Jasmine sat back in her easy chair and regarded me steadily. I looked at her. She was a petite woman in her mid-forties with an angular face, braided hair to her chin and dried-date dark skin. Her eyes were almond shaped behind gold-framed glasses.
“Do you know what the term transgender means?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t apply to me. I know I am living in the right body.”
“Do you think you are living in the right era? Have you ever considered you might be transtime?”
If I had not put down my cup of tea, I would have scalded myself.
“Pardon?”
“Today it is widely accepted that a minority of people feel they were born in the wrong body, we call them transgender. However, an even smaller minority of people say they were born in the wrong era, they are referred to as transtime. You have spoken about escaping into historical fiction, watching costume dramas and reading history. I’ve noticed you focus mainly on late eighteenth century Britain. Do you think this term could apply to you?”
“Are you joking?”
“No.” Her face was serious.
“Well, I’ve never really thought much about why I have always enjoyed history and been drawn to that era. It’s just escapism. Lots of people do it. That’s why big-budget costume dramas are a worthwhile investment, they always generate high viewing figures, enticing people to go and buy the DVD. It’s the same with sci-fi. People watch it, read it and dress up at conventions as escapism and to immerse themselves in a good story. There’s nothing more to it.”
She is trying to get me to think about what I like from a different angle. That’s it. It must be some technique she learned when training to be a psychotherapist.
“I’ve never heard the term transtime before.” I spoke truthfully and wondered how she would respond. Maybe it was a metaphor and I misunderstood her meaning.
“It’s very rarely used and there are reasons for this. If someone changes their gender, it only affects them. If someone changes their era, it involves a careful balancing act. They have to swap with a soul from the era to which they transition. People need to be very careful when they change gender. Sometimes the cause of their problems is not their physical body but something else entirely. This can be the same with transtimers.
“People watch a costume drama for escapism, as you say, and think they would like to live then. In nearly all cases, what they mean is that it would be nice to be a mediaeval princess and dance in magnificent dresses. At the same time, they also want modern comforts. The prince must be masterful yet have a modern attitude towards women’s rights and personal hygiene. Castles must have central heating. The princess must also have easy access to paracetamol, the contraceptive pill and antibiotics.
“However, for a very few people, statistics suggest one in a million, they really would be happier living in the fifteenth century than the twenty-first, regardless of if they were a princess or a beggar. They would give up every benefit of life in modern Britain to live in the age where their soul truly belongs. They would travel through time to live as the same soul but in a different body and year.”
Jasmine paused to observe me and sip her tea.
“What you are describing is impossible. No-one has travelled through time, not in real life.”
“No-one that you have heard of. This is kept very quiet. Otherwise, just think how many costume drama viewers might decide to visit their favourite eras on a whim? The laws of physics allow it. We must manage it wisely and ethically. Two souls from two different eras need to swap and once a swap is made, that is it. No further time-travel is possible.
“Like I say, only one in a million of us are estimated to be transtime and not all transtimers decide to travel through time. You are the second person I have encountered in twenty years who might fit this description.”
“I’m sorry but I don’t believe you. What you are describing is impossible.”
“I can call up a second opinion.”
I nodded my consent.
She fiddled with what I thought was her smart phone. From out of nowhere appeared a man who looked like Dracula’s father but was dressed as if for a job interview.
I jumped. The door had not opened since I entered the room some minutes ago and I was always careful to shut it out of concern for my privacy. The window could open fully but it was shut against the autumn drizzle and Jasmine’s office was on the first floor.
“Esme, this is Gabriel. He is a celestial being who specialises in this field. Gabriel, this is Esme who I mentioned in our conversation last week.”
“Are you an angel?” I breathed.