Lying like angels

Francis had a brick for a pillow and a headstone for a headboard. He was right in the corner of the room where the light shining in through the high sash windows that lined both sides just failed to reach. The room itself was predominantly wooden. The floor was wooden, the vaulted ceiling was lined with wood and the walls had a high wooden picture rail.

On the floor were lines of sleeping people. All had a brick for a pillow and a headstone for a headboard. All were wrapped in thin shrouds that covered their shoulders but left their arms free to cradle their heads upon the hard pillows. There was scarcely three feet between each person and the feet of one just skimmed the headstone of the person in the next line. It was neat, it was orderly and the people behaved so. No one snored or scratched in their sleep. No one farted or belched. They just lay on their sides, sleeping peacefully.

When Francis awoke the first thing he saw was the man squatting by his feet. He had long, brown hair and kind eyes.

"Take your time", said the man. "There's no reason to be frightened."

His voice was soft and mellifluous. The man stayed there, squatting, watching easily with the faintest hint of a smile. His whole presence oozed reassurance.

Francis couldn't remember the last time he'd woken without pain. He didn't feel stiff or sore, he was warm and comfortable and as he stretched he felt his limbs ease. He leant up on one elbow and saw the headstones, the bricks and the lines of sleeping people.

"Where the..." he began.

The man laid his hand on Francis's ankle.

"It's alright. I'll explain everything," he said. "Just wake up slowly, take your time and I'll look after you."

Francis took in his surroundings. The room reminded him of his first classroom at the little village school he'd attended in Cheshire. Heremembered the tables up one end, the illustrated alphabet upon the wall and, because the room was also the school assembly hall, gym and theatre, the dark brooding curtains drawn across the stage at the far end. What mysteries they held, what stories were unfurled behind their hangings.

Francis was coming to from a very deep sleep. He thought he must be coming out of an anaesthetic and he'd soon re-organise these strange visions into a hospital ward. He shut his eyes and lay down again, he relaxed and prepared to go back to sleep. Then he felt the hand on his ankle give the slightest twitch.

"I'm sure you're very tired", said the man "and I'd love to just let you sleep. Don't worry, there's plenty of time for that later but right now we just have to check you over whilst things are still fresh in your mind."

Francis sat up this time. He rubbed his eyes and shook his fuzzy head, trying to concentrate on the matter in hand. Then it hit him.

"I'm dead". He said it sotto voce. He looked directly at the man, his eyes jolted awake and staring. "Where the hell am I?" He realised his little, inadvertent, joke and looked down, chuckling. "I never did put my brain into gear before opening my mouth". Then the next shock hit him. As he brought his gaze back up, he glanced at his neighbour, sleeping softly and soundly, her back to him, her arm upon her brick pillow shielding her head. It was a profile he would never have forgotten.

"Nell!" he cried and tried to rise. The hand on the ankle restrained him.

"Wait a moment", came the voice. "You're not strong enough yet. Sit, rest, wait, we've got all the time in the world." It was his turn to chuckle and he gave a slight wink as Francis turned his eyes back to the man.

"You just need a few minutes, Francis, and everything will come back to you. You are dead, yes, but there is nothing here to threaten you. This is not an illusion. I am here to help you and guide you. I will answer all your questions."

Francis's mind began to race. He recalled those last few days in his bed, his son and daughter bringing up his food and sitting with him, the nurse staying for longer and longer each day, the visits from the doctor, the farewells with the grandchildren as they hugged him - not too hard as it hurt him - and them all trying so painfully and so movingly not to cry. He remembered slipping into that final sleep and suddenly, just before the dying of the light, being aware that it was his final sleep. He squeezed the hands in his, his beloved childrens' hands, and left in peace. Now he wept for them, soft, gentle tears that rolled in large, lolloping runs down his cheeks. Their mother had gone five years previously - and now here she was, beside him. He had so much to tell her. She'd be so proud of the grandchildren. Only Thora, their son's first child, was old enough to have known her. She was seven when her Gran died and now she was thirteen - a bonny, beautiful lass with a brace and a boyfriend. She was doing really well at school and although she spent hours on the telephone, day and night, she was kind and polite and bright as a button. The thought of her brought the tears rolling back down his cheeks. Francis could see them all in his mind's eye. Thora and her little brother Ben who was now seven. So was Adam, their daughter's eldest, his brother George was just eighteen months younger and now Amy was going to have a third. They'd neither of them see him or her. Francis was sad at the thought and sad that her pregnancy had been marred by his going. He had hoped and hoped that it wouldn't harm the baby. They were lovely children, all of them. They were so lucky. Harry and Amy had been good children too. They'd had their fights, of course they had, it wouldn't have been natural if they hadn't, but it'd all turned out OK. They'd married late and, in Amy's case, the first time round was disastrous, but it'd all worked out. She'd found another man and Francis liked him. They were all happy enough now and what man could die with that degree of contentment?

Francis dried his tears on his sheet and looked up at the man. "It's probably best if you explain,"he said. "I think I'm all ready to listen."

As he spoke he leaned over and touched the back of Nell's head. The feel of her hair, the touch of the skin at the nape of her neck were so familiar, it was glorious to be near her again. So much time these past five years he had imagined what he would say to her if they ever met again. He'd never stopped talking to her, bickering at times, laughing, sharing, just like they always had. "Will she wake too?"

"No," said the man. "Not yet. Let me help you. This is not hell, so don't worry, but neither is it heaven. All souls come here after death. It's where we re-charge the batteries. Life is an exhausting business, you know. It takes so much out of each soul that after death you must rest for a long time before your soul can be used again. Even then there is only a finite number of times that each soul can be recycled. I am not an angel, I am an exhausted soul. I've had my time on Earth, now I do this. I am the only person you will meet here. This dormitory and the one next door are my responsibility. I know you all very well. Here you will rest until your time comes again. I will tell you everything. I will tell you the lives of your children, your children's children and those that come afterwards, I know the fortunes of your friends and the children of your friends, I will tell you of the fate of the planet, of your country, your town, your football team. In time, as you rest and recover, all will be revealed. But this is your first awakening and I can see you are tired again already. Fear not, you will get stronger and our conversations will last longer. Just rest..."

"...But what about Nell? When will I get to speak to her?" Francis could feel his eyes getting heavy and he lay down on the floor once more.

"Later perhaps, don't fear," said the exhausted soul and Francis fell back into sleep.

The next time he awoke he remembered everything. He came round far more quickly, the man was in the same place and Nell slept gently beside him.

Francis sat up. Once more he reached over and stroked his beloved. Just the feel of her reassured him and he looked upon the man.

"When will she wake?"

"She has woken four times since your last waking and twenty times since your death. Her soul is almost rested. She talks of you all the time. She takes you in her arms and holds you as she talks. Her joy at finding you beside her has been wonderful to behold. She sends you greetings and love across time and space but I'm sorry, Francis, it is not possible for you both to be awake together. You see, the recovering souls all move at different speeds. Right now you are still tired and you move slowly, your spirit is using its time wisely. Your centre is slowly, slowly getting
recharged. Nell, on the other hand, is almost rejuvenated and she is moving faster and faster. You would not understand a word she said, she would seem to you to rush around at a frenzied speed. She would appear and disappear to you, her speech would be a tiny squeak and to her you would seem to be made of stone, unable to move, unable to communicate. You must be content with this, Francis. I am your guide, I will tell you all."

So Francis began his questions. He learned of the relative happiness and the relative success of his children. He was told that the grandchild unborn at his death had proven to be a difficult, hard and ruthless person. She had founded a company and made a fortune but she had split up the family in that generation. After her death Francis and Nell's great grandchildren had contacted each other again. The heirs of the misbegotten fortune had spread their wealth to the others and the family had continued in relative obscurity and relative harmony. Wars had been fought but nuclear disaster had been avoided - albeit at the last moment on numerous occasions. Pollution and disease had wiped out large parts of the population of the Third World but mankind had squabbled its way to a fudge and a compromise and again disaster was constantly kept just sufficiently at bay for the lucky sections of mankind to flourish. Even the Rovers survived. Francis was glad about that. They never reached the Premiership but when he heard that Manchester United had gone broke due to a Cup defeat by the Rovers that proved to be the straw that broke the rotten camel's back, he was pleased, and told the man so.

On his fifth awakening Nell was no longer beside him. He mourned her passing before him once again but the pain was nothing compared with the first time. In her place was a grey haired man. The exhausted soul said he was unknown to Francis. The man's back was turned away and Francis never bothered to look at his face.

The questions continued. Francis learned all he could about events after his death. Not much of it surprised him - in fact he was more surprised at how much of what he had thought would happen, had happened. He felt fitter and stronger with every awakening. He asked the man if he could be re-united with Nell on his next visit to Earth and was told that their souls were now intertwined for ever. Their love was one of the supremes of the universe and although this time they may just be the best of friends, an old woman and a young man, they could even be mother and son or they may be lovers again; each time they returned to Earth their fates would be married.

All of this contented Francis. He had crossed his t's and dotted his i's. His life was now complete and he felt fit enough and strong enough to begin again. The man asked him if this was so and Francis nodded.

The man led him to the wall and passed his hand across it. A shadowy hole appeared and Francis stepped in. He thought he was in a waterslide at the swimming baths, he was in a tube and he rushed down, faster and faster and as he went his memory was erased until he was a shell, a bare and naked fragment ready to be writ upon anew.

The man left the room as Francis went and walked into an inner chamber. There he met his fellow exhausted souls. They sprawled across armchairs and slouched on sofas whose stuffing protruded in patches. A game of cards was in progress and a pall of cigarette smoke hung over proceedings.

"Another one back ahead of schedule," he said as he entered. "Fully fit and in working order in just seven years."

"Amazing," said a man as he shifted over to let his co-worker sit down on the arm of the chair. "Want a coffee?"

"Sure," he said.

"So how do you do it?"

"Oh, I just tell them any old rubbish, anything they want to hear. It makes them feel good and gets them back on their feet in no time. It gives them no need to worry. Don't overegg it though, they're not completely stupid. And the truth of it is that we need them to come through faster. There's more breeding, more death and more pain. We're going to have to develop faster and better methods than this if we're to keep our majority over those other bastards."