…”All those keepsakes: photographs, trinkets, letters, cards, little knick-knacks which tug at the heart-strings in quiet moments,” said Bill as he paced my room with his meticulously measured tread.
“When girls die they get to take these things with them,” said Bill’s friend doing like wise but in the other direction, “you can see them if you look hard enough, “he motioned to the window which arched across the top of my room,” there they go… forever lugging their load along the in-transitory roads and pathways of the dead.”
“Depending upon their preponderance, it can take an eternity but they never let go,” said Bill.
“If they ever get to heaven they arrange their haul neatly on the mantelpiece of a room, the door of which bears their name and dates,” said Bill’s friend.
“A room of memories in the house of death preserved for the rest of time. There’s no escaping it!” said Bill. He smiled.
Bill’s friend smiled too, “You can try any of the doors you pass. The glimpse you get of the mantle-piece from the doorway if the door opens is a memory test that grades your success in the life to come.”
“The line moves terribly slowly…” said Bill.
“Three steps a century,” said Bill’s friend…
” If you’re fortunate, ” added Bill and smiled again, “those souls wily enough to have developed an ear for Grand Themes while they were lounging in front of the fire between lives, are capable of picking out divine processes in the most commonplace occurrences of their next existence,” said Bill’s friend.
“A game of snooker in the dilapidated tap room of the Lion’s Den becomes the birth, the life, and death of a star-system on the periphery of Venus Sixty Nine…” said Bill.
“The molecules of plastic combined to form yellow, reds and blue… dissolved into interstellar dust before we were born,” said Bill’s friend.
A Cellular Life