The Star Diaries Read Free

don’t understand.”
    “Doesn’t matter—you’ll get the hang of it. But hurry up, we’re wasting time!”
    “Just a minute,” I replied, remaining on the floor. “Today is Tuesday. Now if you are the Wednesday me, and if by that time on Wednesday the rudder still hasn’t been fixed, then it follows that something will prevent us from fixing it, since otherwise you, on Wednesday, would not now, on Tuesday, be asking me to help you fix it. Wouldn’t it be best, then, for us not to risk going outside?”
    “Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “Look, I’m the Wednesday me and you’re the Tuesday me, and as for the rocket, well, my guess is that its existence is patched, which means that in places it’s Tuesday, in places Wednesday, and here and there perhaps there’s even a bit of Thursday. Time has simply become shuffled up in passing through these vortices, but why should that concern us, when together we are two and therefore have a chance to fix the rudder?!”
    “No, you’re wrong!” I said. “If on Wednesday, where you already are, having lived through all of Tuesday, so that now Tuesday is behind you, if on Wednesday—I repeat—the rudder isn’t fixed, then one can only conclude that it didn’t get fixed on Tuesday, since it’s Tuesday now and if we were to go and fix the rudder right away, that right away would be your yesterday and there would now be nothing to fix. And consequently…”
    “And consequently you’re as stubborn as a mule!” he growled. “You’ll regret this! And my only consolation is that you too will be infuriated by your own pigheadedness, just as I am now—when you yourself reach Wednesday!!”
    “Ah, wait,” I cried, “do you mean that on Wednesday, I, being you, will try to convince the Tuesday me, just as you are doing here, except that everything will be reversed, in other words you will be me and I you? But of course! That’s what makes a time loop! Hold on, I’m coming, yes, it makes sense now…”
    But before I could get up off the floor we fell into a new vortex and the terrible acceleration flattened us against the ceiling.
    The dreadful pitching and heaving didn’t let up once throughout that night from Tuesday to Wednesday. Then, when things had finally quieted down a little, the volume of the General Theory of Relativity came flying across the cabin and hit me on the forehead with such force, that I lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes I saw broken dishes and a man sprawled among them. I immediately jumped to my feet and lifted him, shouting:
    “Get up! Are you all right?”
    “I think so,” he replied, blinking. “From what day of the week are you?”
    “Wednesday,” I said, “come on, let’s get that rudder fixed while we have the chance.”
    “But where’s the Monday me?” he asked, sitting up. He had a black eye.
    “Gone,” I said, “which means that you are he.”
    “How is that?"
    “Well, the Monday me on Monday night became, Tuesday morning, the Tuesday me, and so on.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Doesn’t matter—you’ll get the hang of it. But hurry up, we’re wasting time!”
    Saying this, I was already looking around for the tools.
    “Just a minute,” he drawled, not budging an inch. “Today is Tuesday. Now, if you are the Wednesday me, and if by that time on Wednesday the rudder still hasn’t been fixed, then it follows that something will prevent us from fixing it, since otherwise you, on Wednesday, would not be asking me now, on Tuesday, to help you fix it. Wouldn’t it be best, then, for us not to risk going outside?”
    “Nonsense!!” I yelled, losing my temper. “Look, I’m the Wednesday me, you’re the Tuesday me…”
    And so we quarreled, in opposite roles, during which he did in fact drive me into a positive fury, for he persistently refused to help me fix the rudder and it did no good calling him pigheaded and a stubborn mule. And when at last I managed to convince him, we plunged into the next