Checkmate, Death

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Checkmate, Death Page 6

by Cobyboy


  "When?" he asked.

  "Very soon," I said. "I can't tell you more than that."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I can't. I didn't make the rules."

  He mumbled something that I didn't catch, then stepped out of the tub and gave me a view of flesh and the effects of aging that I never wanted to see. Immediately I shut my eyes. After a moment I felt a finger poking my nose, and I hazarded a look. He was there in front of me, a full two feet shorter than I was, reaching up to harass me with one of his stubby fingers. I was happy to see that he had put on a silk robe.

  "I feel great, you idiot," he said. "You think I'm going to die? Well, maybe someone made a mistake!"

  He was turning around, stepping toward a teapot on a nearby table, and suddenly his legs gave out and he fell to the floor. I don't think I have ever witnessed a more abrupt mood change in all my interactions with humankind. One second he was a haughty but good-humored old man. The next he was a blubbering mess, curled up in a ball and weeping loudly.

  But it wasn't sadness or fear of death that made him cry. He was in some kind of pain. It seemed to me that he was probably a tough old bastard. So for him to be letting so many tears out in my presence probably meant his pain was severe.

  "I've had a long life," he moaned in between sobs. "I don't want it to be over... but I want my pain to be gone. Forgive me, Death. Forgive me, and take me now..."

  Already his flare-up of pain was fading. In a minute he was sitting up, wiping tears away with the heel of his hand and sniffing snot back up into his nose.

  "That was the worst," he said. "I don't know what's wrong me. I keep getting skinnier. My hair is falling out. I feel sick all of the time."

  It was probably cancer, in retrospect. Cancer rates in China are still quite low even now, though they are steadily increasing in recent decades, probably due to increased pollution.

  Cancer is a bitch, that's safe to say. But I guess it's better to die by it at the age of eighty or ninety, like this guy I was reaping, than to be cut down by it in your twenties.

  "I'm ready to go," the old man said. "I'm not getting any better. Only worse. Worse every day. Just get it over with already..."

  So I pulled out my book and stared writing his name down. Of its own accord, my hand somehow knew how to write all those intricate little symbols of the Chinese script.

  "Wait!" the old man suddenly barked, grabbing my hand and preventing me from finishing. "Wait a moment."

  I shook my head. "You humans are all the same. No matter how prepared for death you think you are, no matter how old and no matter how much borrowed time you're operating on, you always want more. Stop being greedy and let me do my job, you old geezer. It's not like this is the end, anyway."

  But he just told me to wait again, had a coughing fit, caught his breath, and finally explained.

  "I know there is life after death," he said. "I don't need to live any longer. In fact, I don't even want to. But I do have a final wish. Perhaps you will help me fulfill it."

  He put out his hand. I helped him to his feet. He led me through his little house, into a back room. On a little porch area, open to the mountain air but shaded by an umbrella, we came to a chessboard. It was sitting right on the floor, with two pillows for seating on either side. The old man, with help from me, knelt on one pillow. He could hold that position easily and for long periods of time because he weighed almost nothing. But I, being quite a bit larger, decided to just sit cross-legged. I did this without a word. I guess I had already resigned myself to playing against the old guy. He didn't make it very easy to say no.

  "I don't find many people who want to play with me," he said. "But there are a few very good players in the village. Even they have grown tired of playing with me, because I always beat them easily. I would consider myself to be a master. This was my father's set... He got it on some diplomatic journey to the south. He taught me to play as a child."

  If that was true, he certainly had had time to master the game. The greatest players of chess in human history often start out as child prodigies. The same goes for great people in all categories and pursuits. The same would have gone for me, except I'm pretty sure I came into being in the same adult form I'm in now.

  "My skill in this game is one my greatest achievements," the old man went on. "It brings me great honor, great satisfaction. For all my life I have been determined to find the greatest player in the world and to challenge them. Even if I lost, I wouldn't care; the experience would be great either way. Sadly, I never got around to it. My life has been consumed here, in helping the village grow, in serving the Emperor... It has been a life well spent, with only one regret. And that is the knowledge that I will never play against the greatest player. I will never enjoy the beautiful humility of being defeated..."

  I smiled at that. "Don't worry. The greatest player is sitting right in front of you."

  "Precisely," said the old man. "In my final days, you have appeared to fulfill my one remaining wish. I am grateful to you, and to the universe. It would mean everything to me, Death, if you would sit with an old man and play a quick game."

  Try and say no to that. Can't be done. I'm pretty sure the evilest person to ever exist still wouldn't have been able to refuse this man. Such a simple thing for me - a game of chess, something I have done millions of times - but such a big deal for an old man on the verge of death.

  "Let's play," I said, feeling like a charity worker. Feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.

  Let me tell you, those good feelings didn't last super long. They vanished right around the time the old man made his third or fourth move and I realized I was playing against someone who really knew what they were doing. For a time I thought he had tricked me, and now was trying his damnedest to win and prolong his existence. But I saw the look of satisfaction and calm concentration on his face. Just an old man enjoying one last great game against a worthy opponent. He was trying to win, of course, because the game should only ever be played like that. By the end of the game, I respected him greatly.

  I don't think anything extremely remarkable or noteworthy happened in that match. Nothing historic or world-changing. Just a damn good game of chess. A brutal one. By the end of it we were both ragged, dragging a wounded little retinue of pawns and knights around like two Generals who have gone insane from exhaustion.

  I was able to get one of my pawns to his back rank before he could do the same on mine. In chess, when you move a pawn all the way to the far side of the board, the pawn is then promoted. You can turn it into any other piece in the game, other than a king of course. You can make it into a rook, a bishop, or a knight... but unless you're a fool, or just showing off, you will always turn it into a queen.

  My original queen had died off long ago. But with this new one, and by the grace of God and the careful application of knights and their funny L-shaped moves, I was able to force my opponent's king into a corner and trap him.

  A good game. The old man looked surprised that he had even gotten so far. There was no note of disappointment in his voice as he complimented me on my skills. At no point during the game did he let his hopes get the better of him, which to me was a true sign of his wise and logical mind.

  Immortality is an unnatural thing for humans. Like anything that seems too good to be true - fame, fortune, et cetera - it comes with caveats that make it just as imperfect as any other experience you will have. The natural way of life, the better way, is for your soul to have its time on Earth and then to move on into eternity. My old Chinese friend understood that.

  I shook his hand, informed him that he had given me a hell of a run for my money, and sent him on his way. I walked out, leaving his corpse there by the chess set.

  ***

  There you have it. I have just described two separate and seemingly inconsequential reapings. Surely I must have profound experiences like that on a regular basis. Death is a heady topic, and humans are natural-born philosophers. They have a fascination with d
eath that almost exceeds their fear of it.

  Maybe it was the timing of the twin reapings that allowed them to make such an impact on me, the way that they happened so close together in the grand scheme of things.

  The woman in Persia didn't want to die. She had to, because her body was ready to fail her. And because I, in whatever "good conscience" is available to me, could not cast upon her the curse of life everlasting. It's bad enough for a man as strong and intact as Mahendra, let alone a woman with half her face missing. Maybe, when a human gains immortality, such disfigurements would magically disappear. It happened with Mahendra, in a way; whatever illness he had contracted somehow vanished after our game.

  But I couldn't take that chance with the Persian woman. Do you understand? Do you think I am evil, cruel, selfish? Do you think I'm a filthy bastard? Maybe, next time I visit my friends on Earth, I'll ask them to tell me what their first impression was when we met.

  Then you have the old man in China. I left that reaping feeling satisfied, happy, and successful. It was a good day's work. Everything had gone according to plan and, in the bargain, I fulfilled the wish of a dying man and had a great game of chess!

  But over time, I came to realize that my game with the Chinese man effected my view of chess just as much as the Persian woman. It cemented in some stubborn part of my mind that chess isn't just a fun little game you can play and try to prove your intellectual superiority. There's more to it than that. It is, literally, a game of Life and Death. And so my feelings for the game grew heavier, more replete with dark and brooding thoughts. Not a good thing at all, for someone as inextricably tied to the game as I am.

  Before we get to the real depressing stuff, I'll let you have a few more fun little tales. Why not?

  7

  Pearly gates. That's what you imagine when you think of Heaven, right? You probably also imagine little fat babies flying around playing musical instruments, or a huge God-face up in the clouds booming wisdom down at you. None of these ideas can be written off as entirely wrong. Humans, having been made in the image of God, have an inherent knowledge of Celestial life. It's usually nothing more than a hint, an inkling, but over time it can give rise to some pretty accurate portrayals.

  But there are definitely some glaring inaccuracies that I would like to set straight. And then, after that, I will describe how I learned more about Life and Death and Immortality.

  You might be thinking; "Hey Death, I thought you couldn't tell humans about all this crap. Why are you writing it down for us?"

  The answer to that is simple. You will understand by the end of the book. I promise it isn't as exciting or monumental as you might be thinking. It's just a little project I'm working on in my spare time.

  Now let's get down to business. The pearly gates are just a set of doors set in the crystal wall that surrounds Upper Heaven. It's not even all of Heaven, just the administrative part where God and the Celestials reside and where all inter-domain official business happens. You will see it when you arrive at Heaven because it's the most direct way to get inside. Hopefully, I don't really need to describe it in any greater detail than that. Just keep your eyes open.

  Next, we can talk about cherubs. They are nothing more than lower-level Celestials, small in size and fitted with permanent wings so that they can travel anywhere and fit into tight spaces. The life of a cherub is important, but not at all grand. They are the maintenance workers of Heaven. The repairmen, the plumbers, the janitors, the custodians. And yes, there is a difference between a janitor and a custodian. A custodian is in charge of a certain building at all times. A janitor comes and goes at various places at various hours for the sole purpose of cleaning. There are cherubs that act as both up here in the Hereafter.

  Some of them, when they have no other work to do, like to offer entertainment services. They are fairly common to see in the Celestial Café, for instance, where they drift around playing music on harps, lutes, trumpets, and so on. Your idea of what cherubs do is limited, but not necessarily incorrect.

  Now we come to the third thing I mentioned. The voice of God, booming out of the clouds. If you are a soul who is facing judgment in the Celestial Court, that is basically what you will experience. For Celestials, meeting God is different.

  But what is the Celestial Court? It is a complex of buildings and gardens at the extreme edge of Upper Heaven. You have to climb a ridiculous set of stairs to get there.

  Usually the Court's daily responsibilities include such exciting jobs as giving people signs (the way God gently manipulates and alters the course of human evolution in certain ways), deciding punishments for misbehaving Celestials (usually consisting of forcing said miscreant to a year of cherub-work), and the enacting of new policies.

  But the Court's most important job by far is deciding what to do with souls whose alignment is questionable.

  Usually, the fate of a soul is already known prior to death. Your life, and everything you have ever done, is being observed and known at all times by Celestial agents. These actions are tallied up and sorted generically into one of three pools; the good, the bad, the unknown.

  Good and bad are obvious. It is a good thing to save a child from drowning. It is a bad thing to murder someone. Get it? Good.

  The unknown is a little more complicated. Imagine you come across a suicidal person one day, and talk them down from the ledge they are standing on. That's a good thing, right? Not a trick question. Usually, that is considered a good thing.

  But what if the suicider has a very bad mental illness? What if it manifests in another way, causes them to drink too much, drive drunk, and get into an accident, killing an entire family who was out on a bike ride?

  That is a good example of the unknown. The vast majority of unknown events are good deeds which become bad through a twist of fate. Saving a venomous spider from drowning in your toilet, only for it go on to bite someone else and cause their death. Or what if that kid you saved from drowning grew up to lead an anti-semitic regime which appropriated and therefore spoiled an ancient religious symbol?

  That's your unknown. Most of it, anyway. In the minority, you have your bad deeds that somehow turned good. I have seen some odd ones on the rare occasion that I am allowed to glimpse a soul's rap sheet. Maybe you got in a fight and punched a guy hard enough to knock him out. Hard enough that he had to go to the hospital. That's a bad deed, right there. But what if, during a routine X-ray that he never would have had otherwise, doctors discovered a tumor in his brain which they then removed, allowing the man to lead a full and happy life?

  You see, life is complicated. But you probably already knew that.

  There is a balance between the three categories of deeds, between good, bad, unknown. They are tallied up, and the figures are looked at when a person's time of death is approaching. Here I will digress for a moment and tell you that a person's doings up to forty-eight hours before death are not to be considered in the overall tally. When the end of your life is approaching, you might tend to act drastically. In those times, Heaven considers you to be on the same level as a rat or some other animal; not to be held responsible for your actions.

  Anyway... Let's say you are about to die. There are about forty-eight hours to go before your soul is reaped and you are sent off to enjoy whatever afterlife you have earned. First, Celestial agents have to look over your life file, as it is called. It may seem a little insulting, a little diminutizing, but your life will be condensed into a pie chart. Yes, you read that right. A pie chart.

  If your good deeds exceed fifty percent you will be let into Heaven. If your bad deeds exceed the same threshold, well... tough cookie. You know where you'll be sent. I hope you like campfires.

  And if your unknown deeds exceed a mere fifteen percent, you will be brought to the Celestial Court for direct judgment. What happens during those hearings? I don't really know. It's not my place. I've heard rumors that souls are forced to a realm somewhere between Heaven, Hell and Earth, where they live for a
time in a simulated reality and are subjected to various moral quandaries and given access to the means by which they can choose to do any number of heinous crimes. I heard it whispered at a party that it usually takes the Court less than three minutes to judge a soul and send it on its way.

  I have come by all this knowledge regarding the Court by coincidental means. Like I said, it isn't my place. I go down to Earth and rip souls out of bodies. I'm like a person mailing a package out with no tracking number. And that's the extent of my official duties. If I ever want to know more, I have to sneak about in places I'm not usually welcome, or try and goad inebriated Celestials into giving up their secrets.

  It's not the most efficient way to gain information. But I have been doing it for a very, very long time. And I'm stubborn, a trait which would be filtered into the unknown section of my life file if I were to be judged. My stubbornness can be positive or negative, depending on the context, and depending on how far you look down the chain of events which propagates from it.

  ***

  I've met God only a half dozen times or so, not counting the times when I have spotted Him at parties. I have a feeling that He considers me to be His problem child, the one He has to constantly keep an eye on. I suppose it's my own fault, if He does feel that way. I have reason to believe that God has put a tail on me. Every now and then I look over my shoulder and see a strange figure ducking into an alley or a door or behind a tree twenty yards behind me. Even on Earth I sometimes see this. It may be coincidence, but I doubt it. I think that God has assigned one of his inter-domain Agents to keep an eye on me.

  I'm not sure what the Agent is trying to catch me doing. I might be a scoundrel, but I always do my job right. God gave me a certain level of discretion in my work; any deviation I have ever made from standard procedure falls well within the confines of that discretion.

 

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