The Last Handful of Clover - Book 2: Gifts Both Light and Dark

2.17 Si Dieu n'existait pas

June 12, 1:17 pm

"I know now that my obsession with Mattie served my needs more than hers," Billy said, as they leaned against the headstone. "And that any love I had for her when I was alive became buried in that obsession. I came to believe that she was my responsibility, and would be, forever. After almost thirty years, I still couldn't see her. But I sensed her presence, and even when I didn't follow her, it was as if part of me was always near her, always thinking of her. We couldn't see or hear each other, but our bond never wavered."

As Billy talked, Richard watched the remnants of the mourners dispersing. Keith was chatting with Joey and Rob, the last two that still lingered with him by the graveside. Michelle and Pil were helping Mr. Ingalls fold up the cloth and take down the altar.

"Why do you think she subjected herself to that agony? Over and over again?" Richard asked, trying to picture the little girl he had seen at the park, and again at the theater.

"I suppose it's like mortification of the flesh. The way religious penitents flog themselves to rid the body of sin. The agony answered some deep need in her. Enough so that she became addicted, and couldn't stop, no matter how many times she went through it, and no matter how many times I would rush back to the burned out cabin. In fact, as strange as it may sound, those moments of her agony after the resets were some of the few moments when I actually felt that Mattie's soul was truly at peace."

"Perhaps the pain was what she needed to feel in order to think of herself as real. To bring her closer to God," Richard suggested.

"Perhaps," Billy said. "But it wasn't really the mortification of the flesh, as much as the mortification of the soul. Our bodies are long gone."

Richard backhanded the boy's shoulder. Hard enough to cause Billy to recoil, and his own hand to ache.

"Okay, point taken," Billy said, rubbing his arm. "What I mean is, I think our bodies are just shadows now. They're not real to the living world, and perhaps just an illusion, even to us." He looked exhausted as he continued. "Richard, I think all we are now are... bundles of feelings. Nothing but emotions, needs, and memories of what we've lost. I've concluded that we are not substantial, even in this, our own world. That the fact we think we are is the true illusion."

That struck Richard as terrifying, but there was also something in it that sounded right. It was very Zen. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we're just so used to operating with bodies, that we can't imagine ourselves as real without them."

"Si Dieu n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer," Billy said.

Richard laughed out loud. "Voltaire. 'If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.' What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, for beings that have never known existence without the body, maybe the same thing is true. If our bodies don't exist, perhaps it is necessary that we invent them."

"You're beginning to sound like a Hindu holy man. Hinduism teaches that all the phenomenal world is illusion. Maya. Where did you pick up this stuff?"

Billy just smiled. "Let's say I've listened to a lot of preachers and holy men. But I can't blame this on them. This is just my instinct talking."

"So, you think you've got it all figured out?"

Billy actually laughed out loud. "Not even close, Richard. Not even remotely close."

Mr. Ingalls and his assistant were carrying the table back to his car, and Richard saw that a man in coveralls and a baseball cap had arrived. Likely someone from the cemetery, checking in to make sure they were finished, and it had all gone okay. Everyone would wrap up and leave in a few minutes, and then workmen would be by to fill in the hole where his ashes had been interred.