I heard a sound. I turned around and saw two of the deadly sins, Pride and Envy, trying to hide behind a large spittoon in the garden.
“It wasn’t our idea!” squealed Pride.
“Sorry, Death,” said Envy. “The doctors called us in to try and get you back to your old self again. Did it work? Did you feel me at all?”
I lunged toward them. Pride ran away screaming (he still needed a lot of work), but Envy stood rooted to the spot. I grabbed him by the throat.
“Honestly, Death, I didn’t want to. But they said if I didn’t do it, I’d be stuck here for good.”
I tightened my grip.
“The thing is, I’m never happier than when someone else does well. I just want to slap them on the back and say, ‘Congratulations!’ But I can’t. I’ve got to get everybody to feel resentful, as if they didn’t deserve it. ‘Envy by name,’ they say, ‘Envy by nature.’ And now here I am. Quite happy, too. I don’t regret not being back on Earth one bit, even though my old pal Jealousy is still there. Good luck to him I say.”
I lifted him up into the air. He began to talk more quickly.
“I mean, it’s not as if I’m all that good as a sin in the first place. Some people go through their entire lives without feeling me. But I like to be felt. Getting felt is one of the most attractive things about the job. It’s not like I’m like you, Death. I mean, I’m hardly common to all. I wish I was.”
He was starting to turn green in the face.
“In fact, sometimes I’ve lain down at night and wished I was you, Death. You have it easy. Respect, admiration, a definite presence. You affect every single person individually! Not like me. Sometimes people don’t know whether they’re feeling me or Jealousy and that’s very annoying because we both have quotas to fill, you know?”
His voice was now a strangled gasp.
“And sometimes I just wish Jealousy had an accident, you know? Nothing too bad. Just having his eyes sewn shut with wire or something. I mean I’m a sin, after all, one of the original seven, and he’s more of an emotion, the little sod.”
“That’s very good, Envy,” said a voice. It was one of the doctors. “You’re coming along nicely. You too, Death. I think these patient-on-patient sessions are really helping.”
I dropped Envy to the ground.
“You see, Death,” said the doctor, “you can’t deny yourself. No matter what you think. It’s all still there, just waiting for you to return. There’s a tunnel at the end of the light, and it’s growing darker and darker.”
I turned away from him and took in the devastation around me. The broken carapaces of the hideous many-legged insects crunched beneath my feet, the black sun above offered no heat, the vultures screamed as they landed on limed branches. Hopelessness, obliteration, and discordance were everywhere. A sharp breeze brought a cloud of choking fumes up from one of the lakes. It was growing harder to remain happy here, harder to remain hopeful. That was, after all, its point.
I must have cried in my sleep that night, for the following morning my pillow was cold and damp. I tried to hide it from the nurses, saying I had eaten it in a rage, but when they saw the salty tear tracks on my cheeks, they informed the doctor. He immediately sat me down and proceeded to rip out my newly grown tear ducts.
“How could you let yourself get into this state?” he grunted, slowly extracting the long, rubbery tubes from my eye sockets.
I didn’t have an answer. All I could think of was how virulent life was, how insatiable its appetite, how tenacious its hold had become. And yet I hadn’t felt bad being in its thrall. I hadn’t felt bad at all. How strange to suffer from a disease that made one feel better. In such cases was the cure as much an ailment as the disease?
The last of the ducts came out with a snap, spattering me with saline, and the doctor checked for any further growths. It was there, sitting in a pool of spilled tears, that I realized what I must do. If I was ever to see Life again, I would have to return to being my old self. But if I returned to my old self, I would have to renounce all chances of living, all chances of Life. It would be a supreme sacrifice.
So I began to keep apart from the other patients. I had to remain aloof. Company brought out the best in me. I didn’t like doing it, I had so many friends, but I had no choice. One day Sympathy grabbed me by the arm in the cafeteria.
“You can talk to me if you want, Death,” she said. “If you’ve got to get something off your chest, I’ll listen to you.” She had improved, but I just put my head down and walked away, leading her to begin screaming, “Too good for me now, eh? Well, fuck you, Death, and your inability to transport people to the afterlife! You’re a big girl’s blouse, that’s what you are, a big girl’s blouse!”
I began to concentrate on my treatments. When placed in a room with a crying baby, I did not pick up the rattle and make goo-goo sounds but remained impassive. Upon seeing a kitten playing with a ball of string I suppressed my smiles, and when that kitten accidentally tied itself up, I stood by as it mewed pathetically.
Shock Therapy.
I forced myself to smile while watching torture and shrank away from the color pink. I showed no interest in the sound of a babbling brook, only pricking up my ears when that babbling grew into a full-blown flood. On the clinic’s practice killing fields I moved like wildfire, uncorking dummy souls and flinging them into a synthetic Darkness. The doctors nodded their heads in approval. I began to seek out the shadows and bask in their emptiness. I felt the joy and spontaneity leaking from my existence. In group therapy sessions, when asked a question, on any subject, I would invariably state, “Death is the only answer,” and would note the tick on my interlocutor’s clipboard.
Weeks went by, months went by, but I didn’t swerve from my task. Slowly the Joy was squeezed from my body like toothpaste from a tube. I was relentless, unstoppable, like a force of nature once more. No one dared approach me. My old friends whispered to each other as I swooped past them. I was eventually called into my doctor’s office.
“You’ve done very well,” he said, “very well indeed. Your test scores have all come back negative, you haven’t had a new organ growth since the tear ducts, and you killed the hamster we left for you in your room.”
“Its time had come,” I said.
“Yes, yes it had. But we’re still not convinced that you really believe it, Death. Some of us worry that you’re just pretending to be better so you can go back to Earth. You can understand our concerns, can’t you?”
I felt an anger swelling up inside me.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to delay your release until we’re satisfied you’re back to your good old, bad old self.”
“What more do I need to do?” I asked. “Tell me.”
“We’ll have to think on that,” said the doctor, absentmindedly picking up some other papers. “Remember, have a bad day.”
I stormed outside into the horror and desolation. I was furious. I hurtled down to the Field of Impaling and kicked at the spikes that grew from the ground. I had played by their rules, I had done everything they wanted me to. I had renounced Life forever. And now this! Who knew what Gabriel was getting up to on Earth. Who knew what liberties he was taking with the living. My living. I heard the sound of light piping coming from behind me. I tensed. The last thing I wanted now was company.
“Death?” said a voice.
“Not now, Eddie!” I snapped.
“Death?” came the voice, more plaintively now. The anger burst inside me. I swung round and screamed at the top of my lungs (though they had actually been removed some time before), “NOT NOW!”
Eddie held in his hands a large cake with candles in it, but the sudden shock of my scream sent him staggering. He desperately tried to keep the cake balanced, but in doing so lost his footing and toppled backward onto a three-foot-tall spike. A sharp trill sounded, and then silence. The spike had gone straight through Eddie’s back, and out through his stomach, skewering the cake, which his hands st
ill clasped tight. The spike poked through the black icing on top, which spelled out the words, “To Death, Happy Travels! Your Dear Friend, Eddie.”
I didn’t quite understand what had happened at first. I thought he was joking, playing, pretending. And then it hit me—I had killed him. I dropped to my knees and held his head. I didn’t know what to say or do.
Eddie spoke in wispy words that drifted away on the breeze. “Baked you a cake…for your release…” He coughed. Each word was painfully off-key.
“But I wasn’t going to be released, Eddie,” I cried. “They said I wasn’t ready.”
“Well,” spluttered Eddie, “this…this ought to help.”
I felt like crying, but Eddie, seeing the distress on my face, cautioned me. “C’mon now, Death. This is your big chance! Don’t blow it…be firm!”
I could see a crowd of doctors and patients running toward us.
“The world doesn’t need a Bad Flute Playing,” gasped Eddie, “but it does…need…a Death.”
The crowd was getting closer and closer.
“But Eddie…”
“You know what has to be done.”
“No, Eddie, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” warbled Eddie. “Do it.”
“No…”
“Do it now!”
Eddie’s head fell to one side. I took a deep breath and plunged my hand into his chest. And the strange thing was, it felt good. It was good to be back inside a body. It felt like Home. Eddie’s soul popped out with no complaint and sat there staring at me with a wry smile on his face. And then in a whisper, which only I could hear, he said, “Time to go, Death, time to go.”
It was then that I heard an unmistakable sound. It was the sound of nothingness approaching, of the void yawning, of never-ending emptiness unfolding. The light was growing dim and the doctors and patients now started to glance around. And then, from out of the black sun came the Darkness, swooping down, reaching out for me with its infinite tentacles. It enveloped me, and hugged me close. I unclasped the broken leash that still hung from it. It turned toward Eddie’s soul and then hesitated and looked at me questioningly, but I beckoned it forward. In an instant Eddie’s soul was gone, leaving behind it only a lingering A-flat.
The Darkness swarmed around me and I embraced it. We became one once more, and I realized there would be no more organs, no more hearts growing within me. Nothing would grow there ever again. The Darkness let out a contented howl of silence and I suddenly felt ravenous, hungry for souls. It was only then that I noticed the circle of doctors and patients standing around me.
There was a silence, and then slowly but surely, they began to clap. The clapping was sporadic at first, disbelieving, but slowly it began to grow in strength, grow more powerful, grow into a roar. Other patients joined in the circle, and they too were clapping. I heard Sympathy shout out “Death!” and soon it was picked up by the others, “Death! Death! Death! Death! Death!” I got to my feet; the cheers were raucous, the handclaps deafening. I tried my hardest to stifle a smile.
“I am…the End of All Things!” I roared.
They cheered.
My doctor stepped forward. “Well,” he said, looking at Eddie’s body and the impaled cake, “I guess the proof really is in the pudding!”
And everyone laughed except for me. And that was good too.
Homecoming
I tried not to show it, but I was nervous about leaving the clinic. What if Life was too much for me when I returned to Earth? I was scared that upon seeing puppies and kittens, and clowns and custard pies, it would all begin again. I felt stronger, but I was scared of being dragged into Life again.
Mother came to escort me back to Earth. She said a lot had been happening since I had left, and she and Father were busier than ever. As we traveled through infinite space I kept my eyes on the clinic.
“Where do you want to start?” Mother asked. “There are all sorts of wars going on at the moment, and I believe the Spanish influenza is about to strike. You’ll be ever so busy.”
“Take me to a petting zoo,” I said.
“What?”
“I want to go to a petting zoo.”
“You’re joking, aren’t you, son?” said Mother. “That’s a joke, isn’t it?”
“No, I’m not; and no, it’s not.”
There was concern, dismay, and shock on Mother’s face. The snakes on her head were standing upright hissing.
“I really don’t think we should go to a petting zoo, dear,” said Mother. “How about a nice dungeon to begin with? Or maybe a torture chamber?”
“You can go there if you like,” I said, “but I’m going to a petting zoo.”
“But, dear,” spluttered Mother, “what about the clinic? Your treatments? All your hard work? How about we start off at a hospital ward? That’ll be nice and easy.”
“I’m going to a petting zoo, Mother,” I said quite calmly. “You can come with me or not, either way is fine, but you shouldn’t waste your time trying to stop me.”
“Oh dear,” said Mother. Her tail lashed back and forth. “This is all my fault.”
But for once it wasn’t. For once Mother’s sinful nature was not leading me astray. I needed to do this for myself.
Our flight to Earth was nearly instantaneous. We didn’t speak. Mother kept gnawing at her talons, and I let the Darkness swim around me happily. It must have been sometime in the early twentieth century when we returned, because trousers were in.
The Pants of Time.
We headed straight for a large municipal zoo, and then to the small offshoot next to it, the zoo without bars, where children ran among the animals, shouting, pointing, and touching. I felt the dull, solitary echo of a thud in my chest. The Joy was rising.
Mother stood back and covered her face with a claw. I noticed the children near her begin feeding the animals in strict contravention of the signs. And what animals there were! Cuddly, fluffy sheep, horses with long flowing manes, jolly piglets snorting, funny goats chewing, silly cows mooing, busy chickens clucking. I walked through it all, within touching distance of them all. The Joy was increasing, the thump in my chest now a deafening tattoo beating out the tune, “Life, Love, Life, Love.” I searched inside my chest but could find no heart. The doctor had warned me of phantom organs.
It felt shockingly good to be back on Earth again. I felt stronger, more powerful, more blissful than ever before. I let my finger trace the outline of a sheep, and an electric thrill went through my arm. My urge for Life was strong. I turned around and I saw a sign that sent paroxysms of painful Joy through my body. It read simply, RABBITS.
I was drawn to the rabbit enclosure, and the Joy rose to even greater heights. It was laughing and singing and urging me to love. The Darkness had sensed something was wrong and had shrunk around me. It was clinging to my feet. I saw the bunnies wrinkling their noses at some lettuce leaves, and the Joy seemed to be singing, “Live! Love! Hug the Bunnies! Tickle Their Noses! Rub Their Fluffy Little Tails! I Am Meant For You. You Do Not Have To Be Death. You Can Live Like Things. Do What You Want To Do. Forever And Ever, A Man.”
A white-bellied cottontail hopped slowly toward me. It had a small piece of lettuce tucked in its mouth. It raised its nose toward me and sniffed the air. I stopped moving. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. All I could smell was sawdust and fur. The beautiful aroma of Everything, the sweet stench of Life. It made me shudder, it shook me. I could feel it, like dappled, bounding happiness all over me. And the Joy was now crooning, “Pick It Up, Pick It Up, Pick It Up.”
I gasped.
“Pet It, Pet It, Pet It.”
I extended my hand.
“Call It Barry The Bunny, Call It Barry The Bunny, Call It Barry The Bunny.”
Soft. Sweet. Dear. Love. Fur. Whiskers. Heart. Smile. Life. Life. Life.
I suddenly heard a commotion happening behind me. I opened my eyes. The Joy loosened its grip. One of the boys who had been feeding the animals in the regul
ar zoo had been attacked by the monkeys. They were clawing and biting him. I looked at Mother. She shrugged her shoulders. And from out of nowhere I felt the pull of the dead. An enormous, powerful sense of duty, crushing the Joy beneath it.
Crack Rabbit.
I left the bunny behind me and strode over to the cage. The enraged monkeys had torn off the little boy’s head and had begun to throw it to one another. The screams from the startled onlookers faded into the background, became my clothes again, my skin, part of my nature. I reached into the boy’s body and removed his bright lustrous soul, and the Darkness swallowed him up in an instant. There was no thumping in my chest anymore, just a calm, empty serenity.
I was back.
From out of the sky came the flapping of wings, and an angel fell clumsily to the ground. He had deep dark rings under his angelic blue eyes and was unshaven, his hair mussed, his halo flickering sporadically. It was a few moments before I recognized the angel as Gabriel. He barely recognized me.
“Where is he?”
“Where’s who?”
“The boy decapitated by monkeys,” said Gabriel, flicking frantically through a book. My book. The Book of Endings. Pages drifted to the floor. I saw that there were many annotations and attached memos and that in lieu of the Darkness, Gabriel had a large black garbage bag in one hand. It had a hole in the bottom. I only now began to hear the sound of souls complaining, a vast tumult of white noise that I had barely registered before. Gabriel had been lax.
“He’s meant to be here!” shouted Gabriel frantically, pointing at the spot where the boy’s body lay.
“I have dealt with him.”
“No,” shouted Gabriel. “No. I am Gabriel, Angel of Death.”
“All come to Death, eventually,” I intoned. It felt wonderfully bad.
“But you can’t. You’re sick!” said Gabriel.
“I am the cure to all sickness,” I said. The old lines were all coming back.
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