The World of the End

by Ofir Touché Gafla

  Taking the bend, her eyes widened in surprise. Tonight, for the first time, he was not there, his absence creating a chasm between the perky-breasted blonde to his right and the expressionless blind man to his left.

  * * *

  At 9:00 P.M. the bell rang. One after another, Ben’s friends, heavy with longing, poured into the house that had been off limits for a year. Beyond the dozens of balloons, wall decorations, overflowing plates of food, blaring dance music, and the enormous sign for Marian, the guests had no trouble recognizing the familiar guest room and were delighted to see that the owner had made no changes—the overloaded shelves still groaned under the weight of books, CDs, LPs, and videos, and the works of art, so loved by the woman of the hour, were still immaculately strewn all over the house.

  Still, his friends struggled to make sense of their old friend’s new appearance, wondering what stood behind the dramatic shift and whether it conveyed a specific intent. The masculinity gushing out of every pore of his hardened body did not suit Ben, and not for aesthetic reasons. They circled around him relentlessly, hugging him, treading carefully around the thin ice of Marian’s name. Yet Ben, the life of the party, threw his head back and laughed, open-mouthed, constantly bringing Marian up, signaling that he was aware of the delicate situation and eager to put everyone at ease. With each passing moment it became clear that Ben refused to accept even the slightest gesture of pity. The blood that drained from his friends’ faces—when he joked that Marian had perfect timing, leaving when she did in order to avoid having to deal with a midlife crisis—slowly resumed its normal course as they began to realize that Ben could only relate to the crushing loss with humor, and so they played along, chuckling on cue when he announced that his wife had found the most original manner in the world to leave a man without hurting his feelings. After an hour of verbal ballet, Ben suggested opening the presents. He failed to conceal the moistness in his eyes when he ripped open the wrapping paper, revealing the newest works from his wife’s favorite writers, musicians, and fashion designers. But before the evening was stained with melancholy, he brought his palms together, rubbed vigorously, and said it was about time he revealed his second present for his dear wife. When one of them asked what the first present was, he posed for her, struck a male-model pout, and pirouetted three times, arms extended, enchanted by his own inane performance. “This body—Marian always wanted me to put some work into it.”

  His friends, rejoicing at the simple explanation, rose out of their chairs and clapped him on the back, some of them wiping away tears.

  Ben waited for them to settle down and then repeated his earlier statement. He walked over to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and nodded. Before his friends had the chance to fully interpret his actions, their ears picked up the crack of gunpowder from outside and, at the sight of Ben, smiling, nodding his head toward the door, they rushed out and stood dumbfounded in the front yard, their eyes tracing the arc of the fireworks in the sky, the wealth of stunning colors crowning the night with festive circles of light. The eye-and-soul pleasing shades flared across the night sky, drawing hearts and roses, baby blue fountains and emerald gardens, orange suns and regal purple stars. As Ben’s friends oohed and ahhed, the neighbors came out of their houses and joined them, enjoying the breathtaking pyrotechnic display on the eve of an ordinary day.

  But it was not, the friends learned, a regular evening, nor was it an ordinary day. Twenty exhilarating minutes later, they filed back into the house to thank Ben for the generous display but were rudely denied the chance. Ben lay in a puddle of blood, seeded with parts of his brain. In his right hand he held a warm gun, and in his left a note asking them to open the fridge and take out the towering birthday cake with the maple syrup script that read “And They Died Happily Ever After…”

  2

  Other World Orders

  Welcome to the Other World. First, we would like to extend our deepest condolences to those you have left behind. We sincerely hope they realize that no harm will be done to you here. If they think otherwise, they will simply have to wait their turn and see the error of their ways. Surely, you will be pleased to note that, as opposed to the previous world, which you entered without any instruction or orientation, we offer several prefatory comments as you stand here at the gates of your renewed existence. We promise not to carry on at great length, offering merely that which is essential for you to get the most out of this world, to suck the marrow out of death.

  Two brief clarifications before we commence: For those of you worried about scars, souvenirs, or remnants from the events that brought you to this world, allow me to ease your minds. When the light goes on and you look at your body, you will, I assure you, be pleased with its fine state. All praise to our reconstructive surgeons and various somatic artisans. Each and every one of you has come through the Other World’s O.R. on your way here. You’ve all been outfitted with a brand new immune system and undergone a full-body tune-up, including repair work on defects and disabilities. Unfortunately, we are not able to fully repair birth defects; those suffering from congenital deformities, however, will be happy to hear that we have installed microscopic tactical devices that will allow you to dispense with your disabilities for the duration of a year. At the end of the prescribed term, we ask of, say, the blind, to report to the See No Evil clinic in their city, where their artificial eyes will be replaced with a new pair. The deaf will report to the Hear No Evil clinic, the dumb to the Speak No Evil clinic, the anosmic and the tasteless will report to the Different Strokes clinic, the mentally challenged and disabled will report to the Artificial Intelligence lab, and those suffering from physical disabilities will report to the Spare Parts lab. As for all of the others, shed your worries. Any disease you suffered from in your life, congenital or acquired, has been excised from your system with death. In our world, disease is nonexistent, and health is no cause for concern.

  Our apologies to doctors, nurses, researchers, and others in the field of medicine, but if you wish to continue practicing in your respective fields, you’ll have to take a series of exams, after which, if you pass, you will be posted at one of the six aforementioned clinics, or at one of the many thousand reconstruction labs described earlier.

  The second clarification pertains to language. Since you speak so many different tongues, we have installed a microchip in your brains—Babel—which contains more than one hundred languages and a thousand dialects. Whenever you feel like speaking with someone in a once-foreign language, you will find that you are fluent, even eloquent. Owing to our belief in candor and honesty, we’ve not forsaken the crasser trends of the tongue, offering a series of twenty curse words which will be at your disposal during rare moments of rage. Do not deduce from this that we support verbal violence. We simply prefer you swear rather than strike. It’s your responsibility to visit the multilingual labs once a year to update your chip, lest your vocabulary in the unpracticed tongues dwindle and your circuits start to short out your conversations.

  Apologies to the translators, transliterators, language teachers, and others in the field, but if you wish to continue practicing in your area of expertise, you will have to take a series of tests, which, if you pass, will enable you to work in the multilingual labs, making the necessary updates in language, particularly in the realm of slang, and keeping abreast of the changes instituted by the academies of language.

  * * *

  And now several facts pertaining to our world:

  1) In light of the devastating results of the financial system in your previous world, it has been decided that here, in this world, currency, in all its forms, be abolished. We urge you not to seek it out. It simply does not exist. If you are interested in acquiring a certain item, go to the nearest store and ask the “salespeople” for assistance. They will provide whatever it is you seek, for free. Fear not, there is enough to go around. If it is hard for you to accept the system in our world, we shall clarify and elucidate: Those of you who choose to w
ork in your fields, or to undergo a career change, will not be receiving monetary compensation for work performed. This ensures that your occupation will be a labor of love. Soon enough, you will realize that the rewards in our world are great. The nonmonetary system spawns creativity and, since you have all the time in this world at your disposal, there is no choice but to engage in activities that compensate you with, well, love.

  To the merchants, bankers, entrepreneurs, economists, brokers, mint workers, banknote printers, counterfeiters, misers, rainy-day savers, big spenders, materialists, and others in the field—our apologies.

  2) In accordance with our devotion to candor, purity, and maximum freedom, all residents of this world are naked. When the exposed outweighs the concealed, people are infinitely more trusting, developing a reputable, honest society where costumes, masks, and other props are unnecessary. Moreover, studies have proven that nudity markedly reduces the rate of violence. Before moving on to the next matter at hand, we have a simple request, which will not be elaborated upon due to security concerns: Now and again you will bump into people who are clothed; please do not mingle with them or disturb them. To the fashion designers, models, tailors, cobblers, seamstresses, kings and queens of haute couture, and all other members of the garment and shoewear trade—our apologies.

  3) Good news for the vegetarians among you: Since in our world everyone has successfully undergone the death stage, there are no bodies, no carrion, no roadkill. From this you can safely surmise that the only type of food you will not be eating here is flesh. Hunting is absolutely prohibited. Bon appétit.

  4) Housing. As you will soon see, the contours of this world are not easily grasped. In order to avoid a population explosion caused by a dizzyingly large aggregation of the dead, the Other World has been built in four dimensions. You are familiar with geographic parameters that measure length and width. This world is characterized by retroactive time dimensions, enabling it to house all of the world’s dead since the dawn of humanity. Place is time, confusing as that may sound. Simplifying matters, all of the dead people in this room, 9,568 in number, passed away on June 21, 2001 and therefore live on Circle 21, in the city of June 2001. Each and every one of you has been provided with living quarters in the skyscrapers on June 21 Circle, which serves as a type of neighborhood. Each skyscraper has 1,000 housing units, divided into twenty-four floors. Each door bears your initials. The hour of your death determines your floor. For instance, someone who died between one and two in the morning will live on the first floor, someone who died between two and three will live on the second floor, and so on. You are not obligated to live in your specified quarters, but if you do, order will prevail. In general, even if you do decide to change your place of residence, your address will be yours forever. At the close of the lecture, as you leave the room, a guide of ours will escort you to the circle and assist the bewildered in finding their new quarters.

  5) Transportation. In our world there is but one kind of mechanized vehicle: the multi-wheel—a five-hundred seat bus that will take you from the central station in your city to the destination of your choice. In order for our paved roads not to be overburdened, all other vehicles have been banned. To the drivers, chauffeurs, mechanics, grease monkeys, off-road enthusiasts, and Formula One fanatics—our apologies.

  6) Entertainment and Recreation. At your disposal is an awesome array of entertainment options, including plays, movies, concerts, operas, galleries, libraries, indoor courts, outdoor courts, grassy fields, playgrounds, restaurants, cafés, pubs, and nature reserves. We direct your attention to the video rental shops across town, where you can find, along with the usual selection of movies and TV shows, a series of special tapes chronicling your former life. If you want to watch them, you must use your personal identification code—in other words, your thumbprint. Upon arrival at the window of the Vie-deo, you’ll be asked to push the request button. Present your thumb. Within ten seconds you’ll receive your selected video. Each year of your life is documented on a different tape. If, for instance, you’d like to watch your twentieth year, then push the button marked twenty on the console’s calendar. There’s no need to return the tape of life to the shop. Since we support each person’s right to privacy, the Vie-deo will bar all attempts at identity theft. Our apologies to the peeping toms and those who lived dull lives. Moreover—and this next comment is directed at the fingerless or the thumb-less—your artificial thumb is equipped with a unique print that will be considered your identification print, and yours alone.

  7) The godget. You wear the godget around your neck. It is the size of a calculator and it resembles a remote control. The godget has six buttons for your convenience. Each button has a function that allows you to determine the conditions of your renewed existence:

  BUTTON 1—Day and Night, determines your favorite part of the day. One click—dawn. Two clicks—morning. Three clicks—afternoon. Four clicks—dusk. Five clicks—evening. Six clicks—night.

  BUTTON 2—Weather, setting your preferred climate. One click—zero degrees Celsius, snowy. Two—ten degrees, cold but not rainy. Three—ten degrees, cold and rainy. Four—fifteen degrees, chilly with a stiff wind. Five—fifteen degrees, chilly, no wind. Six—fifteen degrees, drizzling. Seven—twenty degrees, warm with a gentle easterly. Eight—twenty-five degrees, warm and dry. Nine—twenty-five degrees, warm and humid. Ten—thirty degrees, desert-dry. Eleven—thirty degrees, a wet sauna. Twelve—other.

  BUTTON 3—Sleep, determines your preferred mode of sleep. One click—eight hours of dream-free sleep. Two clicks—eight hours of sleep plus dreams. Three—catnap. Four—two hours of light sleep. Five—twelve hours of stone-cold dream-free sleep. Six—twelve hours of sleep with dreams. Seven—eternal sleep.

  BUTTON 4—Daily updates from the previous world on matters of: One click—news. Two clicks—art. Three—sports. Four—science. Five—other.

  BUTTON 5—Daily updates from the current world on matters of: One click—news. Two clicks—art. Three—sports. Four—science. Five—other.

  BUTTON 6—The telefinger, similar to the telephone you all know, is operated by fingerprint. It is endowed with an enormous amount of memory and can collect up to one hundred thousand potential fingerprints. If you’d like to call a certain individual, all you need is for that person to leave his or her fingerprint in your device and it will remain in your contacts page forever.

  It’s important to recall that each godget responds only to its owner.

  8) Last comment. In two minutes you will hear the public address system. Its job is to inform the citizens of this world that new citizens of the old world have arrived. The Announcer calls the names of the newly arrived so that veterans of this world can meet their loved ones, if any such exist. We request that you stay in the room for two additional hours in order to allow the old timers ample opportunity to make it here and welcome you. We truly hope that our comments have been helpful and illuminating. We wish you a happy and satisfying death. Welcome to the Other World.

  * * *

  When the screen darkened and the naked girl faded from view, the room filled with light, forcing all present to rub their eyes and blink repeatedly. 9,568 naked people lay on the floor, stunned into deathly silence. Ben was the first to come to his senses. Like everyone else, he was surprised, electric with anticipation, but unlike the other 9,567 freshly dead, he was not in shock. He smiled, content. He knew it. Well, part of it. Even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t imagined any of the shades of details that had been laid out by the gorgeous woman in the introductory talk, but what he had known—that death was not the end—sufficed. Pulling the trigger was like an express ticket to the other side of life. To Marian. All he had to do now was wait for the doors to open.

  A metallic voice came over the loudspeaker and began intoning the names of those present in alphabetical order, its diction sharp and precise. It was funny, Ben thought, to look at the thousands of naked bodies, speechless amazement stamped on their faces. Funn
ier still were their bewildered awakenings and the way the PA system triggered a laughable herd mentality. As their names came over the loudspeaker each person in turn nodded and said “yes” in an array of languages, as though the Announcer had come to take attendance in school, summer camp, or a military barracks. Shock was still apparent. As far back as any of them could remember, they had been taught to expect to reach one of two places or none at all. Anything but this strange place. The more Ben tried to bottle it up, the more the laughter tickled his insides and climbed toward his vibrating Adam’s apple, until, at last, their goggle-eyed expressions made it spring forth. Ben rolled on the floor, reveling in the disappointment of the heathens and the greater astonishment of their sworn foes, and, had a fifty-year-old woman not shattered the silence, shrieking that, “you can see my everything,” he would have continued laughing for a while. Luckily for her, her best friend was partner to their final journey. She soothed her, hugged her close, and pointed all around, intoning, in extreme momminess, “It’s okay, everyone can see everyone else’s everything.…”