by Tim Hawken
“No.” Lotte shook her head. “Zoroaster told me that this is not like Heaven or Hell, where the dead can look on the living. We are locked in the unknown. It was made like this on purpose so that we are motivated to make it to Heaven to find out the fate of our families. That is the real torture of this place; not the grey boredom, but ignorance of where our loved ones are.”
I hugged her tightly. I knew the same torture. Not knowing if Charlotte was safe was the hardest part of being in Hell; the rest was a mere shadow of that pain.
“I know that must have been hard,” I said to her.
“It was so hard, Michael,” she continued. “I didn’t know what to do. Zoroaster was a great councillor, though. He drew me out of my shell of suffering. He was candid about my options. I could stay here and wait, or I could go to Heaven. He warned that if I tried to go Hell by committing sin I might never make it out again. My best chance was to stay here and hope you passed through one day. When that day would come I could not know, but it was my only real choice. So, that is what I’ve done, my love. I have stayed here and waited for you. I didn’t want to go to Heaven. I know that you question everything before you accept it, so would never go straight to Paradise. While I settled here in Purgatory, Zoroaster advised me to stay busy while I was here. He said it might be centuries before you arrived, if ever. I knew you would make it here, though. I had faith in you, Michael. I had faith and I was right. You have found me - and even sooner than I had hoped!
I leaned in and kissed her again. She was safe; Lotte was with me. I had faith in her as well. I knew she would wait for me.
“Now please, Michael,” she said, pulling away from our embrace. “You need to tell me. What happened to you? What happened to us that day? Do you know?”
My face fell. I wasn’t ready for this. All I had thought about since finding myself in Hell was getting back to Lotte, yet I hadn’t thought about what I would do when I did. All I had wanted was to be close to her again. What was I supposed to say to her? The initial relief that had flooded out of me at seeing her was slowly being replaced with dread. I was the ruler of Hell. I was becoming a demon. She had accepted my imperfections before, but maybe this would be too much. Her death at the hands of Gideon, the truth about Asmodeus and his relationship with me: it would all sound so ridiculous. How could I tell her that she had been murdered because of me? That I was the son of Satan? That all she had been put through was my fault? I held her by both arms and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.
“I am okay,” I whispered in her ear. “It will take a long time to explain properly. Can we go somewhere and talk?”
She pulled back again and looked inside at her students.
“They won’t stay quiet for too much longer. There’s nearly another hour left in the class. I’m sorry, I can’t leave them.” She locked my eyes with a pleading gaze.
“Then I’ll wait,” I said. “I waited my whole life for you, Lotte. I would wait for my afterlife as well if you asked.”
“You’re a sweet, sweet man,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “Can you wait inside? I don’t want to lose sight of you ever again. I need to know everything.”
TWELVE
FROM THE BACK OF THE ROOM, I watched Charlotte as she taught. She had an amazing affinity with children that I would never understand. It was as if they could see the kindness within her and were drawn to it. They sat and listened to her, behaving like angels. Some had visible scars on their bodies, some were shy, some were loud. They were of every different color and race I could think of, about fifty or sixty in total. They sat on the grey carpet of the room watching their teacher, like cross-legged sunflowers.
Lotte stood at the front, not just delivering the lesson, but asking them questions and interacting. She drew them out of their shyness when they were unsure. She encouraged them, even when they grew bold and asked serious questions.
The Irish boy, David, who had stood forward to protect her outside, put his hand up in the air.
“Yes, David?” Charlotte asked.
“Why are we here and not in Heaven?”
Her eyes flicked to mine and I could see a look of melancholy in her eyes. She didn’t lose her smile, however.
“That’s a very good question, David,” she replied. “Like all good questions, there is more than one answer. Since you’ve asked such a great question, could you come up to sit with me at the front of the class?”
He stood up like a rocket, puffing out his chest with pride, and made his way to the front. He had orange tinged hair and a freckled face. I tried to guess his age. He was taller than most of the younger children and very skinny. He could have been anywhere between six and ten. Charlotte pulled forward two wooden chairs and arranged them facing each other. Once he had made it to the chairs, she asked him to sit opposite her.
“Now,” she said, clasping her hands over her lap. “I want you to help me demonstrate truthfulness to the rest of the class. Can you do that, David?”
“Aye.” He nodded.
“I’m going to be truthful with you as much as I can, and I want you to do the same. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Okay. The hard part about telling you why you are here in Purgatory and not in Heaven is because it’s different for everyone. Only you really know the answers, not me. I can help ask the right questions, but unless you are honest, then the real answer won’t come out. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” he said, looking a little uncertain. “Do you mean that I have to tell you things about me, even if I don’t want to?”
“Yes. And if you tell me truthfully I might be able to help you understand why you’re not in Heaven yet. Then if you understand, maybe we can figure out how you can go to Heaven as well.”
“Okay.” He smiled.
Charlotte looked around the room at the children.
“This is an important lesson, children, so please make sure you pay attention. When I ask David a question about something, ask the same question to yourself in your head. Think about your answer and see if it makes you feel good inside or bad inside. If it feels bad, then please come and see me after class and tell me. Now,” she said turning back to the boy, “David, how long have you been here?”
“Two weeks,” he replied.
“And can you remember dying?”
“No,” he said. “The last thing I remember about being alive is that I was on my bike and a car was coming at me real fast.”
Charlotte took in a deep breath. “David, I think maybe that car hit you and that might be what killed you. Do you understand that?”
“Aye,” he said, looking up thoughtfully. “My ma always told me to stay off the road, but I liked riding on the road because I could go faster.”
“And are you okay? Does thinking about the car make you feel bad?” Charlotte asked slowly.
“No,” he said earnestly. “One minute I was on my bike, and the next minute I was sitting with Mr. Zoroaster. It didn’t hurt. I just miss my ma and da.” His face grew a little sad.
“You’re doing very well, David.” Charlotte told him. “I’m happy you’re being so honest.”
The boy’s face brightened into a smile once again.
“Have you ever stolen anything, David?” she asked.
“No.” He shook his head.
“Please take some time and think about it,” Lotte probed. “Have you ever taken anything that isn’t yours? It’s okay if you have. You’re safe here. We’re your friends.”
He sat with his eyes shut for a while, screwing them up tightly in concentration.
“I haven’t stolen anything,” he said finally.
“Have your parents ever told you off for being naughty?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding his head slowly. “I called my sister a bad word last month. My dad was really angry.”
“Did he hit you?” she asked.
“No.” David shook his head furiously. “He yelled a lot, though. He told me
if he ever heard me call my sister that again, he’d send me away to boarding school.”
“How did that make you feel?”
He thought for a moment.
“Scared. I didn’t want to go away from my family.” He started to cry a little.
“It’s alright David, it’s alright. We don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.”
“No,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I want to keep going. I need to go to Heaven. My mum always told me that’s where we’d go if we died. If she’s trying to come and find me, that’s where she’ll look. I have to be there in case she’s looking for me.”
Charlotte swallowed loudly. It was clear she was trying her best to hold back from crying herself. She bowed her head for a few moments before continuing.
“Okay, David. Is there any other time you can remember your parents being more angry with you?”
“Never,” he said instantly. “They were both so mad at me.”
“What about another time. What about…” She paused and looked at him for a moment. “David, what did you call your sister?”
The boy went red in the face and shook his head. He crossed him arms over his chest in defiance.
“I don’t want to say it, Miss Charlotte. It’s a very bad word.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“It’s alright, David. I’m an adult. We’re all very truthful here. It might be a bad word, but it’s only a word. It might be important.”
David kept his eyes downward for a few moments, before he said softly, “Protestant.”
“Excuse me?” Charlotte said.
“I called her a filthy Protestant and I said she was going to Hell.” He burst into tears. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have said it. She’s not a Protestant, she’s a good Catholic girl.” He was shaking in his seat, covering his face and crying into his hands. “I’m sorry, Jesus.”
Charlotte leant over and rubbed him on the back. I was baffled, sitting at the back. Surely this wasn’t why he was here. Charlotte was whispering into his ear as she patted his shoulder. I leaned forward, trying to grasp what she was saying. I reached out and I felt a strong sense of compassion coming from Charlotte. The remorse of the boy was buried beneath it.
David composed himself, but remained in the chair. The rest of the children sat still with sad looks on their faces. A few of the girls had tears in their eyes at seeing their classmate upset.
“David,” Charlotte said to him softly. “I promise that is not why you are here in Purgatory. But I think we’re getting close to understanding why you are.”
David straightened in his seat and stopped crying. I straightened up as well and so did the rest of the students. It seemed we were all as curious as each other to hear what Lotte was about to say.
Charlotte took a tissue from her pocket and wiped David’s eyes. She mopped up a bubbly trail of snot that had seeped from his nose. Once he was calmer, she continued.
“David. Is your family a good Catholic family? Did you go to church and say your prayers?”
He nodded.
“And does Jesus say that you should love your neighbor?”
“Aye, miss.”
“Were any of your neighbors Protestants?”
“No.” He shook his head vigorously. “They live on the other side of the city. We stayed away from them; they’re evil people.”
Charlotte paused. She sighed heavily.
“Why do you think they’re evil, David?”
“Because they follow Satan. They don’t follow the Pope. They don’t follow Jesus. They shoot Catholics and want to take our land.”
“Who told you that?”
“Everyone.”
“Who is everyone?” Lotte asked patiently.
“My ma and da, the priests - everyone.”
Charlotte closed her eyes and paused. I couldn’t believe my ears. Living in America, I had known of the centuries old enmity between the Catholics in the South of Ireland and the Protestants in the north, but had never really understood the depth of it. Children must have been indoctrinated into each side at such an early age that it became a part of them. They lived and believed the hatred of their parents and their grandparents.
“David,” Lotte said, breaking my thoughts. “This is going to be very hard for me to explain, but I’m going to try. I think I know why you are in Purgatory and not in Heaven.”
The boy’s eyes went wide with wonder. A few of the children in the room gasped with excitement. Charlotte looked to everyone in the class but remained seated. She was wringing her hands nervously.
“What is it, Miss?” David prodded. “Please, I need to know.”
“I’m trying to find the right words,” Charlotte said, not looking at David.
“Please, miss.”
“David. How old are you?”
“I’m nine, miss.”
“Okay,” she said. “Have you ever known your parents to lie to you? To not tell you the truth?”
“No!” he said, angrily.
“Please, David,” she said softly. “I’m sure your parents are very good people, I am trying to make you understand something.”
David settled down somewhat in his chair.
“Do you believe in Santa Claus?” Charlotte asked carefully.
“No,” he said, looking out to some of the younger children in the class. “Santa is for babies.”
“What about the Easter Bunny?”
“It’s the same thing.”
“But when you were younger, you believed they were real?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “My little sister still does. I have to keep it a secret so I don’t spoil the fun for her.”
“Who spoiled the fun for you David? Who told you the truth?”
“A friend at school told me,” he said. “He told me to stay awake and watch my parents on Christmas Eve. He said that they were really the ones who put the presents in my stocking. I didn’t believe him, so I asked my Da. He told me that I was old enough to know the truth, but asked me to keep the secret.”
“But before you asked your dad about the truth, he was the one who had told you that Santa was real, wasn’t he?”
The boy nodded. “Yes, but it was just make believe.”
“And your mother, and the priests? When you were little they all told you the same fib, that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were real, didn’t they?”
David looked at Charlotte shocked. Realization spread across his face.
“You cannot blame your parents, though,” Charlotte added quickly, “Their parents told them the same little fib when they were young too. It’s just a big trick to keep children happy on Christmas Day.”
“But why would they do that?” David said. “We would be happy with just presents; we don’t need a fairytale to keep us happy.”
“Some people like fairy tales,” Charlotte said. “Some fairy tales are lots of fun.”
David smiled. “I did like Santa when I was little,” he agreed. “But I also liked knowing a secret the other children didn’t.”
Charlotte nodded her head gravely. She looked to me at the back of the room again. I nodded knowingly and she pressed on.
“David, there are other secrets that adults like to keep from children as well. Sometimes they even believe the secrets themselves because no one has told them the truth. Sometimes only a few people know the real truth.”
“What are they?” he asked, moving to the edge of his seat. In his interest he’d completely forgotten about the rest of the class who all leaned forward expectantly as well.
“I don’t even know all of them,” Lotte said. “But I know some of them.”
“Tell me,” he demanded.
“David,” she said in mock conspiracy, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Protestant’s aren’t all bad people.”
“What?” He sat back. “Yes they are, they put bombs in our pubs, they killed my uncle.”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes, some Protestant
s have done bad things in the past and some are evil people. I agree with you. Some of them have hurt others in the name of God. What you need to understand is that not all Protestants are bad, just like some Catholics are bad people too. At the same time there are a lot of very good Catholics, but there are a lot of good Protestants as well.”
“No there aren’t,” David said shaking his head. “My dad said all Protestants are scumbags. My dad said.”
“Your dad said Santa Claus was real too,” Charlotte pressed softly.
David hung his head.
“Did you know any Protestants, David?” Charlotte asked.
He shook his head as he looked to his feet. Lotte reached out and took his hand gently.
“Then how do you know for sure that they’re all bad people if you’ve never met one?”
He looked up sullenly and shrugged his shoulders.
“David, when you hate a group of people for no reason, without really knowing them, that is called prejudice. It could also be called racist. Have you heard that word before?”
David shook his head again. Charlotte looked back to the class.
“Does anyone else know what prejudice or racist means?”
A black girl at the front of the class put her hand in the air.
“Yes, Ella?” Charlotte asked the girl.
“It’s when white people call me nigger.”
Charlotte nodded her head. “Yes, Ella. That is one example, but it could be many things.”
She looked at David, whose hand she was still holding, and then looked back to the children.
“It is very hard to understand, but sometimes adults can hate people even if they don’t know them. Some white people hate all black people because they are afraid of them. Some people might even hate others because they have more money or land than they do. Others hate because they think they believe in a different God. When you hate someone without knowing them, it is called prejudice. It is one of the worst kinds of hate. This kind of hate creates a lot of violence on Earth. It helps very smart and very evil men trick others into killing each other. Not many people know this is a trick, so they believe what they are doing is right. Children, do you think it’s bad to kill someone?”
