The Other Side
Page 15
Keith wandered over to his nearest neighbors (a short trip) and started talking. First, he addressed a man in his sixties who was sitting and staring off into space. “Hi, where are we?”
The man didn’t even look up.
Keith tried again on a fortyish woman with a pot belly. Again, no response.
He asked, perhaps, thirty people this question before a teenaged girl finally answered. “Sheol,” she said in a quiet monotone.
“Where’s Sheol located?” he asked his helpful informant.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what’s your name? I’m Keith. Keith Moody.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know your name?”
“No.” Keith shook his head bemusedly at this and, after it was apparent she had nothing more to say, walked away. He stared some more at his comrades. He noticed that although all the various human races were represented, they all looked pale somehow. White, Black, Asian, Indian—all paler colors of whatever shade they were. Strange. As he studied the crowd, he abruptly saw a woman blink into existence. She resembled all the others. After a moment, she sat down on the hard floor next to some other people. There was complete silence. Probably millions of people together, none talking. He shook his head again.
A few minutes later, a boy popped into being. He was Asian, probably nine or ten years old. This time Keith ran up to this newcomer. “Who are you?” he asked.
The boy looked back at him. A first, here. “I’m Randy Wilson.”
“Where are you from?”
“Fort Wayne, Indiana.”
It went on like this for several minutes. Keith learned Randy’s address, phone number, what grade he was in, how many siblings Randy had, what TV shows he liked, what his father did for a living. Finally, he paused, having run out of immediate questions. Randy took this opportunity to ask one of his own.
“Where’s my family? We were driving to Gary to see my Nana. Then I was here. Where are they?”
Now it was Keith’s turn to say he didn’t know. Just as he did, a very old, tall woman interrupted. “If they died like you, they’re here somewhere. If not, they’re still alive. You can look, but you probably won’t find them, even if they are here.”
Randy took this news calmly. Before Keith could scold her for her insensitivity, she said, “You’re quite curious, aren’t you? So was I. I got here hours before you did. I managed to learn some.”
At last! He forgot all about Randy. “Okay, where are we? One person called it ‘Sheol’, but where is it?”
“That person was right. This place is called Sheol. As to where, I don’t know. But I do know this is the afterlife. You died and were sent here, like everybody. And there’s no escape from here.”
Keith smiled at this. He still thought it was a dream, but he didn’t feel like arguing that point. “So, is this Heaven, or Hell?”
“Neither. They don’t exist. The dead come here. Although, as you can see, and as you’ll experience, it’s closer to Hell than Heaven.”
“All right, then. How come more people don’t talk? They just sit there.”
“Because this is The Land of Forgetfulness. Once you’re here for a while, you forget who you were, and other personal details. Then, after that, you forget how to talk. It happens to everyone.”
“What’s the deal with these worms?”
She sighed. “I don’t know why they’re here, but they are. In great numbers. We all use them to sleep on, and to cover us at night.”
Keith shivered and laughed. “Yeah, right! Some bedding! I’d sooner lay on the ground.”
“No, you won’t. The ground’s hard. And it gets cold. The worms and maggots provide some warmth. You’ll see.”
“So, there’s day and night here, huh? And we need to sleep?”
“Yes. Apparently, night lasts about nine hours. The total ‘day’ lasts about as long as on Earth. And you do get tired.”
“What about food and water? Do we also eat the worms?”
“No. We don’t need food or drink. You’ll see. You won’t remember what it feels like to be hungry or thirsty.”
“Who’s in charge here at Sheol?”
“No one. I guess whoever or whatever runs the universe put us here, but no one rules. There’s nothing to rule, really.”
“No one dies and leaves?”
“Nope. We can’t die again. We’re here forever.” As she finished this sentence, Keith noticed a change in the large crowds. All those who had been sitting now stood up, and everyone trudged over to the nearest mound of worms. Each person scattered an inch-thick pile of maggots on the ground, lay down, and scooped piles of earthworms on top until they were covered. Then, they closed their eyes and went to sleep. Keith stared, both fascinated and revolted as, one by one, the millions of visible people did this. He noticed, too, as the old woman had said, it was getting distinctly darker and colder. Even his informant finally went over, gathered up a worm bed, and fell asleep.
Keith was fairly tired now, too, but couldn’t stomach the thought of putting worms on himself. He peered around in the semidarkness for other objects. Nothing. He lay down on the hard, cold ground and tried to sleep.
It quickly became unbearable. Resignedly, he stumbled over to a large, still pile of worms and threw some maggots down. After a minute of revulsion, he lay down. They weren’t as bad as he thought. Like the people, they seemed subdued. Only slightly squirmy. He gave in entirely and tossed earthworms on himself, keeping them away from his face. After what seemed an eternity, he fell asleep, thinking just before he did, I’m gonna be working out this dream in therapy for years.
Day broke, albeit in a subtle way. Keith awakened to find the temperature had risen back to the original 60–65 degrees, and the lighting had gone from utter black to dim but visible. This also caused Keith to think perhaps he wasn’t dreaming, maybe they were right, and that he’d died and gone to the afterlife. He thought of this grim prospect for a good fifteen minutes or so. Finally, he sighed and joined his fellows in gathering up his wormy bedding and shoving it into rough piles. With great disgust, he picked out several maggots and worms that had crawled into his ears and his ass. A maggot had even gone into the tip of his urethra. He managed to get it out and threw it on the pile, shivering with revulsion as he did. Keith tried to put the incident out of his mind by finding the old woman he’d talked to the previous day. It wasn’t difficult. She was standing twenty feet from him.
He quickly approached her. “Remember me?”
She smiled slightly. “Yes. We were talking about this place yesterday.”
He returned her grin. “Exactly. And I have many more questions. Most of them philosophical and religious.”
“I don’t know as much about that. But I know someone who did. Maybe he still does. Come with me.” She led him away from their area. They walked perhaps a hundred yards away, his hostess looking carefully at each face. Eventually she pointed to a Latino-looking man in his fifties. “Father Swan might be able to help you.”
At this, the man looked up. His eyes, unlike his neighbors, weren’t blank. He motioned Keith to sit down. “How can I help you, son?”
Keith sat down and got right to the point. “Why is God punishing all of us by putting us here?”
“Is it punishment?” Swan’s green eyes glittered.
“I’d say so. I don’t see any angels playing flutes or people basking in loving bliss. I see zombie-like, mute people doing nothing, forced to put worms on themselves to warm up at night.”
“When you forget everything, you won’t be so unhappy. You’ll just be. And I wouldn’t call it punishment. Every person comes here. Good and bad people. I saw a vicious, unrepentant serial killer, whose name escapes me, here along with several people I know to be nearly saints. Or, take me. I was a pretty decent fellow on Earth, yet I’m here.”
“So was I! What is this? I was taught that good people go to Heaven, and bad to Hell. Why didn’t we?”
“So, was being a good Christian a waste of time? Should I have just been a hedonist, had fun?”
“My gut feeling is no; you did the right thing. But, at the same time, it wouldn’t make a difference in where you went after death. Whether you were Christian or not doesn’t either. I’ve met members of all the major religions. Buddhists, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, etc. Some good and some bad. All here, just the same.”
“This doesn’t bother you?” screamed Keith. This apathy was driving him nuts.
Swan’s tone stayed mild and calm. “It did at first. But I’ve come to accept it. Besides, I’ll forget everything soon enough.”
“Well, fuck that! I’m not going to accept it. I don’t want to forget.”
“It won’t matter. You will.”
That was it for Keith. He stalked off angrily, leaving Swan and the old woman without another word. He walked for about ten minutes, until he was in the midst of a different set of people. He had some serious thinking to do.
Dawn broke, and Keith leapt up out of his pile of vermin. It was his fifth day here, and he had a busy day planned. It was nice to have a plan that involved action, for a change. He’d spent the last three days praying feverishly. On the second day, to God. Then, when nothing changed, even his internal feelings, he’d prayed the next day to an amorphous, non-Christian Creator being. The fourth day—which, again was identical to the others—prompted Keith to pray to Evil, and to Satan in general, out of desperation. Again, no change.
So, today he was an atheist. No more praying to anyone. He was his own deity, free to do what he wished. And he had certain questions he wanted answered. The foremost being, what happens when you tried to kill someone here?
And so, imbued with his zeal, he looked at the faces of his immediate comrades, studying them. After a few minutes he found a guy who resembled someone he’d hated back home in Jersey. That guy had been a bully who’d picked on Keith. This one was close enough. He walked up to his intended victim, who sat there unmoving, looking arguably like Rodin’s ‘The Thinker.’ The man’s hair was a sickly yellow color.
Keith reared back, and hit the man with a haymaker, using all his strength. The man flew backward, landing flat on his back, his nose trickling blood. Even this was slow, though. Keith waited to see what the guy would do.
The man resumed his sitting position and made no sound. Didn’t even take notice of the slight wound. Didn’t even look up at Keith, who was standing right in front of him.
That was the most infuriating thing of all. Keith knocked him over again, jumped on the man’s torso, and started pummeling the man’s face. Punch after punch, letting all the anger and frustration of the past few days pour out of him. The man’s face broke and bled some more under the attack, but, as always, not as dramatically as on Earth. The man made no effort to defend himself, however, and still made no sound. Finally, Keith gave in completely to his rage. He grabbed the man’s throat with both hands and slammed his head against the hard ground eight times until the skull was broken thoroughly, and his victim’s brains and blood lay strewn in a big mess over his body. Keith paused for a second, unsure of what he’d done. Ashamed, he looked up and around. No change. All the people were in the exact same positions as before. Only one woman raised her head slowly, casually took in the kill scene, then lowered it again without changing expression. This renewed Keith’s fury. He gave the corpse’s head a few more slams for good measure. Then he stared into the man’s eyes (or what he could see of them through the cuts and bruises). No movement. No sign of life.
Keith crowed triumphantly, “I killed someone! He’s dead! I killed an already dead person!” He let loose some curses, too, daring any gods or goddesses to punish him for his crime. Again, nothing happened. He thought some more and smiled. He’d always wondered what human flesh tasted like. Here was his chance.
He tore a chunk of flesh from his victim’s ruined face and popped it in his mouth. Forced himself to chew. It was awful. Not bad tasting, exactly, just a complete lack of taste. Spitefully, he kept going and forced himself to swallow. His esophagus didn’t help much, either. It took him several minutes to actually get the flesh down. Disappointed, he turned back to the corpse. Grabbed a handful of slimy, wet brains. Keith put these in his mouth, too, and gagged. No taste! Worse than plain rice cakes. Resignedly, he spat out the brains and walked away. Spent the rest of the day alternately feeling guilty and victorious, and ultimately, just hollow.
The following day, he woke up somewhat happily as another idea struck him. Sex! He’d try to have sex. Why not? He wasn’t concerned about being punished, anymore. Might as well.
Thus invigorated, he removed the worms and maggots from himself (and, as always, from within himself, although he’d gotten used to this) and walked around, searching for a prospective mate. Keith tried to ignore the nagging doubt he had with this idea: he had no lust here. He was naked, and everyone else was, including many young attractive women, but he’d yet to be turned on. He remembered what it was like to want someone sexually, but he didn’t feel it. Really, the only reason he was enthusiastic at all was the idea of doing something different.
But these thoughts he managed to suppress. Then he had a revelation. As he watched, dumbstruck, a woman popped into existence. A very familiar woman. An ex-lover, in fact. An astounding coincidence, considering he’d only bedded seven women in his life. But, sure enough, it looked exactly like his college girlfriend, Sheila. And the new people had better memories! He wasted no time in approaching her.
“Sheila, is that you?” He already knew the answer. Could see the characteristic largish mole right below her belly button.
“Yes,” she said.
“It’s me, Keith Moody,” he said, and waited to see if she said anything else. She didn’t. He was afraid of this; roughly half of the newcomers seemed as dull and sedated as the veterans, right away. Of the others, most of them forgot everything within hours.
But, maybe in this case, it didn’t matter. “You want to have sex?” he asked.
She shrugged and just stared at him. Thus encouraged (or more properly, not discouraged) he set about making love to her.
It was a disaster. Completely disappointing. Kissing her, caressing her, was like kissing or touching a warm, fleshy robot. He felt nothing, and it was obvious she didn’t either. He kept at it, though, angrily trying to get some pleasure, any pleasure, or at least something new. She didn’t seem to care one way or the other. Keith tried to warm her up, using both finger and tongue, to no avail. She seemed disinterested and dry. Quite a contrast to the excitement this had caused her back in college. He did have a moment of joy when, with her willing (if jaded) help, he achieved an erection. Even that was wrong, somehow, though. He was happy only because he did get it up, not in the act itself. But he had to see it through. Keith entered her, pumping away madly.
And madly. And madly. It must have been forty or fifty minutes. Still no indications that he would come, or that she would, or anything. Ironic, really. There had been times in his life when women had said he’d come too fast; now he wasn’t at all, but no one was benefiting from it. This was so pointless, and joyless. Had he ever really enjoyed this? It was hard to believe. And Sheila looked like she was reading tax forms. Completely dead. Well, they both were, but animated. At least he was. Finally, he stopped. Withdrew. He started to apologize but stopped as Sheila simply sat up and stared off into space. Didn’t appear to notice him. Probably, she didn’t. It was a familiar sight to Keith. Just especially depressing this time.
Without another word, he stood up and walked off. Before he’d gone fifty feet, he stopped in shock and horror. The murder victim of the previous day sat in front of him, wounds healed, ‘living’ again. Even t
his unfortunate action had failed.
Keith was up and about at first light, walking around briskly. It was one of the few fun things left. Not all that stimulating, but much better than sitting or standing around, as his comrades did constantly. It was also one of the few new or different activities he’d tried that worked properly. He had tried. He always gave himself credit for that. In the three days since the ill-fated sexual encounter with Sheila, he’d tried to buck the trends and learn things about Sheol at every turn. One night, Keith had attempted to stay awake at night. He’d managed to hold out for two or three hours before the cold had driven him back into the familiar cocoon of invertebrates. The lack of light, even dim lighting, hadn’t helped either. Walking around had been pretty futile as he’d kept running into worm-covered people. As he’d stood there, shivering violently, he hadn’t felt all that rebellious, or innovative, just foolish. So, that experiment had failed, too.
The next day, he’d studied the worms more. He was very curious about them, and why they were here. They clearly didn’t eat either, yet still survived, if in the same subdued manner as the humans. Out of boredom and cathartic cruelty he’d dispatched several, wondering if they, too, would appear, unharmed, the next day, à la his blonde murder victim. Of course, how would he tell? All worms pretty much looked the same. Keith had eaten a few as well. Which had caused him some measure of mirth, remembering the old kid’s song, ‘Nobody loves me. Everybody hates me. I’m going to eat worms and die.’ Alas, the worms were as unflavorful as the human flesh. In addition, their slight squirming did nothing for their charms. He’d choked down a few, then quit.