Clara first saw the man at a crossroads.
There were four roads.
The man stood in the middle of them.
He looked at the signs.
NORTH
SOUTH
EAST
WEST
Clara approached him.
“Are you lost?”
“No.”
“Then where are you going?”
“I haven't decided.”
He was holding a small suitcase.
Clara looked at the four roads.
“Which one will you take?”
The man smiled.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On what happens.”
As if to prove the point, a little boy came running around the corner.
A red ball bounced into the road.
The man stepped forward.
A cart came around the corner.
The man grabbed the boy.
They both stumbled backwards.
The ball rolled into the gutter.
The man stood up.
“Thank you,” said Clara.
The man looked surprised.
“For what?”
“You saved the boy.”
“Yes.”
“Then you won't be going north.”
The man looked at her.
“Why not?”
“Because you have to stay here.”
“Do I?”
Clara pointed at the boy.
The boy was already running home.
The man picked up his suitcase.
Then he walked north.
Clara watched him disappear.
She stood at the crossroads for a moment.
Then she noticed something strange.
There were footprints in the mud.
Four sets.
One led north.
One led south.
One led east.
One led west.
Clara followed the northern footprints.
They led to a small café.
Inside, the man was sitting at a table.
“You're here,” Clara said.
“Yes.”
“I just saw you leave.”
“Yes.”
“You went north.”
“Yes.”
“Then how did you get here?”
“I walked.”
“From the north?”
“No.”
“From the south?”
“No.”
Clara pointed towards the door.
“You came from the crossroads.”
“Yes.”
“But you went north.”
“Yes.”
“And now you're here.”
“Yes.”
She sat down.
“Which road did you take?”
The man looked at her.
“The road I took.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is now.”
A waitress brought him coffee.
Clara watched him drink it.
“What is your name?”
“Daniel.”
“Daniel, have we met before?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Clara stared at him.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“But this is today.”
Daniel nodded.
“That is why it hasn't happened yet.”
He finished his coffee and left.
Clara remained at the table.
The waitress came over.
“Is he always like that?”
“Like what?”
“Certain.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
Clara looked towards the door.
“He didn't seem certain.”
The waitress smiled.
“He never does.”
That afternoon Clara went to the library.
There was a photograph on the desk.
It showed Daniel standing at the crossroads.
In the photograph he was walking south.
Clara turned it over.
Written on the back was:
Daniel, yesterday.
She took the photograph to the librarian.
“Who took this?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Clara put the photograph down.
“You're making fun of me.”
“No.”
“Then why does everyone keep saying tomorrow?”
The librarian looked at her.
“Because Daniel is difficult to photograph.”
“Why?”
“Because photographs only show what happened.”
Clara looked at the photograph.
“But he is walking south.”
“Yes.”
“I saw him walk north.”
“Yes.”
“So which is correct?”
“Both.”
“That is impossible.”
The librarian smiled.
“Not necessarily.”
She opened a drawer.
Inside were more photographs.
Daniel at the crossroads.
Daniel walking north.
Daniel walking south.
Daniel walking east.
Daniel walking west.
Daniel sitting in the café.
Daniel entering the library.
Daniel standing outside the station.
Daniel boarding a train.
Daniel watching a train leave.
Daniel holding a red ball.
Daniel holding no ball.
Clara stared at them.
“Are these all real?”
“They're photographs.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
The librarian looked at her.
“They all happened.”
“How?”
“Not all at once.”
Clara picked up the photograph of Daniel walking west.
“When did this happen?”
“Yesterday.”
She picked up the photograph of Daniel walking east.
“And this?”
“Tomorrow.”
Clara put both photographs down.
“But tomorrow hasn't happened.”
“For you.”
The librarian returned the photographs to the drawer.
“For Daniel?”
She closed it.
“Perhaps.”
That evening Clara returned to the crossroads.
Daniel was there.
He was standing exactly where she had first seen him.
“You came back,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I want to know which road you took.”
Daniel looked at the four roads.
“I took one.”
“Which one?”
He pointed west.
Clara looked at him.
“But I saw you go north.”
“Yes.”
“And there is a photograph of you going south.”
“Yes.”
“And another of you going east.”
“Yes.”
“And now you're telling me you went west.”
“Yes.”
“How many times did you leave?”
Daniel thought about this.
“Once.”
Clara laughed.
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes sense to me.”
“You can't take four roads at once.”
“I didn't.”
“Then what happened?”
Daniel looked at the crossroads.
“For a while, I could have taken any of them.”
“And then?”
“Then I took one.”
Clara looked at the roads.
“So the others didn't happen.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
“They could have happened.”
“Yes.”
“But they didn't.”
“No.”
She pointed towards the western road.
“And this one did.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“Then why are the others in the photographs?”
Daniel was silent.
A wind moved through the trees.
“They belong to what I could have done.”
Clara frowned.
“But they aren't real.”
Daniel smiled.
“That depends on what you mean by real.”
The next morning Clara woke early.
On the table beside her bed was a letter.
It was addressed to her.
She opened it.
Inside was a single sentence:
I could have written this.
There was no signature.
She went back to the crossroads.
Daniel was waiting.
“You wrote me a letter.”
“No.”
“I have it.”
“Then someone wrote it.”
“It says you could have written it.”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did you intend to?”
“I might have.”
“But you didn't.”
“No.”
Clara looked at him.
“Then why does it exist?”
Daniel shrugged.
“Because someone wrote it.”
“Someone who might have been you.”
“Yes.”
She sat on the low stone wall.
“Are you one person?”
“Yes.”
“How many things have you done?”
Daniel thought.
“Quite a few.”
“How many things could you have done?”
He looked at the four roads.
“More.”
“How many?”
He smiled.
“Too many.”
That afternoon Clara followed Daniel.
He walked through the town.
Sometimes he stopped.
Sometimes he turned.
Sometimes he crossed the street just before a carriage passed.
Sometimes he did not.
Once he reached for a door and stopped.
“Why didn't you open it?” Clara asked.
“Because I did.”
“But you didn't.”
“Not this time.”
They came to an old building at the edge of town.
Daniel unlocked the door.
Inside was a long room.
There were hundreds of objects.
A chair.
A cup.
A violin.
A red scarf.
A letter.
A train ticket.
A broken watch.
A photograph.
A key.
On the far wall were dozens of doors.
Each had a small brass plate.
THE ROAD HE TOOK
THE ROAD HE DIDN'T TAKE
THE WORDS HE SAID
THE WORDS HE DIDN'T SAY
THE DOOR HE OPENED
THE DOOR HE LEFT CLOSED
Clara turned to Daniel.
“What is this place?”
He looked around.
“My possibilities.”
She walked to the nearest door.
“What's behind it?”
“Something that could have happened.”
She opened it.
There was a railway platform.
Daniel was standing beside a train.
She closed the door.
She opened another.
Daniel was sitting beside a woman in a garden.
Another.
Daniel was walking alone through rain.
Another.
Daniel was much older.
Another.
He was carrying a child.
Another.
He was standing at the crossroads.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Clara stepped back.
“There are too many.”
“Yes.”
“Do they all happen?”
“No.”
“Then why are they here?”
Daniel looked at her.
“They were possible.”
Clara looked at the doors.
“Are they still possible?”
“Some.”
“Which ones?”
“I don't know.”
She pointed to one.
“This one?”
“Perhaps.”
“And this?”
“Perhaps.”
“And that one?”
Daniel smiled.
“Not anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because you're looking at it.”
Clara turned sharply.
The door she had been pointing at was gone.
Only a blank wall remained.
“What happened?”
“It happened.”
“But what?”
Daniel looked at the empty space.
“You asked.”
She looked at him.
“And that changed it?”
“No.”
“Then what did?”
Daniel was quiet.
“Something happened.”
They walked deeper into the room.
At the very end was a small door.
There was no brass plate.
Clara opened it.
On the other side was the crossroads.
Four roads.
Four signs.
Daniel standing in the middle.
But this Daniel was looking directly at her.
He smiled.
“Which way will you go?”
Clara stepped through.
She turned around.
Daniel was gone.
She was standing alone at the crossroads.
The four roads stretched away from her.
For a moment she could imagine herself taking any one of them.
North.
South.
East.
West.
She stood there.
Then she heard footsteps behind her.
She turned.
Daniel was walking towards her.
“You're here,” she said.
“Yes.”
“But you were just there.”
“I know.”
She looked at the four roads.
“Which one did you take?”
Daniel pointed.
“Yours.”
Clara laughed.
“That isn't one of the choices.”
“It is now.”
She looked at him.
“Daniel, are you the man in all those photographs?”
“Yes.”
“Even the ones where you did something different?”
“Yes.”
“Even the things you didn't do?”
Daniel thought for a moment.
“No.”
“Then what are they?”
He looked down the four roads.
“Things I could have done.”
“And the things you actually did?”
He looked at Clara.
“They're the things that happened.”
She nodded slowly.
“So which one is the real you?”
Daniel smiled.
“The one that happens.”
Clara looked back at the crossroads.
For a moment, she thought she could see the other roads disappearing.
Then she realised they were not disappearing.
They were simply no longer hers.
Daniel handed her the small suitcase.
“What's this?”
“You were carrying it.”
“I wasn't.”
“You will be.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
She took it out.
It showed Clara standing at the crossroads.
There were four roads behind her.
Daniel was beside her.
On the back was written:
THE PERSON WHO COULD HAVE GONE ANYWHERE.
Clara turned it over again.
In the photograph, she was smiling.
She looked at Daniel.
“Did this happen?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
She looked at the road ahead.
“And now?”
Daniel smiled.
“Now we have to find out.”
They walked on.
Behind them, at the crossroads, four sets of footprints remained.
For a while.
Then three.
Then two.
Then one.
And none of them knew exactly when the others had disappeared.