The End of the World

CHAPTER ELEVEN



The Tricky Part



In truth, of course, I was no more alone than I had been before. I knew that now. She’d never been here to begin with. I’d willed her into being and I’d sent her away, but she was never actually here. She spoke to me, guided me, because I was lost and panicked and frightened. In all this nothingness, in all this inanity, my mind had scratched and clawed for something to hang on to, and it found it – in my mother. My slightly unconventional, sometimes strange, but always open-minded mother. And however it came to be in the grand scheme of things that that person ended up being my mother, all I knew was that I was grateful. You could lose your mind in a place like this. But with her came clarity and enlightenment. It was as if everything made sense now.

That was until Mrs. Anna suddenly reappeared wearing a pair of Mickey Mouse ears and nonchalantly proceeded to clear up the tea things.

“Mrs. Anna?”

“Yes,” she said, gruffly.

“Why are you wearing Mickey Mouse ears?”

“How should I know? You’re the one with all the answers. You know everything now, apparently.”

Quite what she meant by that I wasn’t sure, but oddly enough, just at that moment, a memory from my childhood popped up from out of nowhere and answered my question for me.

“Oh, wait…Yes, I do remember. My thirteenth birthday party, if I’m not mistaken. Mother insisted I wear them, despite my begging and pleading. She said they were distinctive and would make the occasion memorable. They certainly did. Everyone laughed at me, I cried my eyes out, and later that night I wet the bed.”

“You poor impoverished wretch. My heart bleeds for you,” she mocked.

“There’s no need to be like that,” I said, defensively.

“I can be like whatever I want. And don’t get uppity with me, mister gilded child of your free market economy – it’s your mind, not mine.”

“Good point,” I conceded.

“Anyway, it is you who should be wearing these, not me – you people are the great consumers. You all consume and consume and consume until you’re fit to burst, while the rest of us get flushed down the toilet in the process. That’s all I am – all the rest of us are – just the end result of all your consumption.”

“That’s not a very flattering self-portrait, Mrs. Anna,” I said, still quite mesmerised by the sight of a grown woman going about her business in a pair of Mickey Mouse ears as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Your factories fill the world with crap, filling the air with crap in the process, and when you’re done with it you dig a big hole in the earth and crap it all out. It’s all crap.”

“It’s supply and demand – it’s the basis of economic survival,” I pointed out.

“It’s a con. If you ask me you should all be wearing Mickey Mouse ears – mouse ears and tee shirts that say ‘I Bought it All!’ Yes, then I would laugh. Then I would be tickled pink, as you people say.”

As she continued to clear the table, humming merrily to herself, clearly pleased with her scathing denouncement of current economic policies and mass consumerism, I began to wonder where all of this was leading. How much longer would I be here? Or was this where I’d always be? I truly hoped not.

“Mrs. Anna?” I said, cautiously.

“Questions, questions, always with the questions,” she groused, as she stopped what she was doing and glowered at me. “What now, my poor little over-privileged, undereducated, premature death?”

“What, um…what do I do now?”

“Why ask me? You’re the one with all the answers.”

“But I’m not.”

“Yes, yes, you know everything now.”

“No I don’t.”

“Of course you do. Don’t think I didn’t hear that sickly little speech you just gave about your mother coming to you just when you needed her most. What was it? Uh…ah, yes, ‘But with her came clarity and enlightenment. It was as if everything made sense now.’ My God, it was all I could do to stop myself from throwing up. It was like watching a Mexican soap opera.”

“Mrs. Anna!” I cried, shocked at the thought of my most private thoughts being snooped on. “Were you at the keyhole?”

“What! Who do you think I am? How dare you suggest such a thing!” she protested.

“But how else could–”

“You think I am some low-rent housekeeper that snoops around her tenant’s drawers looking for some cheap, nasty pleasures? Is that what you think?”

“No, no, I just–”

“I was listening in your head, dummy. I’m in your precious little first-world head, remember? Comprende, mi amigo muerto?”

“Oh…oh, of course, yes. I’m so sorry, I…I didn’t mean to imply that…”

“Ah, forget it. Anyway, you’re the least of my problems,” she sighed.

I meandered over to the kitchen window and looked out, which was actually a rather pointless exercise since all that could ever be seen from it was pitch darkness. Still, it seemed to be the sort of thing one does when one’s deep in thought, so that’s what I did.

“The thing is…despite what I know…despite my mother’s insight and illumination on all of this…I’m still not sure what exactly it is that comes next.”

“What can I tell you?” she said, matter-of-factly. “That’s death.”

“It’s a great big unknown.”

“It’s The End of the World,” she corrected me.

“Yes…it is.”

“And now you want me to make it all so very easy for you, is that it?”

“No. No, I’d…I’d just like your help. That’s all.”

Mrs. Anna took off her Mickey Mouse ears, placing them carefully on the table, and crossed over to the window, standing in front of me with her arms folded across her chest. “Very well,” she said, resolutely, “you will get my help.”

“Really?” I asked, quite taken aback by her sudden generosity of spirit.

“What, you think I am joking? Everything is a joke for you, yes? Or maybe you think I am a liar because my accent is different from yours?”

“No, I-I…thank you.”

“Anyway…it’s time you went. I told you you would. You all do in time,” she said, before giving me a sly look. “Most of you,” she added, with a chuckle.

“What happens to those that don’t?” I asked, warily.

“You don’t want to know. Suffice to say they’re in the back bedrooms on the top floor. You may have heard one or two of them on occasion – they’re a noisy bunch.”

Just then a piercing scream echoed and ricocheted around the house, right on cue.

“And where will I go?” I asked, with more than a little apprehension.

“Back,” she said, bluntly.

“Back there?”

“Yes.”

“Again?”

“Yes.”

“As the same person? The same person living out the same life?”

She looked at me incredulously. “Of course not, are you crazy? You think I do all this just so you people can go back and make the same mistakes over and over and over again?” She scratched her head and paused for a moment. “On second thoughts, don’t answer that. Anyway, this is…well, this is where it gets a little tricky.”

“In what way?” I asked, the use of the word ‘tricky’ making me feel decidedly ill at ease.

“In the way that you go back. You see, there are options, but for someone like you…let’s just say they’re kind of narrow.”

“Who’s someone like me? What have I done? I haven’t done anything. I hardly made a ripple,” I implored.

“That’s the problem.”

“So I’m to be punished for that?”

“Not at all. But not rewarded, either. And don’t blame me. I just do what it says in the guidebook.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Well, if you were more liberated in mind and spirit – your awareness more heightened than it is – you could maybe return as, say, a saint or a hero of some sort, beloved and adored by right-minded people everywhere. Oh, how they would sing your praises! From all corners of the earth! You’d be bathed in respect and adulation.”

That sounded very appealing. “Yes, I like that. I like that a lot. Is there any possible way that I could–”

“No!” she boomed. “You’re far too bound up in your western concepts of truth and meaning. You feel the hot breath of death against your neck and still you reach down to see if your wallet is still there.”

“I won’t, I promise. There’s nothing in it anyway.”

“On the other hand, a brief look at your brief life shows that you didn’t kill or cheat or swindle your way through it. You didn’t sell your soul to reach your goal.”

“No, I didn’t. Though I didn’t really have a goal either. Not that I would’ve, though.”

“And that is good, because the place of return for self-serving parasites is a very bleak place indeed: a raped landscape of black roads they are forced to travel, leading to faceless, colourless buildings that offer them nothing but cold comfort and a lifetime of insignificance. This is not a good place to be, trust me. Even a Bulgarian would find it tough going.”

“And…that’s not me, right? I mean…just to be sure,” I asked nervously.

“No. No, for you it’s different. For you – for better or worse – it is back to the ordinary human world to live the ordinary human life. The rest is up to you – make it count.”

“I will…yes, I will,” I assured her. “I’m going to do great things. I’m going to make an impact. I’m going to be remembered, not just after my death – my next death – but for generations to come. I’ll be in books of record and journals of note. I’ll be brought up at dinner parties and quoted in lectures. I’ll be referenced and re-evaluated, revered and reinterpreted. I’ll make an indelible mark that will never be erased.”

Mrs. Anna looked at me with a strange smile on her face. “Or maybe, if you’re really lucky…you’ll just be content.”

“Yes…or content. I’m sure I could be happy with that, too.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you have a much better chance at making your indelible mark. But what do I know? I’m just the hired help.”

“Either one sounds nice,” I said, agreeably.

Mrs. Anna pulled a handkerchief from inside her sleeve and blew her nose in it quite vigorously. “Very well, then,” she sniffed. “If you’re sure you’re ready.”

“I am,” I said, decisively.

“I must warn you, though – it’s not pretty back there. Never was, but now it’s just getting faster and nastier. The ice is melting, the sea is rising, the oil’s drying up and the sheep have cataracts. It’s all coming to an end. And the closer it gets, the harder they push on their accelerators. You really want to go back to that?”

“I do. I want to know more. I want to see more, feel more. It may well be all the things you say it is but there’s still something about it that I just can’t resist. And if it is all coming to an end, then…well, I’d like to have just a little more before it’s gone.”

“As you wish,” she shrugged. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

As she started to leave the room, I felt a sudden sense of panic. After all, I had absolutely no idea what it was I was about to be subjected to. “Mrs. Anna?” I called after her.

She stopped in the doorway and turned. “Yes,” she answered with an irritated sigh.

“What’ll it feel like?”

“Rebirth, you mean?”

“Yes.”

She mopped her brow with her soiled handkerchief and briefly pondered my question. “Well…do you remember what it felt like when you were born the last time?”

“No…no, not really,” I replied. “I was very young.”

“Too bad. Anyway, it’ll be something like that. You’ll feel snug and enclosed, surrounded by warm fluids, a soothing rhythmic sound echoing all around you, constantly being moved about – sometimes fast, sometimes slow – and then before you know it…out you pop!”

“It sounds nice,” I said, feeling more reassured by her description.

“It is, from all accounts. ‘Cleansing’ is the word I hear used most often to describe it. All right, stay there – I will fetch the top loader,” she said, before disappearing out of the door.