He would not be moving on. Whatever happened, he had found his final haven.
Final? Well, the wild possibilities suggested by Sir Charles Searle almost at the moment of death and, possibly, revelation would have to be considered sometime. But they were not the sort of things a thirteen-year-old boy had to bother his head about for a long time. His very age, independent of anything else, gave him at least half a dozen years' grace before he could take any positive place in the world..
There was no hurry.
On the lawn in the middle of the rose garden, reading a book, lay a girl. She wore the navy pants of a child and the casually tied suntop of a pretty and well-shaped woman. She was brown and was the loveliest thing he could recall seeing in his life.
"Hello, Judy," he said.
Lying on her stomach, she looked up from her book. "Hello," she said. "You know me?"
He dropped on the grass beside her. "I'm not sure. I used to think so."
She rolled over and sat on her heels. "You're Mr. Fletcher!"
"No," he said. "Rodney."
"Rodney what?"
"Well, I was asked if I had any preference, since most people have second names, and just for convenience I said Fletcher,"
"That is what I said. I knew you were Mr. Fletcher."
"No, Judy. Please, not Mr. Fletcher."
"Fancy meeting you, Mr. Fletcher," she said, and laughed. "It's a small world, isn't it?"
Rodney. I'm still older than you, but only a week older. You can't possibly call me Mr. Fletcher."
"Tell me all about it, Mr. Fletcher." She was teasing him. She was the most beautiful girl in the world. He was in no doubt about that, though he remembered Gerry had thought much the same about Daphne and Ross about Anita. He had nothing against Anita or Daphne, but anyone who preferred them to Judy needed his head examined.
"Take your shirt off," she said. "You're as pale as a ghost, Mr. Fletcher."
He took his shirt off. "I don't think, after all, I'll tell you anything," he said.
"Be like that. See if I care." She laughed and pushed him so that he lost his balance and clutched her. Her warm brown flesh felt even more wonderful than it looked. Thirteen he thought with momentary gloom. Why couldn't he and Judy have been five years older?
A bell in the home rang. It was so loud and shrill it made him release Judy. "What on earth's that?" he said.
"Tea bell. We can have tea and buns if we like."
"Are you hungry?"
"Not particularly."
"Neither am I. Let's stay here."
FLETCHER HAD TO DIE
And so he did; and found himself in a
place -- in a state of mind -- that he
could not tolerate. And so he had to
die again. And then again. Until, soon
enough, it became clear that death did
not want him.
It became his challenge to
die into life.
Transmigration Page 22
