Читать книгу Paradise Regained - TNT - Страница 6

RUTH was the first to speak when our friend had opened his eyes.

'Well, Roger,' she said, 'how do you feel?' (Our friend at the office had given us the boy's first name, which was sufficient for all purposes.)

Roger opened his eyes still wider as he turned to Ruth. 'Why,' said he, 'I saw you—when was it? A little while ago. Who are you?'

'Just a friend to help you. Call me Ruth.'

'And you, sir. I seem to remember you were sitting at the foot of my bed.'

'That's right,' I said. 'The memory will become clearer in a moment or two.'

Roger started to sit upright, but Ruth gently pressed him back upon the cushions. 'Now, Roger,' said she, 'the order of the day is that you just stay quietly there, and not do too much talking.'

The boy stared out of the window.

'Lovely view, isn't it,' I said, pointing through the window. 'Feeling comfortable? That's right. Well, now, you are wondering what all this is about. Have you any idea what has happened? Only a hazy notion. But the great thing is that now you are feeling all right. All the aches and pains are gone. Isn't that it?'

Roger nodded and smiled as the realization seemed to come upon him. 'Yes, rather, thank you.'

The boy was obviously not of the nervous sort, and there appeared to be no purpose in withholding the truth any longer. I caught Ruth's eye, and she nodded in agreement.

'Roger, my dear boy,' I began, 'I have some pleasant news for you. You were perfectly correct, you did see Ruth and me a little while ago. We were in your bedroom at home, and you were very ill, so ill that the doctor couldn't pull you through. So Ruth and I came to bring you through, through into another world, a lovely world. Do you follow?'

'Then, I've died. Is that it?'

'That's it, old fellow. You're not frightened?'

'No, I don't think so.' He paused. 'I never expected anything like this,' he added.

'No, I don't suppose you did. Who does, except the very comparative few who know what's to come? Honestly, now, what did you expect?'

'Goodness only knows.'

'Angels with large wings, and stern countenances, looking very frigid and remote? Suppose you had seen something like that, what would you have felt and thought? You needn't tell me; I’ll answer the question for you. You would have thought that they had come to haul you off to be tried before some awful Judge somewhere in the High Court of Heaven. And woe betide you if you had misbehaved yourself, my lad.'

Ruth gave a merry peal of laughter, while Roger, who had caught the look in my eye and interpreted it correctly, laughed too.

'Let me tell you at once, Roger, that there are no judges, or even a single great judge, anywhere in this world, the spirit world. Any judging to be done, we do it for ourselves, and manage very nicely. You’ll find you will become extremely critical of yourself, as we all do. We can be very hard on ourselves even. So whatever you may have thought about Judgment Day, dismiss the whole idea from your mind. There is no such thing, there never has been, and there never will be.

'Now I expect you are wondering what is to happen next,' I went on. 'The answer to that is simple: Nothing! - at least for a little while, until you feel refreshed, and then we might all go off together and explore things a bit. How does that appeal to you?'

'It appeals to me very much, but there is something I would like to know.’ Roger looked round. ‘Whose house is this, and who are you? I can see you are a padre, but the color of your cassock is not what I’ve ever seen before.’

‘As to the house, it is mine, though really it is ours, as Ruth lives most of her time with me and so does an old clergyman friend you will meet later. As to my clothes, these I am wearing are only replicas of my earthly ones which I have put on specially for you. I have proper spirit clothes, but suppose I had worn them—and Ruth hers—when we came to fetch you in your room, we might have looked like those grim, forbidding angels I spoke about just now. And no matter how we set our faces into pleasant looks and smiles, there is no doubt there would have been a very frightened Roger. So, behold us as we used to be when we lived on earth, and now you look at yourself as you used to be on earth only a very short while ago.’

Roger glanced down at his clothes to discover that he was wearing a pair of flannel trousers and a brown jacket, while on his feet were a pair of substantial shoes. He caught hold of the material as though to reassure himself that it was real. He even clutched his arm to make doubly sure he was solid! Then he placed one foot on the floor and stamped lightly with it.

‘All pretty solid, eh, Roger?’

From a side-table Ruth fetched a huge bowl of fruit, and offered it to the boy. ‘You’ll find these very real, too,’ said she with a smile; ‘help yourself to what you fancy. They’re lovely, and will do you a world of good. We keep them “specially”.’

We all three took some fruit, and Ruth and I waited until the boy tackled his. First, he looked at it closely, turning it and over in his hand—it was a plum he was examining—and seemed undecided what to do with it. There is, of course, only one thing to do with a fine, juicy plum, especially if it is grown in the spirit world, and that is to eat it. Ruth and I did so, while Roger watched closely to see what would happen. He expected, no doubt, to see a torrent of juice run out and down our clothes. His eyes opened in astonishment when saw the juice run out, certainly, and with equal certainty, disappear, leaving our clothes unstained. Thus encouraged, he followed our example, and was wild with delight at this seeming wizardry.

‘Nothing is wasted here, Roger,’ explained Ruth; ‘everything that is unwanted returns to its source. Nothing is destroyed. You couldn’t destroy anything however hard you tried. If you find you no longer need or desire a thing it will simple fade away to all appearances, just evaporate before your eyes. But it is not lost; it will return to the source from which it came. If we didn’t want this house and all its contents, it would vanish, and there would be nothing to see but the ground it stood on. It’s the same with anything else you care to name. All things are living in the spirit world; we don’t have such things as “inanimate objects”. Things are managed better here than on the old earth, don’t you think—from the tiny bit you’ve seen of things so far?’

Roger thanked Ruth for her explanation. He seemed a diffident in the matter of speaking, though, of course Ruth had recommended him not to talk too much yet. However, he turned to me after pondering Ruth’s words, with something of an air of puzzlement:

‘Were you a bishop, or something?’ he asked.

‘Oh dear, no,’ I laughed; ‘nothing so grand or exalted. You were going by the color of this garment I’m wearing. No, I was only Monsignor when I was on earth. Some of my friends there still call me by the old title. It pleases them, and does no harm, though really we have no such titles and distinguishing marks here. Still, if you would like to use the same name, do so by all means. It serves a useful purpose, and it’s not “against the regulations”. Ruth always uses it.’

Here I would like to interpolate one or two observations which I think it expedient to make. What I am setting down for you is the account of an actual case, a real occurrence, though it is typical of many. The young lad, Roger, is a person of real existence, who came into the spirit world in the circumstances precisely as I am now giving you.

Again: exception may be taken to the conversation as I have recounted it to you. There are folk who will object that the whole of it is too appallingly flippant and trivial to merit consideration for one moment; that it is frivolous and third-rate, and such as would not, most certainly not be indulged in in any region that could be properly designated ‘heaven’; that ‘heaven’ must surely be conducted upon lines far less commonplace and far more holy and spiritual.

It may be complained that anyone making ‘the awful change’ from life to death and from death to eternal life - ‘supernatural’ life - would have far graver things to think about and discuss than the conversational fripperies which I ‘allege’ take place.

With a long experience of transitions upon which to draw, commencing with my own, I know this beyond peradventure: when the last earthly breath has been drawn, and life has begun in the spirit world, there is never the slightest inclination, at that vital moment, to think in terms of learned theological disquisitions or indulge in any ‘pious platitudes’.

Every soul who arrives in these or other realms of the spirit world completely untutored about life here, is concerned with one thing and one thing only: what is to happen next? Just that. Because we are inhabitants of the spirit world we have not become grand rhetoricians, who speak only in long eloquent periods upon matters of the highest spiritual consideration. Deo gratias that we do not. We are normal, rational people, who speak and act in a normal, rational manner.

Suppose Ruth and I, in taking charge of Roger, had adopted a grave comportment and grim countenances, what do you imagine would have happened both to him and us? The lad would have been terrified, where, in good truth, no grounds for fear existed, and all for what purpose? Merely so that Ruth and I should appear and act as misguided folk believe we should appear and act, as became inhabitants of the world of spirit.

And what would have happened to Ruth and me? We should have been adjudged totally unfitted for the occupation we had adopted, and at once sent upon our way - in disgrace. However, such a thing could never transpire, since we should not be entrusted with this work were we to harbor such unthinkable notions. So it is, my dear friends, that in our conversation with Roger, as with thousands of others upon whom we have attended, we are just ourselves. After all, this is a world of life and activity and truth, not a sham, shadowy, sanctimonious mockery of existence. How glad we all are that it is so! We prefer our form of ‘heaven’ to the strange conception current in some quarters on earth. Now to return to my narrative.

Roger had felt tempted to rise from his couch, a sure sign that he was gaining in strength and vigor. The fruit had made an improvement, as we knew it would. In matters of that kind there are no failures. At the same time, it would not have done to let him test his strength too far, and so for the time being, we recommended he should remain where he was. He was - and of course, still is! - a most amiable fellow, and was ready to fall in with all our suggestions. In such cases as these, that is, in the initial moments of the newly arrived, so much depends upon the little incidents, those homely things, of great implication in themselves, and outwardly so very reassuring - and comforting.

Long experience has taught us that often the smallest, most insignificant incident can do far more to bring peace and mental quietude to the newcomer to spirit lands than would a hundred of the most brilliant dissertations. Therefore, it is that we deliberately introduce the apparently trivial. And I cannot do better to exemplify this than by recounting what next occurred in our care of Roger.

The boy suddenly turned his gaze towards the window, attracted by the sound of fluttering wings upon the window-ledge, when he perceived a small bird had made its entrance into the room, and had perched itself only a foot or so from him. Roger remained perfectly still, as though scarcely daring to move lest he should frighten the small visitor away. Ruth, however, called to the bird, which immediately flew to her and perched upon her outstretched finger. The bird was dressed in a smart livery of pale gray feathers.

Roger was greatly interested when Ruth transferred the bird to his own finger.

‘He often visits us here,’ I told him, ‘though he really belongs to two old earth friends of mine.’

‘Then what is he doing here?’ asked Roger.

‘Well, he was found by my friends in great distress when he was but a fledgling; they cared for him, watched him grow, but sad to say, he came to grief. Possibly he became a trifle too daring, overdid things, had some sort of sudden seizure, and died almost at once. A great pity. He was like you, Roger, and had hardly begun his life. And exactly like you, Roger, he passed into these beautiful lands, and was cared for immediately, just as we try to do for all the human souls who come to us. That small bird, so very inconsiderable on earth, and the action of my two friends, equally inconsiderable, have not been lost. Their affection for that tiny atom of life has preserved that life for all time. At present, he is part of the “household” of a mutual old friend, who already has other bird and animal friends of his own. They’re a merry family, and we’ll take you along to see him - and them. Don’t you think he is a rather handsome fellow?’

‘I do. What kind of bird is he?’

‘When he first came to us here, he was a much darker gray and not so big. But he has grown, and his color, as you see, is now almost dove-gray. What kind of bird is he, did you say? Why only a common sparrow.’

Ruth was indignant that I should refer to him as in any sense common, and so I was compelled to recant—not for the first time since I came to the spirit world!

Roger was still playing with the bird, when Ruth espied two visitors coming towards the house. They were walking in leisurely fashion through the garden, often stopping to examine the flowers that were growing in profusion around the house. As they drew nearer, we recognized them as old friends who had often come to see us before. One, the taller of the two, was a Chaldean by nationality, the other an Egyptian.

I told Roger that not on any account was he to rise when these two visitors came into the room, as they both knew the purpose for which that couch was used, for it had had many and many a newly arrived person resting upon it.

Ruth and I went to the door to welcome our visitors, and cordial greetings were exchanged. The Chaldean’s name is Omar, by which he is universally known. He is a man of striking appearance, the most remarkable feature being his raven-black hair, so much in contrast with the slight pallor of his complexion. He is, without doubt, one of the merriest souls to be met with in these lands, and he has a wide reputation for his keen sense of humor.

‘Will you come in, Omar,’ I said, ‘and see our “patient”?’ He replied they would be delighted, and we moved two chairs nearer to the couch.

‘Well, my son, how are you feeling? Happy? Rested?’ Omar turned to us: ‘Roger is wondering who I am.

Perhaps he is wondering what I am.’

‘You see, Omar, you are really the first person he has seen wearing spirit clothes. Isn’t that so, Roger?’

‘Yes, it is, and well, I’m a bit confused. Your clothes,’ he said to Omar, ‘are so different from Monsignor’s.’

‘Different from those he is wearing now because he did not want to frighten you. You are not frightened of me, are you Roger? There’s no need to be, my dear son, for I’m really harmless, and my two friends— your two friends—will vouch for me. Perhaps you think I’m an angel! Well, that’s better than being thought a devil. Do you know, Roger, there are some charming people on earth who would call me one, yes, and you, too; in fact, all of us here! Do you think Ruth looks particularly satanic? Monsignor, now; there is certainly a hint of brimstone about him. Well, well, it’s a good thing we can laugh, though, mind you, those same nice people would deny us that. Speaking for myself, I don’t feel the least bit holy, and Monsignor is far too hardened a sinner ever to come within a mile of it.’

Omar turned to me: ‘I must be off now,’ said he, ‘give my love to my friends on earth.’ Then he took Roger by the hand, held it for a moment, and patted him on the cheek. ‘Bless you, my son,’ he said, ‘be rested, then get your friends to show you the glories of these lands. This is your own home land, now, you know. And just between ourselves, we’re rather proud of it.’