Under-Heaven

by Tim Greaton

  Filled with apprehension, I tried to shake the feeling that I was speaking with a ghost, which was ironic given that I was as much of a ghost as he was. Nevertheless, I had all I could do keep from spinning around and running for the safety of my own home.

  The old fellow reached a gaunt hand out to me. I shivered and backed just out of his reach. I didn’t want to chance attaching myself to the bad luck or any curse that might have followed this seven-time victim. Maybe he’d been watching one of the Salem witches while she burned and she had thrown an evil spell his way. To a living person my theory might have sounded spectacular, but from where I stood it seemed perfectly plausible: if there could be demons and archangels, why couldn’t there be witches? And, considering how many times this man had been murdered, he might actually have been alive during those witch trials.

  “I don’t remember my last life very well just yet,” he said, gently returning his hand to his own side. “It takes a while for new memories to settle into your original soul.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” I said, “but aren’t they your memories?”

  He nodded. “Sure, but it always takes a while for them to be internalized.”

  “Why don’t they internalize during the years of your life?”

  “It’s an interesting thought,” he agreed, “but it doesn’t work that way. While Earth we have no memory of our past lives. It’s only up here that we have a chance to think about it.”

  Something about what his said sounded essential to me. Maybe this was the very information I needed to make my final decision to move on to Heaven. I asked another question.

  “So when you get reincarnated, you’re not you anymore?”

  The old man dropped his head. From this angle, it was obvious his wispy, thin hair barely covered his scalp. If there had been flies in Under-Heaven, I could easily have seen one trying to hide anywhere on his head. He looked back up.

  “Your first life is mostly who you are as a soul,” he said. “All the other lives feel like strangers at first, but over time those strangers become friends. I’ve absorbed my first three lives pretty well. I assume in another few decades I will absorb the others, too.”

  “But right now you don’t remember your last life?”

  “Oh, I remember it, but not as well as I will.”

  “How can you not remember how you died?” My morbid curiosity fueled the terror in my own head. Suddenly the man’s red stains became prominent again. I desperately wanted to bolt away but forced myself to stay.

  “The first death is always the hardest.” He gave a re­assuring smile. “I was an old man, as you see me now, when it happened the first time. It’s not easy to let go of that first life. Thinking of that arrow in my stomach still makes me uncomfortable.”

  “You were killed by American Indians?”

  “Yes, a wonderful nation of people. It’s unfortunate that they were so ill-treated by the Europeans who took over.”

  “You like them, even after they murdered you?”

  “Of course. Besides, I deserved it.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I stole corn seeds.”

  “You were killed over seeds?”

  “Back then, seeds could mean the difference between life and death. The Indian tribes used to move around from region to region, and many of them would plant crops in a field so that they would have something to eat when they came back to a particular area. By stealing their seeds, I could have forced a famine on their families.”

  I nodded. It did sound serious when he put it that way.

  “I’m pretty sure I was shot this last time,” he said.

  I was almost afraid to ask, but I did.

  “By who?”

  If he had said by a lobsterman, I’m certain I would have fainted; instead he said, “I’m not sure yet, but I think it was my brother or sister.”

  “So how long do you’ll leave for Heaven?” I asked.

  “Who says I’m going to Heaven?”

  I let my eyes roam up and down his white suite and sparkling white shoes again. Maybe there was something about Heaven and Hell I didn’t yet understand. Lord knew the angels didn’t specialize in straightforward answers—and my Uncle Finneus…well, let’s just say he wasn’t exactly facile with the truth.

  “You look too white to go to Hell,” I said.

  “You’re probably right,” he chuckled, “but I wasn’t thinking of going to Hell. I’m going back to Earth.”

  “But you’ve been murdered a lot already,” I blurted out.

  The chuckle subsided, but the old man still retained a tiny smile.

  “True enough,” he said, “but I like it down there.” He nodded his head. It seemed as if he was already plotting his next life. He squirmed and after a few seconds of silence said, “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go rest on that comfortable couch in my living room. It was pleasant speaking with you, though.”

  I thanked him as he eased up onto his frail legs and went inside. My head swirled with confusion. How could anyone endure as much trauma as he had, and yet still be willing to go back for more? I was both horrified and intrigued at the same time. I think a tiny seed of understanding had begun to grow in me that day. In deep in thought, I returned home.

  “You sure talking to him was a good idea?” Grandma Clara asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I answered honestly as I settled onto my couch.

  Seven stains swam like barracudas through my mind.

  It was on the fifth night when Jesse’s father finally showed up. The moon was out and Jesse could see him standing on the sidewalk three stories below. Something was wrong, though. There were two other people with him: one much larger, probably another man; the other smaller and standing with a slouch. Jesse felt his heart sink, because he knew he couldn’t let two strangers into their building.

  Hoping his father hadn’t seen him, Jesse ducked behind the curtain. His little palm rubbed back and forth across the grip of his Light-saber flashlight. He didn’t want to let his father down, but he also knew how his dad’s friends could be. Twice, parties with people like that had nearly gotten them thrown out of their apartment. Though he didn’t want his father sleeping in the cold, Jesse couldn’t allow his loud and sometimes violent friends inside.

  He just couldn’t.

  Jesse pulled the curtain back just slightly and peeked outside again. All three were looking up toward the window. Maybe they didn’t all want to come inside. Maybe the other two people were just keeping his father company until the door was opened.

  He had no way to know.

  Jesse wondered if he should wait to see if the other two people disappeared, but as soon as he thought of it, he knew the answer: the others could easily hide someplace where he couldn’t see them. His father might even have more friends waiting near the front of the laundromat. Jesse didn’t want to imagine what kinds of problems it would cause if he let a whole bunch of nose-candy people inside.

  He knew that would be bad.

  He took one last brief glance out at his dad and his two friends and then, though it broke his little heart, five-year-old Jesse let the curtain fall back for the last time and trudged back to his room. His young mind held no conscious memory of past lives or of heavens stacked upon heavens. Instead it was filled with love for his father and a deep sense of guilt for abandoning him on a frigid, wintery night. Miserable, he crawled into bed and snuggled into the neck of his stuffed dog. Streetlights reflected off the frost that had crawled up the outside of his bedroom window like a disease.

  I wouldn’t have missed Vicky’s high school graduation for all the pleasantness in Under-Heaven. Each time I had settled into her mind over the last few weeks, she seemed to be filled with excitement and nervousness for the occasion. I had also witnessed half a dozen fights between her and my aunt and uncle. It seemed that the main point of contention between them was Kevin, her latest boyfriend. He was a high school dropout in his early twenties who never seem
ed to work but always seemed to have a surplus of cash. His hair was long, nearly shoulder length, and he wore a black leather jacket even on the warmest days. He and my sister had been dating for the about six months. My sister, of course, liked him because of his rough demeanor. And my aunt and uncle disliked him for exactly the same reason—that combined with their concern over his invisible stream of money. My Uncle Bert had several times used the term “connected” to describe his suspicions.

  From the fragments of events I had witnessed during the past two weeks, I pieced together that my sister would only go to her graduation if Kevin went. My aunt and uncle were deathly against it, but finally offered a compromise that Kevin could attend the outdoors high school graduation ceremony, but that he would not sit anywhere near the family. Vicky agreed.

  Though my aunt’s and uncle’s position might have seemed extreme, it took on a more moderate tone when you learned that Kevin had twice kept Vicky out all night and had once threatened to beat my uncle’s skull in with a baseball bat if he ever called the cops on Kevin again. Neither my sister nor my aunt and uncle were fully happy with the final compromise, but all three accepted it.

  Unfortunately, Kevin had no such inclination. My aunt and uncle couldn’t have known how sorry they would be for not allowing him to join them in the audience.

  I was so anxious to see my sister’s proud event that I sat at the edge of the fountain pool for two hours before my family arrived at the school. Grandma Clara, of course, had joined me, as had Amber who happened to be visiting that day. I knew many of our other relatives would be watching from Heaven as well.

  I tried to get Uncle Finneus to watch, too, but he insisted that the sun was bad for his skin. I had seen him out of doors only twice in the fifteen years he had been living with me in Under-Heaven, and neither time was longer than a few seconds, barely long enough for his shiny black shoes to touch the grass before he hurried back inside. My Grandma Clara claimed ignorance about his aversion to the out-of-doors, but I had silently developed my own theory. I suspected that my Uncle was worried about demons. Though I knew the wretched creatures of Hell could go into the little white houses that largely comprised my Under-Heaven, I also knew that the archangels wouldn’t have looked kindly on a demon that barged into the house of a person with my mostly pure white color. In short, I thought that as long as Uncle Finneus was inside my house, he was safe.

  Grandma Clara, Amber and I stared down into the pool as the ceremony began. We watched several teachers and school administrators get up and speak. A dozen awards were issued to various students. Then a large man in a blue suit and red tie read the students names, one at a time, from a lengthy list. Each student rose when his or her name was called and crossed the stage. A tall blond woman in a skirt and formal jacket greeted them with a handshake, and a shorter, brunette woman handed each one a diploma rolled and tied with a maroon ribbon. Given that Vicky sat toward the back of the students in gowns and the students in the front went first, we had a long wait in store.

  I would like to have settled into my sister’s mind to hear what was being said, but that would have been rude given that there were others watching. In retrospect, I’m sorry that I hadn’t at least taken the time to scan the crowd and the school grounds for Vicky’s boyfriend. Though it wouldn’t have changed anything, it might have alleviated some of our shock and surprise when he did show up.

  After a long time watching other young people accept their diplomas, Vicky rose and made her way to the two women. She was luminous as she strode across the stage. Her long, brunette hair fell in soft curls from beneath her maroon cap. Though her gown was loose and identical to all the others being worn, she had a way of carrying herself that made it look more like a fashion statement than a shapeless robe. I was breathless as she held out her hand to accept her ribbon-wrapped diploma. Suddenly, we saw the heads of nearly every person, including Vicky, swing to the right of stage. I shifted our view just in time to see Kevin’s motorcycle soar across the grass and round the corner of the bleachers, kicking dirt up into the audience stands as it did. Just before it looked like his motorcycle might skid out of control, Kevin yanked on the handlebars and brought it to a temporary halt beside the bottom row of bleachers. Like some elementary school bully, he reached out and snatched a floral hat right from the head of an elderly woman beside him before moving on. The way she jumped back and gripped at her scalp made me suspect he had ripped some hatpins out of her hair at the same time.

  By then, most of the graduating students had risen from their seats and were jostling each other to get a better view. Caps were tumbling and rolling off the edge of the stage. The motorcycle kicked up clods of dirt and grass as Kevin zoomed to the base of the stage, right below my sister.

  He held his hand up for Vicky.

  A dozen men and women, most in suits but several in faculty graduation robes, raced from various locations to converge on Kevin’s motorcycle. One balding man actually got hold of a handlebar, but Kevin’s upraised fist came down so hard we could see blood explode from the man’s nose as he fell to the grass. The other pursuers paused, looking from one to the other. One woman in robes dropped her eyeglasses and fell to her knees to retrieve them. For a moment, I thought the closest three men were going to attack Kevin, but a woman on the stage threw up her hands and shouted something.

  Kevin waved for my sister to join him, and I was saddened to see the grin on her face. She flung her cap, dropped her diploma. Then—robe still over her clothes—she slid down from the stage and hopped onto the back of his motorcycle. Chunks of grass and dirt spewed all over the would-be pursuers as the motorcycle tore away with my sister on the back.

  I didn’t need to look to know how Grandma Clara and Amber felt about the scene. Somber, we all turned away and went into my house.

  “That Kevin’s quite a fellow,” my Uncle Finneus said as we came through the door. I made a special point to remain between him and Amber as we all settled into the living room. “I think she’s in for some interesting times with that young whelp,” my uncle finished.

  “How did you see?” I asked, suddenly realizing the obvious incongruity.

  My uncle smiled.

  “Let’s just say there are more ways to view things below than just that silly fountain.”

  Amber snarled.

  My uncle flinched, but remained seated.

  By holding them sternly in place, you could force a cat and a mouse side-by-side, but let go for only a second and a grand chase would ensue. In this case, it was obvious who the cat would be if my enforced cease-fire ever gave way.

  “You’re not supposed to use crystal balls, you old bat,” my Grandma Clara said to him. “It’s against the pact.”

  Uncle Finneus shrugged.

  “I’ve never been much for silly rules,” he said. “If no one is supposed to look at the goings on down there, why do you people have that ridiculous fountain? And I’m sure you’ve got an even more elaborate system in use up above.”

  “We’re not the ones who constantly meddle with affairs down there,” my grandmother Clara said. “The more you fallen see of the world, the more you interfere.”

  “I resent that,” Uncle Finneus exclaimed. “I haven’t meddled in nearly twenty years.”

  “Ah ha, but you admit that you’ve meddled before.”

  “Not much,” Uncle Finneus said. He let his lower lip protrude dramatically. “Of course, I did have to deal with that Casey Edds character. Now, mind you, it’s not that I regret having my fine nephew here in Under-Heaven, but what that fellow did to our family was just not kind.”

  I was surprised the mention of my family’s nemesis didn’t send me into a bout of fear or anger. Of course, I would always retain distaste for the man, but the emotional wound had largely healed over.

  “We saw you,” Grandma Clara said. “It wasn’t your place to punish him.”

  “If not I, then who?” my uncle said with a defiant pout. “That child-killer deserved
no better and probably should have gotten worse.”

  I suddenly felt guilty at my desire to know what vengeance my uncle had enacted. It’s funny, but in Under-Heaven you grow an acute sense of conscience, not just about the things you actually do and say, but also about the things you think. Even as I found myself wishing that my uncle’s retribution had been sufficient, I knew that my sneakers were growing darker. Color had begun to seep up my pant cuffs by the time my uncle spoke again.

  “I would have killed him,” Uncle Finneus said, “but he had a pretty strong following down below that might have made things too easy for him, so I just lopped off an arm and a foot instead.”

  Grandma Clara stood. “Sometimes, Finneus, you are just not fit to be around.” There was no humor in her voice at all; she meant what she said.

  Amber had also gotten to her feet. She took the momentary break in manners to express her own opinion. Faster than any living body could have moved, she lunged past me and had my uncle in a painful-looking arm lock before I even realized what had happed.

  “I’m not afraid of that wretched beast,” my uncle gasped as I pulled him from her powerful grip. He wasted no time getting to his stairway, however. With one foot on his stairs, he said, “Let the Gods, not a Neanderthal, judge me on the propriety of my actions,” he said as he disappeared into the cavernous home he had built below. Never mind that Amber was actually many thousands of years removed from the Neanderthals. Also, it didn’t seem necessary to state the obvious: GOD had already made a decision about my uncle’s propriety, and the scales had not weighed well in his favor.

  21

  False Hope and Danger

  Jesse’s father was waiting at the schoolyard fence when all the children filed outside for ten o’clock morning recess. Jesse spotted him and wished he could somehow avoid going over there. He would be mad because Jesse had made him sleep in the cold last night. Why couldn’t his father have been alone like they had planned?