Jackson Dexter Morton did indeed have a thousand questions he wanted to ask. He stood there nervously and surveyed his surroundings once again; as before, everything was frozen, frozen in time and space. He looked at the man standing in front of him. He looked at himself, still sitting down as though he were still sitting on the branch which had now gone and been replaced by this figure of a man. This he could not understand; this is what really disturbed him. He still did not know whether he was dead or alive. He felt alive in that he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He prodded himself and felt the sensation clearly. He took some very deep breaths, looked at this stranger standing in front of him and plucked up the courage to question him.
“Am I dead?”
“You are not dead” answered the man “You have been taken out of time. Your real self is still sitting on that branch, still alive.”
“Where is the branch?”
“It is here – I am the branch; or rather I was the branch.”
His voice was curious. He couldn't detect any form of accent. To Jack, it sounded a bit sinister. Jack asked his next question. Or rather questions as his thoughts were now racing and all of his curiosity began to pour out from his thoughts.
“How can you be the branch if you are standing in front of me in the form of a human? What happened to you that you were a branch previously but now you are a man? And what was the language thing? And why did you appear to me as different men and speak different languages to me? And why...?”
“Slow down” the man ordered “I can only answer one question at a time. I take you away from this place then you can ask of me more questions. Close your eyes please.”
Jack hesitated and the man detected it.
“No harm will come to you.”
Reluctantly Jack closed his eyes. Almost instantly, he opened them; he discovered that he was present in a hut. The brown, mud-coloured walls were pierced by two openings through which warm sunshine streamed. The roof was thached and quite high. The hut smelled pleasantly of woodsmoke. Present was a table, made of bamboo upon which were wooden cups and a few bamboo stools.
“Where are we? How did that happen? If I close my eyes again, will I wake up and find that this is all some sort of hypnotic trickery?”
The man looked at Jack with the most benign and patient glance. Jack at that moment felt more relaxed, more comfortable but no less apprehensive.
“Sit, Jackson Dexter Morton” the man said gently and calmly. “There is no trickery. The experience you are having is real. Drink.”
Jack did as he was bidden. He wondered how the man knew his name and how he'd done all of this in the blink of an eye; but not wishing to interupt any further, he sat down and took a sip of the liquid from one of the wooden cups. It tasted sharp and cool. Jack felt a little better.
“One more question before you proceed. My real self is on that beach, what is happening there?”
“You are outside of time” said the man “nothing is happening to you. When you are placed back in time, you will resume your life from the moment you sat on the branch as though nothing had happened. But something is happening and you will remember everything that I tell you. You will remember everything.”
“Alright.”
Jack resigned himself to what was to happen.
“Tell your story.”