The Third Man by Adam Acidophilus

Once upon a time there were three men whose friendship suffered the most trying of inconveniences – for they lived at different times and were fated never to meet.

The first man lived in the past, and could communicate with the other two only by means of letters and essays – which he would leave lying about the place in the hope that they would outlast him and reach their ultimate destination.

The second man lived in the present, and although he occasionally received messages from the man in the past there was of course no way in which he could reciprocate. And although his technology enabled him to contact his other friend, who lived in the future, by a multitude of methods – letter, essay, video or floppy disk – nothing could be done to hasten their arrival, and he was reduced to a long and frustrating wait punctuated only by his own death and the passing of many generations.

But the third man – who lived in the future – suffered the worst of all, for there was no way in which he could contact either of his hapless colleagues. He could only discover what they had been up to, feel touched by their prescience in keeping him informed, and curse the heavens whenever he learned of their mistakes.

Despite these deprivations the three men did their best to enjoy the beneficial aspects of their relationship, and made light of the great voids of time that fell between them.

Unfortunately, this admirable congress was subjected to an abuse, for the first man, the one in the past, was a compulsive liar.

For he lived in an age of darkness and stupidity, slavery and disease, when ignorance and superstition blighted the short lives of the unhappy people. And, ashamed of this, he concocted falsehoods in his letters and essays – in the hope that he might cover up the wrongs of his age.

"We are having a wonderful time," he would write, "the weather is superb, the food is delicious, and the people are terribly friendly. Everybody very interested in art."

To substantiate this propaganda he employed hundreds of painters and bullied his slaves into building pyramids and cathedrals, and tricked everybody into burying their homes – in the hope that their foul living conditions would never be discovered.

"Bollocks," he replied – keeping the secrets of literacy to himself, just to be on the safe side.

Now the second man, who lived in the present, an age of confusion, was baffled by this. He knew full well that in the modern world, with all its technology and education, there was still a great deal of misery. The weather was changeable, the people were frequently unfriendly, and virtually nobody got to be well fed and interested in art. In fact, it was all that they could do to keep the pyramids and cathedrals from falling down.

Confused beyond reason, and too innocent to realise that he had been duped, the second man cultivated an erroneous theory.

"I have it on good authority," he announced, "that there was once no discomfort or unhappiness, and that our lives in this age of confusion are hell compared to the bliss of ancient times.

"I therefore deduce," he deduced, "that the future is a thing to be feared and avoided if possible."

This was, of course, most upsetting to the man in the future – who had no wish to be either feared or avoided. He knew that the future was a nice place, an age of enlightenment, and much better than either the present or the past. For he had unearthed the buried hovels, he knew about the pyramid scam, he had established that the first man was a liar.

"Don't believe a word that bastard writes!" he shouted to the second man – quite pointlessly, as sound cannot travel backwards in time.

So the second man, unaware of this, continued to believe the words that bastard wrote; and the first man, the bastard, continued to scratch his lies all over the place.

"Another perfect day . . . " he scratched, "thank heavens for our traditional moral structures, they certainly make life much easier."

"Oh no," sighed the man in the present, to his camcorder, "people used to have traditional moral structures! Why don't we have traditional moral structures anymore?"

"Because the man in the past is a bloody liar!" screamed the third man, watching the video centuries later. "There never were any moral structures! Traditional moral structures exist only in the imagination of the traditional moral structurer!"

Oblivious to this unarguable truth, the man in the present stepped up his efforts to save the people of the present from their future.

"Yes, church," scratched the first man, "everybody in the past goes to church – and they believe every word of it. Wish you were here."

Numb with frustration, the third man hit upon an ingenious, if pathetic, plan to save the people of the present from their ghastly fate. He carved a brief summary of the truth on a slab of indestructible granite.

AND YOU ARE UNLIKELY TO FIND THE SOLUTIONS TO ALL OF YOUR PROBLEMS IN CHURCH – ALTHOUGH, OF COURSE, THAT'S ONLY MY OPINION . . .

He then presented this obelisk to the finest scientific minds of the future, and challenged them to send it back in time, to when it might do some good.

The finest scientific minds totally failed to shift the lump of granite, but its message was, inexplicably, received and understood by the people of the present – and the world, eventually, became a better place.