by Inmon, Shawn
Charles turned toward Moondog. “Do you work? Where do you get your money to live on?”
“I inherited a small fortune a few years back. Not enough to travel the world forever in luxury, or buy an entire fleet of Maseratis, but enough to keep me in imported teas for the rest of my life. I was a great disappointment to my father. I was in and out of his will a dozen times. But, when his time on the stage ended, I was in.”
Moondog went through the same tea making ritual he had the night before. Charles found comfort in the sameness of it.
“It wasn’t huge money—a little less than a million bucks—but I live simply. I paid cash for this condo, so now I just have my maintenance fees, utilities, food, imported teas, and organic mind-altering substances.”
“You mean marijuana.”
“Yes, mostly just weed now. There was a time when I experimented farther afield, psilocybins, acid, peyote, that sort of thing. I’m older now, though, and my consciousness seems pretty well expanded, so I just smoke weed now. Would you like to try some?”
“No, it’s not for me.”
“That’s fine, but as sick as you are, the pills they’re going to prescribe for you won’t be able to stop the pain. Weed can help. It’s nature’s pain pill.”
Charles made a mental note that he needed to go get the prescription for his pain and nausea meds filled.
“If I change my mind, I’ll let you know.”
“Here’s your tea,” Moondog said, setting the steaming mug on the cork coaster. “What’s your plan from here? You don’t have to work anymore, so what are you going to do?”
“I honestly don’t know. I didn’t quit my job today; I just took my vacation time next week. It feels wrong to die with unused time like that. My first life, I went rockhounding over on the coast. I guess I’ll do that.”
Charles blew on his tea, took a sip, and his face showed that he didn’t hate it.
“See? New experiences aren’t necessarily bad.”
Charles perked up like he’d just had an idea. “Why don’t you come with me? I can show you how to rockhound in exchange for the tea you’re giving me.”
“Except I don’t want to learn how to rockhound, whatever that is.”
“I didn’t want to try your teas, either.”
“That’s a fair point. What time do you leave?”
“Around 9:00.”
Moondog winced. “That’s late. Or, early, depending. The other thing is, I don’t leave my place much. That’s why all my teas are imported. I don’t want to drive up to Portland to the cool tea shops to get them.”
“What was it you said to me? That I need to try new things and that this might be part of what this great mystery might be about? Is that only true for me, then?”
Moondog looked wounded. “No, it’s not true just for you. It’s easier to focus on the mote in your eye while ignoring the beam in my own.”
Charles sat silently, watching the conflict burn within Moondog.
“You’re right. I don’t like it, but you’re right. I’ll just stay up and go to sleep when we get back.”
Moondog stepped to his bookshelf and hunted through the volumes there. Finally, he pulled a paperback out. He handed it to Charles.
“I’ve been thinking about things I’ve read that might bring you some context. This situation isn’t exactly the same, but it’s got some things in common with what you’re going through.
The cover of the book read, To Your Scattered Bodies Go, by Philip José Farmer.
“The story is about a bunch of people who wake up along this great river. Pretty much everyone who had ever been born wakes up at the same time. When people die, they immediately reincarnate as their adult selves again. It’s part of a series, but like almost every series, the later books aren’t as good as the first.”
Charles set it on the coffee table in front of him and said, “I’ll read it. New things, right?”
Chapter Sixteen
THE NEXT MORNING, CHARLES was up, dressed, and standing in front of Moondog’s door at 9:00 sharp.
He knocked on the door and Moondog answered. He had changed his clothes—he was wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt instead of a tank top, and he had traded his shorts for jeans. A pair of dark sunglasses sat on his head and even though they were still inside, he put them on.
“My eyes look like piss-holes in the snow, but I’d usually be asleep at this time. Do I need to bring anything?”
“No, you should mostly be observing on this first trip. I’ll bring everything we need.”
Moondog nodded, but picked up a tall Thermos sitting on the counter. “I made some great morning tea that I get from London. We don’t have to live like savages!”
Like always, Charles stopped and filled up the Honda on the way out of town, then took the most expeditious route to Netarts Bay.
On the journey, Charles and Moondog rode mostly in silence. Charles was focused on his driving, and Moondog was twitchier and less-settled than he was at home.
Finally, half an hour out of Middle Falls, Moondog said, “Do you ever listen to the radio?”
“Never when I’m driving. I like all my senses focused on my surroundings. If the radio is up too loud, it’s possible I will miss something.”
“And without it, I’m missing something—my music. Your car, your rules, though. No problem.”
Moondog closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, ignoring the scenery moving past. He tapped his hand against his knee in time to Leon Redbone’s Long Gone Lonesome Blues, which he was hearing in his head.
They pulled into the same spot in the same parking lot Charles had parked in his previous life. Charles opened the trunk and took out his rockhounding backpack. He had also thought to bring along a hiking stick he sometimes used on more difficult excursions.
“Sorry, I only have one hiking stick. We’re going to take it easier this time. Last time I was here, I got sick and passed out.”
Moondog raised his hand and said, “No worries. Here, give me the backpack and I’ll carry it for you. Do you mind if I put the Thermos in there?”
“Of course not. And, thank you for carrying that.”
They set out down the hill toward Netarts Bay. After a few minutes of hiking, Charles saw the same log he had sat on previously.
He pointed to it and said, “Let’s sit over here.”
“Feeling not so great?”
“Actually, I feel fine. Much better than I did the last time I took this walk. That’s strange isn’t it?”
“This whole thing is strange, so why not add one more item to the list?”
“The last time I was here, a lady came along and sat here with me for a while. Then, when I collapsed over by the river, she brought me around and helped me back to the car. I’m curious to see if she’ll be here again.”
“More information is good,” Moondog agreed, and produced an extra cup from the pocket of his jacket, spun a second cup off the Thermos, and poured.
Charles looked at the offered cup through narrowed eyes.
“Don’t worry, it’s clean. I just took it out of the dishwasher.”
“I believe that. I’m wondering how clean the inside of your jacket pocket is.”
Moondog took the cup back and set it on the log. He poured still-hot tea in the cup from the Thermos and offered it. “This one came out of the dishwasher this morning, too.”
After a moment, Charles nodded and accepted the cup. He sipped his tea quietly until he nodded to a lone figure approaching from the parking lot.
“That’s her. Her name is Sarah.”
“Probably best not to say, ‘Hi, Sarah,’ when you see her.”
Charles glanced at Moondog. “I’m aware that she hasn’t met me in this life yet.”
As Sarah drew closer, Charles found that he remembered her better than he would have thought. She was dressed exactly as she had been the last time he saw her, and he recognized her firm, steady gait.
As she drew closer to the
men, Sarah nodded a brief greeting at them, then continued on.
“That’s different, right? Last time she stopped and rested here on the log, right?”
“Right. Maybe having two men sitting here put her off, or maybe she recognized that I was in distress last time. She’s a trained nurse, and very competent.”
“Well, one thing we know for sure is that the future will diverge as it moves forward. Things will change.”
“It’s logical that the further we get away from the point I wake each time, the more things will diverge. Unfortunately, with only a month to live, it will never have a chance to do so too much.”
Moondog took the empty cup back from Charles and screwed it back on the Thermos. “You’re getting to be quite the connoisseur, Charles.” He tucked his own cup back in his pocket and hopped off the log.
Charles did the same and they trailed after Sarah toward the Whiskey River.
When they reached the river, Charles reached into the pack on Moondog’s back and retrieved his digging tool. He marched straight to where he had found the agate on the last trip and dug it out again.
He held it up and said, “Some things don’t change. People, yes, but a rock that was buried in my last life is still buried in this one.”
They walked along the river for half a mile and this time Charles was more attentive and found more than a dozen agates and jaspers.
“So, this is it, huh? Rockhounding? The thrill of the chase and all that?”
Charles stood up from dislodging another agate and put his hands against the small of his back with a wince.
“This is it. I know it’s not for everyone. It gets you out in the fresh air, though, and you get to hear the river gurgle and see the sunlight filter through the branches. I think it’s quite nice, actually.”
“I didn’t know you had that kind of poetry in your soul.” Moondog peered up into the shadows and when he glanced back at Charles, he saw that all the color had drained from his face.
“Charles? Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not. This is exactly what happened last time. I feel awful.”
Moondog glanced around, but didn’t see a good resting spot. He grabbed Charles by the arm and said, “Come on, let’s sit down before you fall down. We’ll rest here a bit then head back.”
“Good idea,” Charles said as he plopped down. “At the bottom of the pack, there are some Bit-O-Honey candy bars. That might be good about now—give a little bit of energy.”
“Bit-O-Honey? I swear, Charles, you are an old man before your time. I haven’t heard of them since the sixties.” Moondog fished around the backpack and pulled out the red-and-yellow wrapped bar. He opened it and handed it to Charles.
Charles accepted it and popped one of the honey-flavored taffy treats in his mouth.
“There’s another one in there for you.”
“No thanks. It’s past my bedtime. I don’t want to eat sugar now or I’ll never get to sleep when we get home.”
They rested for a few more minutes, then slowly retreated toward the parking lot.
Charles did not see Sarah on the way back to the Civic.
Overall, the trip to Netarts was more successful in this life. He didn’t collapse face first. Still, by the time they got back to their respective condos, both Charles and Moondog were wiped out. Charles was beginning to feel sicker with each passing moment, and Moondog hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours.
They waved at each other as they hit the hallway, then collapsed into their beds.
Chapter Seventeen
CHARLES MADE HIS NORMAL Sunday shopping trip to Safeway the next day, but first, he thought to check with the Rexall next door to see if Dr. Masin had called in his prescriptions.
He returned home with a bag of groceries and his meds. He didn’t leave his condo again the rest of the day. Instead, he stayed home and made himself toasted cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. It was what his mother had always made him when he was small, so he’d bought everything he needed at Safeway.
He didn’t turn the television on all day—he couldn’t summon up any interest. Instead, he stayed on the couch and read the copy of To Your Scattered Bodies Go. He was fascinated by the concept that everyone who had ever been born was alive again at one point, and couldn’t be killed—at least not permanently.
When the digital clock in the living room glowed 6:30, he microwaved his frozen dinner and sat at his dining room table, reading and still managing to count how many times he chewed each bite.
When dinner was done, he turned the last page in the book.
He stepped out into the hall, locked, unlocked, and relocked his door, then tapped on Moondog’s door.
When Moondog answered, Charles held out the paperback and said, “Do you have the next book?”
“For someone who isn’t adaptable and doesn’t like to try new things, I have to give you credit. Come on in.”
Charles stepped into the condo, but didn’t head toward his spot on the loveseat.
Moondog slid the first book into an open spot in the bookcase, then withdrew the book next to it.
“Here you go. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. This one’s still good, but the last few kind of fall off a little.” Moondog handed Charles the book, then looked him up and down. “You don’t look so great. Was yesterday too much for you? You look a little yellow.”
“Jaundice is one of the symptoms. You don’t look so great, either.”
“I’m too damn old to stay up an entire revolution of the planet. No more of that for me. I slept for twelve hours, and I need to do that again tomorrow to catch up.”
“That’s a myth, you know. You can never actually catch up on missed sleep. Long-term sleep deficit can severely impact your lifespan. I’ve seen the research, conducted over a ten-year period.”
“You’re fun at parties, aren’t you, Charles? Once an actuary, always an actuary, I guess. I’m still going to try. I’m going to bed before the sun comes up today. Try and get back on a normal schedule. Well, normal for me, anyway.”
Charles waved the book at Moondog as an acknowledgement, then walked back to his own condo. He lay down on his bed, which seemed to be the most comfortable place, and looked at the book. It was called The Fabulous Riverboat, and Charles cracked it open immediately.
He read a few pages before his eyes slipped shut and he drifted off.
When he awoke the next morning—several hours after he normally did—he felt worse yet.
He thought of going to see Moondog, so he could talk things over with him, but realized that it would be like knocking on someone’s door at three in the morning.
He shuffled around the apartment, showered, and ate breakfast, but none of it made him feel better. In fact, the bowl of Wheaties felt like a mistake he would come to regret.
He retreated to his bed, opened his book and read a few more pages until he fell asleep again.
When he opened his eyes, he was startled to see that it was nearly dark outside. His nausea had passed, but the overall feeling of malaise was holding strong.
When he sat up, the pain in his back that he remembered from his first life was there. He took one of his pain pills, then walked down the hall to Moondog’s.
When he knocked on the door, Moondog swung it open as though he had been standing inside, waiting for him.
“Come to complain about the second book in the series? I warned you.”
Charles was doing better with his interpersonal communications, but he still wasn’t up to speed on sarcasm.
“No, not at all. In fact, I’m enjoying it. I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to trust your opinion on things like this.”
Moondog smiled and said, “Come on in, Charles. I’ll make us some tea. You look worse than you did yesterday.”
“That’s the most frustrating part of this. I know when I wake up that it’s the best I’m going to feel, and that I’m going downhill steadily after that. If the idea is that I am supposed to try new
things, I’m not sure how to accomplish that when I am so sick.”
“It’s a quandary, no doubt,” Moondog said, putting the kettle on. “We’ll talk about it.”
“I mean, in the Riverworld books, when people wake up, they are in healthy twenty-five year old bodies. I seem to be at a disadvantage.”
“I agree. I’m going to make you some tea that I have imported from Ceylon. It’s supposed to have healing qualities.”
“Dr. Masin is recommending palliative care, which I think means that they keep me so drugged up I won’t mind dying. That sounds kind of appealing when I feel like this. I’m tempted to go home and take all the remaining pain pills. I’ll just wake up in the doctor’s office again, but at least I’ll be okay for a couple of days before this settles in.”
Moondog brought in the cups. The one he set in front of Charles had a colorful peace symbol on it.
“If our working theory is that you’re trying to sand off some rough edges, I don’t know if it helps you to limit your time to just a couple of days.”
“That’s logical,” Charles agreed. He blew on the tea and took a sip. There was a slight bitterness under the flowery flavor of the tea and he made a sour face. “I was starting to think I liked tea, but now I know I only like some teas.”
“That’s because that is a medicinal tea. Things that are good for us rarely taste sweet on our tongues.”
Chapter Eighteen
THE REST OF CHARLES Waters’ third life proceeded predictably. He fought against the illness, but the cancer, in the end, was bigger than any fight he could put up.
Three weeks after he first heard the news in Dr. Masin’s office—three hard-fought, miserable weeks—Charles passed away for the third time. Moondog, despite not liking to leave his condo, was there with him at Middle Falls Hospital when he passed.
Charles opened his eyes again in exactly the same situation as he had twice before. This time, he didn’t panic. He knew exactly what to expect. He sat and listened calmly to what Dr. Masin said. Then, he left the office, avoided the Jaguar, and caught the bus home.
