Unlikely Triumvirate, Or A Conversation Across Time

I must confess, dear reader, that the notion of sitting with historical figures has always struck me as a peculiar form of vanity. We modern folk, armed with smartphones and opinions on every subject under heaven, imagine ourselves qualified to advise people who actually lived through history rather than merely commenting upon it between advertisements and weather updates.

And yet, there I sat in a waiting room filled with outdated magazines and the symphony of coughs that always seems to accompany medical facilities. As I stared at a stain on the ceiling that looked remarkably like Nevada, my mind wandered into an altogether impossible conversation.

Suddenly, I found myself seated in a modest Carson City home with Orion Clemens and his younger brother Samuel. Orion sat upright at a desk covered with papers, looking like a man who believed every problem could be solved with enough forms and proper penmanship. Samuel lounged in a chair tilted dangerously backward, looking like a man who considered paperwork a disease.

"Samuel," Orion said, peering over his spectacles, "must every dispatch you send contain three exaggerations, two jokes, and one insult directed at respectable citizens?"

Samuel considered this carefully.

"No," he replied. "Sometimes I include four exaggerations."

I laughed before I could stop myself.

Orion pointed a finger at his brother. "You see? This is precisely the problem. People are laughing."

"That's because they're awake," Samuel said. "If I wrote government reports the way you do, they'd be asleep before reaching the second paragraph."

"My reports contain facts."

Samuel nodded solemnly.

"That is exactly their weakness."

Orion removed his spectacles and rubbed his forehead.

"I often wonder," he sighed, "whether history will remember anything I have accomplished."

Samuel leaned forward.

"History rarely remembers the fellow who builds the stage. It remembers the fool who trips over the scenery."

"That's a dreadful philosophy."

"It's working out reasonably well for me."

At that point, I made the mistake of inserting myself into the discussion.

"Actually," I said, "history remembers both of you."

The brothers turned and stared as though a chair had suddenly begun speaking.

Samuel squinted at me.

"Who are you?"

"A visitor from the future."

He nodded immediately.

"That explains the clothing."

I looked down at my shirt.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It appears to have been manufactured by a committee."

Orion ignored this.

"A visitor from the future?" he asked. "Tell me, has Nevada become a prosperous and respectable state?"

I hesitated.

Samuel grinned.

"That pause worries me."

"Well," I said carefully, "there are casinos."

Orion frowned.

"Casinos?"

"Quite a few."

"How many?"

I thought about Las Vegas.

"Enough that they can probably be seen from the moon."

Samuel slapped his knee.

"Finally! A government project I can support."

"It gets worse," I told Orion.

"Worse?"

"There are twenty-four-hour wedding chapels."

Samuel nearly fell out of his chair laughing.

"People get married all night long?"

"Yes."

"Without proper reflection?"

"Frequently."

Samuel wiped tears from his eyes.

"Orion, the future is magnificent."

"The future is doomed," Orion replied.

I attempted to restore balance.

"There are also remarkable achievements. Technology. Medicine. Airplanes."

"Airplanes?" Orion asked.

"Machines that fly."

Samuel stared.

"You're telling me mankind eventually learns to fly, and the first thing it does is build casinos?"

"When you put it that way..."

"That is exactly what I would have expected."

Orion shook his head slowly.

"I devoted years to helping establish orderly government in this territory."

"And future generations appreciated it," I assured him.

"How much?"

I searched for a diplomatic answer.

Samuel answered for me.

"They named a footnote after you."

Orion glared at him.

Then, quite unexpectedly, the brothers fell silent.

Finally, Orion said, "Despite everything, I worry about him."

Samuel blinked.

"Worry about me?"

"You're forever chasing some new scheme, some new story, some new adventure."

Samuel looked genuinely touched, though he concealed it beneath a grin.

"And I worry about you."

Orion looked surprised.

"You do?"

"Certainly. A man can die from excessive responsibility. I've seen the symptoms. It begins with paperwork."

For a moment, all three of us laughed.

Then I offered a suggestion.

"Perhaps you need each other more than you realize."

Samuel raised an eyebrow.

"That sounds suspiciously wise."

"I've been sitting in a waiting room for two hours. Wisdom is one of the side effects."

Orion nodded thoughtfully.

"What would you suggest?"

"Sam could write something serious about your work."

Samuel groaned dramatically.

"Anything but seriousness."

"And Orion could lighten up about Sam's stories."

Orion groaned just as dramatically.

"Anything but that."

The brothers exchanged looks.

Samuel finally said, "I'll write about temperance in Nevada."

Orion brightened.

"Excellent."

"But only if I can also include the story about you trying to explain farming to a Paiute chief and being offered a wife."

Orion's face turned crimson.

"That incident is not relevant."

"It is to me."

"It was misunderstood."

"It was hilarious."

I realized then that no mediator, historian, or traveler from the future could ever truly resolve their argument. Nor should they. Orion saw the world as it ought to be. Samuel saw it as it was. Between them existed the tension that drives every family, every society, and perhaps every human soul.

The waiting room faded back into view. The magazines were still old. The coughing was still plentiful. My appointment was still running late enough to qualify as a historical era.

Yet I carried something away from that imaginary meeting.

Perhaps the desire to sit with historical figures is not vanity after all. Perhaps it is recognition. We see ourselves in them—the responsible brother, the reckless dreamer, the fellow caught in the middle pretending he has answers.

And if Samuel Clemens taught us anything, it is that humanity remains gloriously ridiculous across every century. The costumes change, the inventions improve, and the casinos get larger, but people remain people.

Which, come to think of it, is probably why history keeps repeating itself. Samuel writes the jokes, Orion files the reports, and the rest of us sit in waiting rooms, wondering which one of them we resemble most.