When Mara arrived at the station, the clock said she was early.
She was certain of this because the train was not due for another eleven minutes, and Mara had always considered eleven minutes an adequate margin for railway uncertainty.
She sat beneath the clock.
After a while she looked up again.
The clock said she was late.
Mara checked her watch.
Her watch said she was early.
She looked at the station clock.
It said she was neither.
For a moment, it seemed to her that the second hand had stopped.
Then she noticed that the second hand was moving.
It was simply moving more slowly than before.
Mara stood.
The station was empty.
A train was visible at the far end of the platform.
It was not moving.
She waited.
The train did not move.
Then, without appearing to move, it was closer.
Mara took a step backwards.
The train was closer again.
There was a man standing beside it.
He raised his hand.
Mara raised hers.
The man looked exactly like her.
She ran.
She found herself in a corridor.
There were doors on both sides.
Each door had a small brass plate.
BEFORE
AFTER
ALREADY
NOT YET
Mara opened BEFORE.
There was the station.
The clock showed eleven minutes until the train.
She closed the door.
She opened AFTER.
There was the station.
The train was leaving.
She closed it.
She opened NOT YET.
There was the station.
The train had not been built.
She closed the door.
Finally she opened ALREADY.
There was the station.
Mara was sitting beneath the clock.
She was looking up.
Mara watched herself stand.
She watched herself look at the train.
She watched herself run.
Then the other Mara turned towards the door.
For one impossible moment, they looked directly at one another.
The other Mara smiled.
Mara shut the door.
At the end of the corridor was a window.
Beyond it was a city.
Mara recognised the city.
She did not recognise the shape of the city.
The buildings were stretched impossibly tall. Streets that should have been parallel appeared to converge. A tower at the far end seemed both enormous and impossibly distant.
Mara touched the glass.
The city changed.
She withdrew her hand.
It changed back.
She touched the glass again.
This time the tower moved.
Not physically.
It simply became nearer.
Mara stared.
A voice behind her said:
“You mustn't do that.”
She turned.
An old woman stood in the corridor.
“Why not?”
“You'll make the distances inconsistent.”
“They already are.”
“Yes,” said the woman. “But they are consistent about being inconsistent.”
Mara considered this.
“Where am I?”
The woman pointed through the window.
“Over there.”
Mara looked.
“That doesn't help.”
“It isn't meant to.”
The woman led her downstairs.
The staircase seemed unusually long.
Mara counted the steps.
There were 103.
At the bottom she looked back.
There were 104.
She counted again.
She looked away.
She stopped counting.
At the bottom was a room containing a single chair.
On the chair was a clock.
The woman said, “Sit.”
Mara sat.
“What is this?”
“A laboratory.”
“There isn't any equipment.”
“There is a clock.”
“That isn't a laboratory.”
The woman smiled.
“You have very particular ideas about what laboratories are.”
She placed a second clock beside the first.
The two clocks ticked together.
Then they did not.
One began to run slowly.
The other quickly.
Then one stopped.
Mara waited.
Eventually the stopped clock began again.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“It stopped.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It was somewhere else.”
Mara looked at the clock.
“Where?”
The woman pointed towards the wall.
Mara saw no door.
“There.”
“There is no door.”
“Not from here.”
The woman opened a small cupboard.
Inside was a glass sphere.
“Look.”
Mara looked.
At first she saw nothing.
Then she saw a tiny light.
It was falling.
Not downward.
Inward.
The light became smaller.
The sphere seemed to become darker.
Mara leaned closer.
The woman said, “Don't.”
Mara stopped.
“What is it?”
“A place.”
“Where?”
“Beyond the point at which asking where becomes useful.”
Mara looked again.
The light was still falling.
“Can it come back?”
“No.”
“Why?”
The woman closed the cupboard.
“Because there is nowhere for it to come back from.”
They continued downstairs.
The staircase became steeper.
Then it became horizontal.
Then Mara realised they were still descending.
At the bottom was a door.
There was no handle.
The woman knocked.
Nothing happened.
She knocked again.
A voice from the other side said:
“Who is there?”
The woman answered:
“Someone who has arrived.”
The voice said:
“From where?”
The woman looked at Mara.
Mara said:
“Here.”
There was a long silence.
Then:
“That is not a place.”
The woman smiled.
“Exactly.”
The door opened.
Beyond it was a vast black room.
In the centre was a point of light.
Mara walked towards it.
The woman remained behind.
“You're not coming?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I have already been.”
Mara looked at her.
The woman seemed suddenly very old.
“Have you been there?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
The woman smiled.
“Later.”
Mara walked on.
The point of light grew brighter.
Then smaller.
Then brighter again.
She realised that it was not changing.
She was.
The room was no longer behind her.
It was everywhere.
She could not tell whether she was moving.
She could not tell whether there was any distance between herself and the light.
She tried to turn around.
There was no around.
She tried to look back.
There was no back.
For the first time, Mara understood why the woman had said that there was nowhere to return from.
It wasn't that she could not go back.
There was no longer a direction called back.
She reached for the light.
Her hand disappeared into it.
There was no sensation of crossing a boundary.
No door.
No threshold.
Nothing happened.
Then everything did.
Mara opened her eyes.
She was sitting beneath the station clock.
The train was due in eleven minutes.
She stood.
The platform was empty.
At the far end, a train was approaching.
Mara watched it.
The train slowed.
Stopped.
The doors opened.
A man stepped down.
He looked exactly like her.
He raised his hand.
Mara raised hers.
The man walked towards her.
“You're late,” he said.
Mara looked at the station clock.
It said she was early.
She looked at her watch.
It said she was late.
The man smiled.
“Don't worry.”
“Why?”
“Because you've already arrived.”
Mara stared at him.
“Where?”
The man pointed towards the train.
Inside, every passenger was asleep.
Every passenger except one.
Mara saw herself sitting by the window.
That Mara was looking out.
Their eyes met.
The train began to move.
Mara ran alongside it.
The platform stretched.
The train accelerated.
Mara ran faster.
The train seemed to become slower.
For one extraordinary moment she was running beside her own reflection in the window.
Then the train was gone.
The platform was empty.
The clock was still ticking.
Mara looked down at her watch.
The second hand had stopped.
She waited.
Nothing happened.
Then the second hand moved backwards.
Once.
Twice.
And stopped.
Mara looked up.
The station clock had disappeared.
In its place was a small brass plaque.
It said:
YOU ARE HERE.
Mara touched it.
The plaque was warm.
Behind her, she heard a train arriving.
She did not turn around.
She already knew who would be getting off.
And somewhere, perhaps very far away, perhaps very close, a clock began to tick.
It was not clear whose clock it was.
But it was keeping time.
For someone.
Already.
There.
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