The Technicolor Time Machine

“Dump it out,” Barney ordered, “about ten yards beyond the camera, and build it up high so they can see it. Break out the hams so they will know what they are. Bring me a ham and a can of beer.”

“Here they come,” Gino said. “Tremendous, absolutely fantastic.”

At full tilt the knorr raced across the bay, until the big square sail loomed up above them, driving into the mouth of the stream with a great splashing of spray. Barney wasn’t sure if the enthusiasm would carry through this second landing and he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Öl!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Svinakjöt, öl ok ostr!”[19]

They got the message. After almost three weeks on a cold ration of hard bread and dried fish they roared with enthusiasm. The reaction this time was as good—or better—than the first arrival. They fought to get ashore, trampling each other into the shallows, and raced by the camera to get at the food and drink.

“Cut.” Barney said, “but don’t go away. As soon as they stoke up I want to get them unloading the wildstock.” Ottar came up, a half-consumed ham in one fist and the bottle in the other, “Do you think this will do for your camp?” Barney asked.

Ottar looked around and nodded happily. “Good grass, good water. Plenty of wood on the shore for burning. Plenty of trees with hard wood over there for cutting. Fish, hunt, this is a good place. Where’s Gudrid? Where’s everybody?”

“Taking a day off,” Barney told him, “back on Old Catalina. A day off with pay, big party, barbecue, the works.”

“Why party?”

“Because I’m generous and like to see people happy and we couldn’t do anything until you arrived, and because it saves money. I’ve been waiting here for you with a skeleton staff for three weeks. Everyone else at the party will be gone only one day.”

“Want to see Gudrid.”

“Slithey you mean. And I imagine she wants to see you too.”

“Been a long time.”

“You’re a man of simple pleasures, Ottar. At least finish your ham first and remember that this is a historical moment. You have just arrived in the New World.”

“You nuts, Barney. Same old world, just a place name of Vinland. Looks like good trees here.”

“I’ll remember those historical words,” Barney said.

14

“I don’t feel so good this morning,” Slithey said, loosening the large gilt buckle on her belt. “It must be the air here or the climate or something.”

“Something like that,” Barney said with complete lack of sympathy. “The air. Of course it couldn’t be that Viking barbecue on the beach last night with roasted clams and blue mussels over a driftwood fire and six cases of beer gone through.”

She didn’t answer him, but there was a deepening of the green tinge to her peaches and cream skin. He shook another two pills into the rattling handful he already had and held them out to her.

“Here, take these, and I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“So many,” she said weakly. “I don’t think I can get them down.”

“You better, we have a day’s shooting ahead of us. This is Dr. Hendrickson’s guaranteed morning-after and hangover cure. Aspirin for the headache, Dramamine for the nausea, bicarbonate for the heartburn, Benzedrine for the depression and two glasses of water for the dehydration. It never fails.”

While Slithey was choking over the pills Barney’s secretary knocked on the trailer door and he shouted for her to come in.

“You look very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this mom-ing,” he said.

“I’m allergic to mussels so I went to bed early.” She held up the day’s call sheet. “I’ve got a query for you.” She ran her finger down the list. “Artists, okay… stand-ins, okay… camera department, okay… props. They want to know if you want blood with the collapsible dagger?”

“Of course I do—we’re not shooting this film for the kiddy matinee.” He stood and pulled his jacket on. “Let’s go, Slithey.”

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” she said in a faint voice.

“Ten minutes, no more, you’re in the first scene.”

It was a clear day and the sun had already cleared the ridge behind them and was casting long shadows from the sod huts and birch-bark-roofed lean-tos in the meadow below. The Norse settlers were already busy and a thread of blue smoke rose straight up from the hole in the ridge of the largest building.

“I hope Ottar is in better shape than his leading lady,” Barney said, squinting across the water of the bay. “Are those rocks there, just to the left of the island, Betty—or is it a boat?”

“I don’t have my glasses with me.”

“It could be the motorboat—see it’s closer. And it’s about time they decided to come back.”

Betty had to run to keep up with his long strides down the slope toward the shore, skirting a huddle of cud-chewing cows. The boat was clearly visible now and they could hear the faint pop-pop of its motor across the water. Most of the company was waiting on the shore near the knorr and Gino was setting up the camera.

“Looks like the explorers are coming home,” he called out to Barney, and pointed at the boat.