by Daniel Quinn
Let’s be clear about the situation here: It is simply a fact that in the Afterlife no one needs to impress anyone or make a living or get ahead or scurry to get as much out of life as possible. These are things that death has put behind us forever. People adjust to this reality in various ways, but most of them adjust to it in ways that make them subdued, self-absorbed, and more or less oblivious to their neighbors’ actions or opinions.
Some people find this social environment bleak and depressing, some fit right into it, and some ignore it and carry on in their own individual styles.
REGULARS
You and I belong to the class called (for want of a better term) Regulars. Again, I know that you belong to this class for the simple reason that you’re reading this book. It may be fairly said that Regulars are what most people “expect” to become after death (provided that they have any expectations at all in this regard). This is of course a matter of memory. What we Regulars remember is that, in life, everyone was more or less “like us.” Everyone looked like us, moved like us, felt like us, thought like us, and so on. As far as we’re concerned, Regulars look “ordinary” and even “lifelike.” It has been pointed out2 that this might well be an illusion or false memory. Perhaps when Husks compare themselves to the living (if they are capable of doing such a thing) they too seem “ordinary” and “lifelike.” Perhaps the living are in fact more like Husks than we remember them.
You will quickly notice that persons of every age, sex, and race can be found among the Regulars—with the very notable exception of infants and very small children. A number of theories have been proposed to explain their absence. Rutger Stanley,3 for example, points out that “In ages before the appearance of the concept of ‘childhood,’ it was generally supposed that small children were not truly or fully human at all. Some thinkers went so far as to suggest that they formed a kind of pupal species distinct from our own.” By contrast, V. A. Broadhurst4 feels that, “in consideration of their manifest innocence, the souls of small children must surely occupy some state nearer to the paradisaic than our own.” Another theory is mentioned in the following section.
HUSKS
Husks will be found stacked in disused areas everywhere—against a road sign, a cucumber cellar, a lean-to. Their condition—of emptiness, lightness, fragility—has been attributed to various causes. Ramagadri is confident that “in life they were aspirants to the highest (seventh) level.” Claudel suggests that “those who die in infancy project into the Afterlife eidolons or weak images of what they would have become had they lived to adulthood; these eidolons are without doubt the Husks that we see everywhere; they are adult in size but necessarily empty.” Claudel’s conjecture seems to many to be confirmed by the fact that the faces of Husks are invariably expressionless and without character—devoid of any normal traces of habitual thought and emotion, such as frown- or laugh-lines.
Husks soon disintegrate—“like fallen leaves,” as the poet Tennyson has put it. That one must move more or less perpetually through a litter of whole or dismembered Husks is a fact of Afterlife to which one must become inured if not altogether indifferent. Count yourself fortunate that it is left to the Adepts to dispose of the remains:
ADEPTS
The Adepts represent one of the true enigmas of the Afterlife. The received wisdom regarding them is that, unlike all other inhabitants, the Adepts have never enjoyed an earthly existence; in other words, they are not the formerly alive but rather the never-born. I call this “received wisdom” but am unable to say from whom it is received; unless it was in some far ancient time, it did not come to us from the Adepts themselves, for they do not teach, write, or even speak to us (though it is evident that they understand our own speech).
The Adepts are embarrassingly superior to us in many ways: unflaggingly cheerful, gracious, helpful, simple, childlike. They cannot be provoked to anger or impatience by any known means. At the same time, their saintliness is utterly unflavored by character; they are individually indistinguishable one from another, like handsome, sexless dolls all cast from the same mold.
It is generally assumed that the Adepts are souls “waiting to be born” in human form. At conception (according to this theory), they naturally disappear from the Afterlife. If they are aborted, stillborn, or die in early childhood, they return to the Afterlife as Husks, which are, after all, very like Adepts in one respect: They are like ruined, sexless dolls all cast from the same mold. If in life they survive childhood, however, Adepts soon achieve “the true character of humanity” (as Rasmussen puts it), which means that they thereafter sooner or later arrive in the Afterlife as us (the Regulars). No practical way of testing the theory has ever been devised.
LUNATICS, ECCENTRICS, AMNESIACS,
AND MEMORY-LOSS HYSTERICS
Many a newcomer’s first impression of the Afterlife is that it’s not much different from a madhouse. Be assured that—as you become accustomed to what you see (and as your own values and behavior change)—this impression soon fades.
Except for eliminating purely biochemical disorders like depression and schizophrenia, death does not automatically change anyone’s personality. Neurotics remain neurotic, the small-minded remain small-minded, and the deranged remain deranged. Severe derangement is a crippling condition in life, where one must obtain food, shelter, and other necessities (usually in cooperation with others); in the Afterlife the severely deranged person is, quite frankly, no worse off than anyone else. In fact, there is no reason to suppose that persons who seem deranged by “normal” standards are less happy or less “well off” than anyone else. Indeed, the very notion of normalcy is virtually meaningless in the Afterlife.
Many of those who strike newcomers as lunatics are simply old hands who long ago gave up caring what anyone thinks of them. They may have been extremely conventional people in life, but here they caper and bray and declaim and cavort, as pleases them. Before long, as inhibitions wither, you may well find yourself doing the same.
People will often alarm newcomers by proclaiming that they’ve forgotten who they are. It was long assumed that this was a sort of “hazing” that people like to put newcomers through. In modern times, however, this has come to be viewed as a more complex activity. It’s true that some people will tell you that they’ve forgotten who they are simply to tease and frighten, but it has been shown that others do this because they’re worried about forgetting who they are—and only newcomers are willing to listen to their anxieties. Still others have let their worries on this score become confused with reality; they’re genuinely doubtful of their own identity and often have no way of confirming it.
Be warned that (unless you’re a very steadfast isolate) you will sooner or later find yourself in the vicinity of an outbreak of memory-loss hysteria. It happens this way: One individual in a crowd suddenly announces that he has “gone blank,” alarming others around him and causing them to go blank. A widespread chain reaction occurs like lightning, creating the strong impression that everyone in the crowd has been simultaneously struck “memory-dead,” by some hostile cosmic force. Instead of rapidly dispersing, as might happen in other stressful situations, the crowd “implodes,” seeking reassuring contact; this naturally has the effect of intensifying and prolonging the effect, which can last for hours and even days. Eventually boredom overcomes terror, the crowd drifts apart, and people bit by bit begin to reassemble their identities.
Most people, on being surprised by an occurrence of memory-loss hysteria, will succumb the first time, no matter how often you warn them to be on their guard against it. It takes real presence of mind and strength of character to instantly begin to shout out, “I know who I am! I know who I am!” until you’re free of the panic-stricken crowd, but nothing works better (and may inspire others around you to save themselves as well).
GREETERS AND OTHER DUBIOUS FRIENDS
In Afterlife as in life, newcomers are always apt to be taken advantage of by people who have been around for a while.
These old hands are not necessarily vicious people; on the contrary, those whose motives are the most benevolent are often the most troublesome.
Greeters (or as some call them, Mentors) would like to “take you under their wing” or “show you the ropes.” They may be sincere, well-meaning, and truly helpful people, or they may be desperately lonely and needy people who would like to make you dependent on them. Whatever the case, if they hint that they are in a position to “pull strings” on your behalf, be warned that they are either deceiving themselves or attempting to deceive you; billions have looked for those strings, and they’re just not there to be pulled.
Money lenders will offer you cash at trifling interest rates or even at no interest, alleging that you will be helpless without it or that it will enable you to achieve a better start in the Afterlife. The money (always gorgeous to look at) is completely worthless and without use. Surprisingly enough, however, your easiest course is simply to accept it. Knowing the money is worthless, the lender has no desire to get it back or to collect the equally worthless interest. Why then does he offer it in the first place? Who knows? Perhaps to achieve a momentary feeling of importance, to win a smile of gratitude, or just to pass the time.
Finders will volunteer to track down your loved ones. These, for the most part, are harmless romantics who in life dreamed of being Sam Spade or Philip Marlowe. Having nothing better to do, they betake themselves here and there in the Afterlife, supposedly looking for your missing friends and relatives. Sometimes they find them; more often, alas, they just lose interest and disappear.
Mediums will tell you that they are able to put you in touch with the living. As in life, there are those who believe in these claims and those who don’t. Wieland notes that “several (disputed) methods of how the dead communicate with earth have been ‘documented,’ but we must once again emphatically state that the message sent is never the message received, the code is always absent, the signified a travesty of the signifier. For example, a philosopher in our neighborhood claims when he tried to send Wittgenstein’s elementary statement Die Welt ist alles, was der Fall ist (The world is everything, that is the case) to his troubled daughter, it appeared in her bathroom mirror as THROW AWAY THE LADDER AND THEN CLIMB UP IT. Granted, one may be amused by these ‘communications,’ but interest in this game soon wanes.”5
Erotogogues will show you the way to astonishing sensual pleasures. They cannot fulfill their promises; no one and no thing can, here in the Afterlife. A desire lingers (why else would you still be interested in this subject?), but it’s neither strong nor long-lasting. Should you be tempted by their talk, I suggest you ask for specifics and then watch them blush, fidget, stick their hands in their pockets, begin to whistle, look about as if they had suddenly forgotten something that demands their immediate attention, then see how they gradually walk backward until they disappear, humming and whistling all the while, into the nearest wall.
Hired Guns will locate your enemy and turn him into a Husk. Ah, if only it were so. The pleasure of belated revenge! All the abuses you suffered at his or her hands. The time he held your face in the dirt and made you eat it. The physical education teacher who, while you were running track, told you to wipe that smile off your face. The one who made you tremble in front of your girl. The one who lied. The doctor who told you to keep smoking, that a cure for cancer would be found before you died. The one who wrote “due to exigencies beyond our control.” The one who said, “I don’t like the way you breathe.” Ah, these and others, so many others. What a treasure! What an orchard of enemies to choose from!—But wait. What is the fate you wished on them? That they were dead? Well, they are, or will be soon enough. And of course they can no more be turned into Husks than you or I.
TAKE IT TO HEART: DON’T WORRY, BE HAPPY
When newcomers realize that the Afterlife is not a community of saints, they often become anxious for their personal safety, privacy, and general well-being. They wonder how they can protect themselves from their neighbors without the support of laws, courts, and police. Once again, it is the universal experience that the habitat accommodates itself to local needs. To take a very mundane example, let’s suppose that someone in your immediate vicinity is bothering you with noise. Even if no one else is bothered by the noise, the habitat will react locally to relieve your distress. This might occur in a variety of ways. Perhaps some sound-blocking barrier will be interposed between you and the noisemaker. Perhaps you will come across more attractive quarters elsewhere. Perhaps the noisemaker will find more attractive quarters elsewhere. Perhaps whatever mechanism is actually producing the noise will fail and be replaced by one that is silent.
“But what,” you may wonder, “has become of the psychos, the lunatics, the mad slashers, the serial killers who have been sent to us in such large numbers in recent decades? Aren’t they here somewhere, lurking in alleys, skulking in doorways, hiding in attics?” It takes some time, but you will eventually realize once and for all that you cannot come to physical harm here in the Afterlife. People can irritate you with their presence (or with their noise, as in the previous example), but they cannot restrain you or injure you. (This is not because they are ghosts but because you are a ghost; Jack the Ripper would get no more satisfaction from taking a knife to you than he would from taking a knife to a swarm of mosquitos—and he’s well aware of it, wherever and whoever he may be.)
ALL THE SAME, THERE ARE NUISANCES
This is undeniable and unfortunate, but what is one to say about it? Some people feel that “Rest in Peace” should constitute an Afterlifetime guarantee, but whom can one complain to or demand a refund from? Facts are facts, or have been from the earliest times—literally millions of years ago—to the present.
Stalkers, crazed worshipers, and unwanted lodgers operate in the Afterlife in exactly the way they did (and presumably still do) in life. They hang around their victims, trail them wherever they go, invade their privacy and peace of mind, and burden them with menace, with unwanted adoration, or simply with their presence. Although those who were celebrities in life are more attractive to these pests than others, anyone can end up with one, and the question then becomes, what to do? Since there is no court to enjoin them from troubling you, you must find and implement your own solutions. Most often, victims simply leave, go on an indefinitely extended walkabout, and hope to wear out or leave behind their tormentors. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
In fact, if a really persistent nuisance of this sort attaches himself or herself to you, only an Adept can offer any genuine hope of effective assistance. Approach any one of them and explain your situation fully and frankly. The Adept will nod reassuringly, depart, and soon return with a band of four or five of his/her fellows, who will thereafter simply surround the person who is bothering you. From this point on, your tormentor will have to struggle to maintain a glimpse of you; he will spend every moment virtually smothered in the delicate, sticky sweetness that the Adepts exude. If six Adepts are insufficient to screen him from you and you from him, dozens will be found—hundreds. The Adepts will not tire of this task or become discouraged, even if it takes decades or centuries to persuade your persecutor that life might be more rewarding somewhere else than in your shadow. When he departs at last, so will the Adepts, glazed smiles in place, without pausing to accept your thanks.
Some inhabitants of the Afterlife believe that this extraordinary ability and willingness of the Adepts to restrain, subdue, and reform malefactors is their entire reason for being. Some suggest that this activity is precisely what the Adepts are named for—this is what they are adept at. All this may be so. Should you ever (God forbid!) have need of their services in such a case, however, you must be prepared for the fact that, for as long as it takes, the cure is nearly as excruciating as the disease!
GUILDS AND CLUBS
Much of the energy that in life went into building families, businesses, and careers now goes into guilds and clubs. Guilds tend to be intense, all-
absorbing activities, often of a religious character, while clubs lend themselves to the exercise of hobbies. Guilds are stable, monolithic, and ubiquitous; if you join the Diggers here, you are automatically a member of this self-same guild everywhere and everywhen in the Afterlife. Clubs, by contrast, are ephemeral, individual, and local (though they are of course free to form associations with other clubs); in other words, joining a chess club here (wherever “here” happens to be for you) doesn’t enroll you in every chess club in the Afterlife. Individuals often belong to many different clubs but seldom to more than one guild.
One hundred thirty-seven guilds are active in the Afterlife at this time. All are described in detail in Akito’s Cyclopedia of Guilds. A few of the most famous are:
• The Karroum (the skinless), very charismatic and very secretive, counting among its ranks such notables as Hatshepsut, Pythagoras, Æthelred I, Martin Schongauer, Anne of Austria, Marcello Malpighi, Claudio Monteverdi, Herman Melville, and Sarah Bernhardt.
• The Guild of the Dark Brother (see Chapter One), one of the oldest and most powerful (in the sense of being attractive to the dead of every age) in the Afterlife. Guild members are engaged in “the search for the Dark Brother,” a highly evolved mystical pilgrimage, physical and spiritual, that will end when the Afterlife itself ends.
• The Society of Fools, which describes itself as “The Biggest Traveling Show in the Universe.” Its members are not only entertainers of every type (clowns, comics, jugglers, magicians, dancers, acrobats, singers, and so on) but musicians, librettists, dramatists, acting troupes, poets, painters, storytellers, novelists—indeed practitioners of every art known. It is a heartfelt byword of the Afterlife: “Where would we be without the Fools?”