Death: A Life (36 page)

I
t was my
last day on Earth. In fact, it was the last day Earth would ever have. Any minute now the rivers would begin to run red with blood, fire would begin to fall from the sky, and the whole prematch razzmatazz would begin. Twenty-four hours had elapsed since I had spoken to Phil the Raccoon, and since all would be lost in a matter of hours, what did I have to lose by humoring him a little? However, when I went to see him again, he was standing at the head of a huge crowd of creatures—humans, birds, fish, rocks—who were all talking wildly. As I approached them, their conversation slowly died down.

“Well, Death,” said Phil the Raccoon. “I had to pull a few strings, call in some favors, and strong-arm a few of the smaller invertebrates, but me and the rest of Creation have been talking.”

“About what?”

“Life is a mess. You’re happy, you’re sad, you’re up, you’re down, you’re spinning wildly around not knowing what you’re doing. Yet there’s always been one constant. One thing we could always rely on, while all the rest of Life fell apart. And that’s you, Death. You’ve always been there for us. Whether the big man upstairs exists or not, it’s you who we
know
exists. We may have our differences, sure. I mean, sometimes you take us earlier than we think you should. But you always take us, and that’s the point. We’ve always known where we stand with you, Death, or rather where we fall, and we appreciate that, from the bottom of our still-beating hearts. Am I right, fellas?”

There was a braying murmur of assent.

“In fact,” said Phil the Raccoon, “we figure that you’re an intrinsic part of Life. Whether it’s the last beat of a heart or the final word in an argument, you’re always there. Is a door any less the part of a house because you leave the house through it?”

There was a braying murmur of confusion.

“What I’m trying to say is—we don’t want you to go. And we’re not going to stand for it. For too long we’ve been the subject of arbitrary divine forces. I mean, look at Gerald here.”

A flounder flopped forward. “Hey, Death,” it said.

“I mean, having your eye migrate around your head?” continued Phil the Raccoon. “Can you imagine how that messes you up?”

“Scarred me for life,” said Gerald the Flounder. “I wake up in cold sweats at night just thinking about it.”

Flounder: “You Lookin’ at Me? No, Seriously, Are You Looking at Me?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” continued Phil the Raccoon, “there’s nothing I like more than the infinite variety of Creation. But there’s a fine line between ‘infinite variety’ and ‘bat-shit crazy.’ Anyway, what I’m trying to say is—what we’re trying to say is—you never pull any of that nonsense on us, and we…we love you for it, Death.”

The crowd broke into a round of applause. There was much hooting. Phil the Raccoon crossed his arms and swallowed. I noticed Gerald the Flounder had disappeared.

“Thank you, thank you all,” I said. “I appreciate you saying all these kind words about me. But I’m afraid it’s no use. God has decreed that you’re all to be resurrected at the end of today and live forever in Heaven.”

“Live forever?” continued Phil the Raccoon. “Are you shitting me? I can barely keep my alimony payments going as it is, let alone for all eternity.”

There was a general murmur of agreement.

“And besides, who wants to live forever? Life may be brutish, ugly, and short…but so are we.”

“I’m not,” piped up a giraffe standing at the back of the crowd.

“All right then,” snapped the Phil the Raccoon, “brutish, ugly, and tall. You see, Death, we appreciate Life for what is, in all its filthy glory. And we like having you around to tell us when it’s over. You provide closure, you know?”

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way,” I said, “but I’m not sure what can be done to stop it.”

“Don’t worry, Death,” said Phil the Raccoon. “It occurs to me that, considering your working relationship with Life, a little solidarity is in order.”

He then proceeded to tell me the most ridiculous plan I had ever heard.

Later that day,
as the
Book of Endings
foretold, Phil the Raccoon choked to death on one of Gerald the Flounder’s bones. But rather than sending his soul into the Darkness, I took it with me on a trip to Heaven.

Preparations for the Second Coming had begun. The bunting was out. Large posters read
THY KINGDOM HAS COME
and
NO SMOKING.
Newly installed bunk beds filled every possible nook and cranny. I noticed the stadium had been completed and was already starting to fill with angels. At its center was a roped-in ring. A tinny public address system was advertising the match.

“For one night only! The match to end all matches! The altercation to decide your salvation! Battling for your everlasting souls! In the white corner, the Mayhem from Bethlehem, the All-New Jew, Half-Man, Half-God, All Fighter! Jeeeeeeeee-zus Christ!”

Jesus Prided Himself on His Elaborate Ringside Entrances.

There was loud applause.

“And in the black corner,” continued the voice, “the Reason for So Much Suffering in the World. Death. Former male prostitute.”

There were a few scattered boos and then abrupt silence. Vendor angels were selling Jesus paraphernalia. Phil the Raccoon gave me a look of disgust, but I later caught him trying to buy a pair of stick-on stigmata. “For the kids,” he told me. After all our planning, could I really trust him?

When we finally arrived at the Parliament of Heaven, it was almost empty. At the far end Jesus was packing a suitcase for His Second Coming. God was trying to sit on top of it in an attempt to get the lid down.

“Well, look who it is,” Jesus beamed. “You’re early. Better not be early tonight.”

“Yes, Death,” boomed God, “I hope you have not forgotten our…agreement.”

“Ahem,” coughed Phil the Raccoon.

“Actually, it’s Amen,” boomed God. “Who are you?”

“I’m Phil the Raccoon,” said Phil the Raccoon, “and You’re forgetting one thing, O Great One.”

“I forget no things, you small furry creature,” boomed God. “I know everything.”

There was a pause.

“What have I forgotten?” boomed God.

“You think the living have just been wasting their time on Earth, just having sex and taking long walks and waiting for You to save us?” said the Raccoon. “Well, we haven’t. We’ve been busy.”

“I bet you have,” beamed Jesus sarcastically. “Been chasing frogs, have we? Getting hit by cars? Being turned into hats? Oh, how busy you must have been.”

“Ho, ho,” boomed God. “Very droll, Jesus.”

“Actually,” said Phil the Raccoon angrily, “we’ve been holding meetings, and forming subcommittees. We’ve been debating issues and taking votes. We’ve been organizing!”

“What are you saying, you silly nocturnal flesh-eating mammal?” boomed God.

“The Earth is a closed shop, God,” cried Phil the Raccoon, pulling out the soul of a dead whistle. “Creation is going on strike!” And with that, the Raccoon let out a mighty blast, and everything in Creation immediately put down their tools, or claws, or proboscises and stopped what it was doing. The Earth stopped spinning on its axis, the clouds stopped moving, the winds stopped blowing, all the forces of nature ground to a halt in direct contravention of their divinely ordained duty. And the rivers refused to run red with blood, the birds declined to fall from the sky, not a flake of snow fell in the desert—Judgment Day was postponed! For seven days and seven nights, every creature, plant, and inanimate object sat down and sang. They sang for me.

“2-4-6-8, who do we appreciate,” chanted the reeds in the rivers. “Death!”

“Oh, come on,” boomed God. “This is ridiculous.”

“10-12-14-16, who keeps Earth looking pristine,” chanted the parrots in the trees. “Death!”

“I will not,” boomed God, “I will not give in to this gross intimidation.”

“56-58-60-62, who do we all go through,” chanted the creeping things that crept in the tall grass. “Death!”

“Not you too, creeping things?” boomed God.

On the fifth day God sent in strikebreakers, replacement beings, and special new concepts hurriedly designed to get Creation moving again. There were many scuffles, but the new creations were ill-adapted to survival on Earth; they had not, after all, spent eons evolving upon it. The new plants God sent were swiftly uprooted by existing trees. New skulking things were crushed by age-old stomping things. New minerals reacted badly to the atmosphere and dissolved instantly. New languages failed to catch on and were swiftly ignored. Throughout all this, the chanting continued.

“1898988-1898990-1898992-1898994 who is waiting at the door,” intoned the amoebas and mitochondria. “Death!”

What with the mayflies and lemmings staging die-ins of mammoth proportions, the metallic ores and sedimentary rocks refusing to be moved by even the most aggressive of tectonic forces, and the unending chanting of anything with a vibrating mucous membrane, God was finally worn down. Phil the Raccoon and I were called to Heaven for negotiations, but before I left I addressed Creation.

Celestial Solidarity.

“Without you there would be no me!” I bellowed, pointing at each and every member of Creation. They clapped wildly. “And with me, there will be no you!” the clapping faltered somewhat. “Mark my words, I will be seeing you all again, very, very soon!” There was some disconcerted muttering, but slowly the world began to spin again, and everything went back to normal.

In Heaven, we were met by God and a rather sulky-looking Jesus, who was unpacking His suitcase.

“Very well,” boomed God. “You’ve proved your point. But what do you want?”

“First,” said Phil the Raccoon, “we want Death to be reinstated as Death.”

“Yes, why not,” boomed God. “In any case I’ve been having My doubts about the Second Coming. I don’t want people to think We’re selling out.”

“Second, we want more and slower frogs,” said Phil the Raccoon. “Well, that’s me done. Do you want anything, Death?”

“I want to call You God,” I said to the blinding light. “Not Lord, not Master, not Lord God Sir, just God.”

“Oh, all right,” boomed God. “As long as I can call you Alice.”