by Dan Edmund
Chapter 20 - Always the Scholar
Early next morning, Harry had left with Sam, Jane and Nicole. I was pleased that Harry had at last been drawn to others besides me, no matter how short a time it was. Before he would return the next day, I had decided to write out some rough notes for him about my former life and death, as well my new life here in Paradise. When contemplating back to my old life, it still surprised me just how much effort it took, particularly when it came to unpleasant memories. Even memories of my death, which were so vivid immediately after my resurrection, were now surprisingly dim. Sure, I could easily remember a lot of the pleasant memories, Jenny, my childhood, my music, my friends and religion. However, it was the details of the unpleasant ones that took the effort, yet, when they were recalled, no sorrows were attached to them. I did not even have any bitterness towards the individual that had shot me - at least that was how I now felt. Bad memories were like bad dreams or nightmares that were quickly forgotten in the routines of normal waking life.
As I had already mentioned to Harry, if that was the case with me after only a few weeks in Paradise, how much more so must it have been for others that had been here for many years. My parents, for instance, hardly ever mentioned anything about their previous lives. Yet, why would they? For all of us, the previous life, when compared to Paradise, was shabby and filled with pain and sorrow. I smiled to myself as I recalled the scripture from Isaiah: 'For here I am creating new heavens and a new earth; and the former things will not be called to mind, neither will they come up into the heart.'
However, for Harry's sake, I forced myself to recall, and these recollections, the ones I thought most relevant, I wrote down. Yet, when it came to recalling my life since my resurrection, it was the exact opposite. I could recall the minutest details, no matter how inconsequential they seemed. Finally, late into the night, I finished. I turned off my crystal light, went to bed and instantly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The next evening, during dinnertime, we heard a knock and Harry's now familiar voice. I hurried to the door and swung it open. "Come in and sit down, you're just in time for dinner. We've already said grace, but tell me, how did things turn out?"
He shrugged and stepped inside. "It went well enough, I suppose. The couple, Jeff and Alice Jones, claimed to have lived through Armageddon, and both provided me with additional information. He frowned. "However, some of their details clashed with what others had told me. Therefore, I will still need to interview more people. However, for the time being, as I'm only in the process of gathering information, it will have to do." He sat on the chair, then lamented, "Oh, how I miss all the conveniences I've been used to! At least we had fast transportation and communication, libraries, books, scholarly journals, newspapers, archives, bibliographies, diaries, memoirs, cell phones, PCs, emails and the World Wide Web. Even though there was so much misinformation and nonsense out there on the Internet, I nevertheless had, from the comforts of my own home, the ability to download and store books and academic journal articles by the thousands, adding to my already good stock of books and other scholarly materials in my study. Oh, how true that old cliche is, that 'knowledge is power!'"
Dad and I chuckled at Harry's mournful tirade.
"Of course, you two may find it funny! However, I certainly don't. Here you don't seem to care about knowledge, knowledge that has been gained through centuries of toil and research. You don't even care that you don't have even any traces of the supposed past, no remnants of buildings, roads, machinery, not even any trash, nothing at all that could remotely be considered as historical artifacts of any kind! This is impossible!" he groaned. "If this world is truly real, then it seems that the world I had known never existed, as if it had been some lost world like Atlantis. Now, all I have left are people's partial and faulty memories!" He gave a hollow laugh. "I ask you, can a historian work under these conditions?"
To console him, I placed my arm around his shoulder. "Here's something that will cheer you up. I've started some writing of my own. You know, what you suggested, a few details about my former life and death, as well as life here in Paradise."
"Thanks. That'll solve everything!" he replied sarcastically.
