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You don't go anywhere when you die. Except maybe underground." He picked up a
finger from one of the more advanced cases of decay and waved it at me. "And
mind you not to start asking me about souls, you ignorant bastard. Your soul
dies with you!"
"Energy," I repeated from high school physics, "can neither be created nor
destroyed. My mind is electrochemical energy that cannot be destroyed. It's my
soul, and it's got to go somewhere."
The squat little man (if it was a man) sat on the withers of a deceased horse.
Its ribs caved in with a crunch and a sigh. He jumped up cursing.
After brushing away the excess putridity, he said, "Thermodynamics, eh?" He
hefted a pair of bloated, purplescent bodies one on the other, then climbed
atop to straddle them.
"All right," he said, "where does the memory of a pocket calculator go when
you switch it off?"
"Huh?" I think I preferred playing Three Card Monte with the Stranger. The
smell was getting to me.
"The electrons that form the number pattern in the calculator aren't destroyed
when you switch it off. Where does the memory go? Silicon Heaven?"
I shrugged. "It must go somewhere."
He jumped off the bodies to land on some dead puppies. "It goes nowhere! The
electrons remain, but the pattern is destroyed."
"My soul's a pattern?"
"Your mind is an electrochemical ordering that is built up over time. Ten,
thirty, fifty years. Oh, sure-the constituents of that ordering remain after
your death, but the order itself begins to disintegrate in the absence of
oxygen and electrical current. The pattern randomizes, and your soul dies with
you!"
"Mighty deep philosophy for a caretaker."
"And why not? I've eaten some of the best minds here. I've breakfasted on
Buddha, lunched on Leibniz, noshed on Nietzsche, and munched a Messiah or two.
They all come here. They're dead and their souls are, too. So I eat their
brains and-oops." He glanced sheepishly in my direction.
"And they live on in you."
"Oh, shit."
"And back on earth," I said, watching him sink his head in his hands,
"people's souls live on in the things they've done, the people they've
touched."
"Only metaphorically!" he retorted with a shake of his tired grey head.
"Metaphors are all we need." I bent over him. "I'm only a simile of my genetic
code. Our image of God is only a crude, externalized metaphor of the ineffable
processes of our minds."
All those obscure philosophy books were coming in handy now. He looked up at
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me with pleading eyes.
"Leave me alone. Give me back my nothingness."
A voice shattered across the endless, carcass-strewn plain.
"Who?" it demanded to know. "Who disturbs My perfect serenity? Who disturbs My
eternal peace?"
"Me?" I asked.
"This is My dominion. All men come to rest here!"
The little caretaker fearfully burrowed to hide under a woman's body that
dripped a blackish goo. His terrified quivering shook the nearby corpses.
He appeared.
He wore a doctor's outfit, entirely black. Even the mirror strapped to His
forehead reflected ebon darkness from some hideous realm of shadow.
Glossy black gloves dripped blood in ceaseless vermilion rivulets.
I was in luck. He was only a few miles high this time.
"All the creatures of the air and beasts of the sea," He said as if repeating
a creed. "All that walks and runs and crawls and breaths. All that lives or
has lived. All come here and end. All things stop here. Nothing moves. This is
rest. This is Eternity."
I gazed about unimpressed. "Sort of like a Republican Convention, then."
He didn't laugh. "Even humor dies here," He said. He held His hands at His
side so that the blood ran down His legs in stripes as wide as those of a
hotel bellboy's.
"But things that die," I said, "return to the earth. They may decay, but they
are consumed to become part of new life."
"Forget the earth. It too shall someday die."
"To become part of a new world."
"All worlds shall end," He droned on. "The universe shall die."
I took a gamble. It was a cosmological shot in the dark, but I had to try it.
"The universe shall die," I agreed with a placating spread of my hands, "and
shall give birth to a new one." By now I had almost forgotten the stench and
the bodies surrounding us. I had Him on the defensive.
"Forget birth. It is an illusion of the Moon. Her doing. Nothing is born.
There is only change."
"If nothing is born, nothing can die." I watched Him for evidence of any
chinks in His armor. There were plenty.
"Change can stop!" He shouted, clenching and releasing His fists so that blood
squirted out between the fingers of His slick gloves.
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"To stop change is in itself a change. A change in change."
That got to Him. He flung His arms around in wide, haphazard motions.
"Forget change! There is only Death! Death and nothing thereafter!"
"I'm alive," I said quietly. I waggled my fingers at Him just to prove it. "I
was born. Plants and animals were killed, fed to me, and converted again into
living substance. That's what life is-change. Death is change, but it too
leads to life and birth. It's a never-ending-"
"Don't say it!"
He screamed and threw His hands in front of Him. The blood dripped from His
elbows. He jerked His head so that the mirror dropped in front of His face. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]