Ralph stood before the crowd, the translators by his side. A constant haze of ash seemed to rise from the ground behind him, floating into the sky.
“Right then. When we arrive on this plane, we must make a vow. We vow that when we witness someone passing to our Plane - dying - we will endeavor to help them. We vow that we will perform the Whispers. And we vow that we will administer this vow to others upon passing. To answer the obvious question: No, there’s no way we can make you take the vows. Normally, when the administration of the vows happens on a one-to-one basis, there is some possibility for shame and a taint to someone’s reputation. This is not practical here. And in any case, as we are non-corporeal and cannot be hurt, punishment in our world is difficult. I cannot force you to do this. And in a group this large, Juba and I would hardly notice if you abstained. If you abstain now and regret it later, simply make the vow to yourself. This is not magic, there is nothing that will happen to you if you don’t do this. To use modern parlance, the whole charade is mainly an attempt at psychology. I would remind you, however, that the three laws are all aimed towards helping others, so it is, in my opinion just good manners.” Pause. Translations.
“Ready then? Okay. Repeat after me.”
I vow that in the Plane of Energy I will welcome newcomers and help them arrive in our world. I vow to perform the Whispers. And I vow to administer this vow to others, so that the vows may live on.
Dorothea hesitated. This was all too much. Was she committing to something here? Could she get out of this vow? Out of this… Plane? But Ralph’s point seemed valid. The vows only said she will help. It seemed benign. She recited the vows with the others. There was general din from the group, and from the other groups as well as the vows are taken.
Ralph continued. “I would alert our human translators that the exact wording of the vows is deemed somewhat important to some - though I have never put much stock in it. Therefore, it would behoove the newly arrived to, at some point soon in their existence in the Plane of Energy, when they have met other less recently departed souls who are native speakers of their tongue, or practitioners of their faith, to learn the exact wording, as we may have bungled this in translation. I don’t put must stock in this personally, however. But suit yourself.”
Pause. Translations.
“Juba will now take the Spanish speakers and the French over there to answer questions separately. But I am now happy to answer questions for everyone else.?
Perhaps three dozen hands raised in the crowd. Ralph lifted his arm, about to point to the first question.
As he did this, Vicky disappeared from Dorothea’s arms.
Dorothea screamed “My baby! My baby! She was just here! She’s gone! She’s gone! WHERE DID SHE GO!?”
Ralph would have paled if he could. He was clearly hoping this wouldn’t happen. “Ahh yes. That.”
Dorothea looked at Ralph as if she would murder him, again, if she could. Violet stood by her side. She felt a vague obligation to help her employer. But I’m dead, Violet realized. She’s not my employer anymore, she realized bitterly. But Vicky. That lovely child. Oh, it’s terrible. Sympathy for Dorothea - and Vicky - overtook her. Her helplessness unleashed a torrent of bitterness and guilt.
The larger crowd seemed equally astonished and discomfited.
Ralph attempted to explain, “We do not know why. We do not know the meaning about it. But the Plane of Energy seems to be only comprised of adults. Adult is a more general term here in the Plane than it is in the world of the living. Twelve, thirteen, even as old as fifteen. The number is inexact. Most people believe it is about inner adulthood. In any case, those who die before they have reached this inner adulthood do not remain in the Plane of Energy. They disappear within an hour or two.”
Dorothea began sobbing, or appearing to Violet mordantly mused.
Ralph looked chagrinned. “I will also say that most of us in the Plane believe that children are the one and only instance of reincarnation. It is widely believed in the plane - and I share this belief - that children are deemed to be worthy to return to the world of the living as they have not yet become who they truly are. Mrs Dorothea, you may find strength and comfort in this belief. I believe your child, as with all children, are born again, given another opportunity to find a full life. It is, perhaps, us for whom you should weep rather than your child.” Ralph thought for a moment. “And, actually, we cannot weep. You will notice that while you appear to be shedding tears, they are not wet.”
Pause. As the translations happen, Dorothea raised her hands to touch her eyes. She was astonished to find no tears. She continued to cry anyway. Real tears didn’t come but this wasn’t going to stop her, she decided.
It seemed that crying was possible without tears.
The shepherd who’d been circling the English speaking crowd was now by Dorothea and Violet’s side. He peered straight into Dorothea’s eyes. He said in stilted English. “Your baby. Your baby live again. It is gift.”
How can someone dead feel the mix of emotions I’m feeling right now, Dorothea cried inward. Is Vicky alive? Dead? Will she live again? What in god’s name? Is there even a god? What can I do? What the hell is going on here? Jesus, Mary and Joseph. No. Screw that. Vicky. Baby.
Dorothea stops. What can a mother think in this situation? Do I want my baby to die?
Or do I want to her live again?
Of course I do.
Ralph interjected. “Mrs. Turner. Though I confess I was hoping I could get through this little interview before Vicky’s passing, I nonetheless took the step of informing Ico here of your predicament. He stands ready to aid and comfort you should you need to take a moment. We can regroup a bit later.”
Dorotha looked at Ico and, like a child hoping for a small miracle, and meekly implored to him “My baby live again?”
“Si. Yes. Live again,” Ico said. “Bueno. Es Bueno. Es un milagro.” Ico turned to Ralph. “Milagro?”
Ralph called over “Ico says it is a miracle.”
Dorothea smiled through her immaterial tears and tried to regain her composure. She looked at Ico. “Milagro.”
Ico smiled at her he stood back and made a motion for Dorothea to join him away from the group.
Dot looked at Violet. Violet shrugged. “I’m okay here ma’am. You go if you need to.”
Violet’s decision strengthened Dorothea. “No. I will stay.”
Vicky, my love. One day I will find you. You live again. Embrace that life, that gift, that milagro. Goodbye for now, my sweet.
The crowd had been transfixed by this exchange. The concept of being ghosts, of children being reincarnated. Dorothea’s grief. Ico’s mystical belief in the milagro. It had proven overwhelming to the crowd. But Ralph’s words seemed to have awoken them. The Captain, who had been endeavoring to translate all of this (for there were no translation pauses) to the Dutch and the German man stopped and turns to Ralph. “This woman still grieves yet you say we are ghosts. Do we feel? Do we hurt?”
Ralph answered. “We still feel emotions, yes. We can laugh, cry, sing, we feel joy, despair, hope, envy, though you’ll find there is far less to be envious of. Except,” he added bitterly, “the living, if you choose to let those emotions loose. Over time, your emotions will change and evolve, but they are still there. It is not unlike an adult looking back on their childhood. It is normal, too, immediately upon passing, to feel somewhat differently about various topics than before passing to our plane. Our emotions, I believe, are always a mix of the physical and the mental. Only the mental remains.”
Almost left you hanging at the baby disappearing there but that seemed too cruel.
Moody and quiet mix for today. All new(ish) stuff.
Until tomorrow, fair reader.