’t look bad, eh? My God, Hanna is Mom!
    How could I miss that?
    An Oedipus complex. Damn it. I’m really disgusted with myself. Maybe I’ll kill her too?
    But on the other hand, I already killed Dad, so how come I’m still around anyway?
    Oh, no. No no no.
    No.
    Shit.
    ~
    June 6, 1981, 16:66
    We just got married.
    Yes, it’s horrible, but it’s also survival. My survival. I don’t want to die. Or to cease to exist. I want to