by Dan Edmund
****************
"Well, what do you think now? Aren't you glad you came after all?"
We were reclining on the soft tufts of grass, admiring the beauty and serenity of the glistening waters cascading down the beautiful Paradise Falls, which were less than a mile from our village. The main waterfall, located on one of the tributaries of the Deer River, was not particularly high, perhaps only thirty feet or so. However, the swiftness and sheer volume of water that thundered down into the rocky pool below, made it spectacular to both see and hear.
Harry admitted that it was beautiful, then became silent as he continued to stare at the falls. Finally, I asked, "What are you now thinking about?"
He grimaced. "Must you always ask me that question? Anyway, I was only thinking how strange it all seems. Each night I expect to wake up in the morning and find myself back in my old life. Yet, I never do. I always end up waking here." He shook his head in dismay. "And what is more, and to me most disturbing, is that although being only a week or so here, my old life is beginning to feel like a distant memory, even like a dream!"
"I think that's with all of us," I replied, "but especially with those that have been here for a long time. I suppose, that's why they're the ones who are less likely to think back to their old life."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "And they are the ones who have been least helpful in giving me details of their life."
"With Armageddon and the days leading up to it, you mean?" He nodded. "Perhaps they really can't. I suppose, like you said, for them it's like a dream that fades with time."
"However, it shouldn't. Lapses in memory, multiplied by the gross mistake of not recording things in writing, is knowledge that has gone to waste!" he declared in disgust. "I've always made it a point to write notes on pertinent facts I've read, and to write up detailed journal entries on each day's events. That's what I also do here, even though I still think that this may still be some incredible dream, or some other altered state of consciousness."
"It's not a dream, or whatever else you think. This world is real!"
"You sound like a stuck needle!" He huffed. "Anyway, keeping a detailed record of my life, as well as the things I have learnt, helps with memory recall, especially if you regularly review the things you've written down." He eyed me condescendingly. "You're an educated man, don't you ever write anything down in order not to forget what you've already learnt?"
I shook my head. "No. However, there are times when I have thought about it."
"Then don't just think about it, do it! If I'm to write a history book, I need at least some detailed information from somebody other than just myself. This is especially important concerning your career as a classical performer. Also, the music you know, write it down. Don't let it slip into oblivion. If this world is really true, then my God, as I have already said, it could certainly do with more culture!"
There then came the sound of raucous but familiar laughter from behind. We both turned around. It was my father, with a wide grin on his face. "I should have known it!" he bellowed. "Here we're about to have a game of baseball, and you two are again on your own, no doubt yapping away at some high highfalutin stuff that nobody around here understands."
"Do you see what I mean?" Harry muttered under his breath.
"Come on, you guys, we're waiting for you!"
Harry immediately declared that he did not like playing sports, and neither my father nor I could persuade him otherwise. However, minutes later, my mother arrived with a vivacious and beautiful blond. She was Nicole, daughter of Sam and Jane Murray, the once old lady that had given me Cory when I had been a boy. "Come on, Professor, get up and have a little fun," she said, holding his arm. My mother then held Harry's other arm, and together they dragged him to his feet and led him down the path.
Dad nudged me with his elbow and grinned. "See, son, it just takes a couple of determined and pretty girls to do the job!"
"But I've never played baseball in my life!" Harry protested when we reached the playing field. "I've only played a little cricket when I was in primary school."
Carlos chuckled. "That's okay. It makes no difference. I also used to play with crickets as a child. Our family in our barrio were too poor to have many toys."
I laughed and had to explain to Carlos that cricket was a game similar to baseball, except it had been played in England and Australia.
"And in several other countries in the British Commonwealth," Harry added. "Besides, the rules and mode of play are quite dissimilar."
Carlos only shook his head and laughed. "Ah, I was only joking, my friend. But whether you played this game called cricket or baseball, it makes no difference. We'll teach you anyway."
Harry reluctantly agreed, and so the game commenced.
On my father's team were, amongst others: Mum, Harry, Nicole, Sam, Jane and I. Carlos's team consisted mainly of his family: his wife Maria, their daughter Isabella, Carlos's two sisters with their husbands, and their grown-up children. I was the catcher, Dad was our pitcher, Harry was on first base, Nicole on second, and her father, Sam, on third.
Carlos was the first to bat. Dad drew back his arm and threw a beautiful curve ball. Carlos heaved, swung and missed.
"Strike one!" I yelled, acting also as umpire.
Dad pitched again, a fastball right dead center over home plate. Carlos only stood there, stunned.
"Strike two!" I yelled.
Dad laughed and apologized. He then pitched again, this time much slower. Carlos heaved another swing and struck the ball firmly towards a hapless looking Harry. He did not have a baseball mitt; none of us did. Not that it really mattered. Our bones, muscles and skin of our new bodies could easily withstand the blow of a regular baseball - or anything for that matter. However, Harry instinctively ducked as the ball headed directly towards his head. We all laughed as Carlos ran to first base.
Next came Carlos's wife, Maria. Dad pitched a slower ball, which Maria hit to the right of our third baseman. She ran safely to first base, and Carlos to second. Then Carlos's burly brother-in-law came out to bat. Dad pitched another curve ball, but Jerry hit the perfect line drive, low and straight into the outfield. Jerry was off in a flash. Carlos ran home, followed by Maria and Jerry. The score was 3-0. Finally, we managed to get three of them out, the score now reading 6-0. However, it did not matter; we were just having fun.
Now it was our turn. Jerry was their pitcher, and I came out to bat. Three strikes and I was out. Then it was my father's turn. One pitch and Dad hit a tremendous home run. The score was 6-1. Then Mum came out to bat, and three strikes and she also was out. Now it was Harry's turn. Reluctantly, he picked up his bat and shuffled up to try his luck. Jerry pitched him a slider. Harry swung an almighty swing, which somehow, through some miracle, struck its mark, propelling the ball high into the sky and deep into the outfield - a tremendous home run!
The score was now 6-2.
Nicole now came out to bat. Jerry pitched a change-up, a slower ball. She swung and hit, straight to the man at first base, who caught the ball as cleanly as any pro. The innings ended, and so did our game. We lost, although this was quickly forgotten as we all cheerily made our way to our picnic mats for lunch.
Grace was given and the lunch feast began. Carlos was the first to finish, so he brought out his other guitar, a much inferior one to the fine instrument he had given me. Yet still, the sound was pleasant as he strummed and sang some famous Mexican folksongs. Finally, a hymn was sung, and we all joined in, another hymn of praise to the one who made this wonderful life possible, in this wonderful world of Paradise.
After lunch, we all went to the sheltered pool near the waterfall, a pool of crystal clear water, cool and refreshing, a delight to wade or swim.
Finally, the picnic came to an end. We were all merry from our outing, including Harry, seemingly everybody's new friend.
***************
During that night, Harry had told me that Nicole and her family were taking him t
o visit the couple near Tranquil.
"The couple that survived Armageddon?" I asked.
"So it is claimed."
"Why, that's great, Harry!" I exclaimed with genuine delight. "That'll give you more information for your book."
Harry beamed a smile of approval.
