The World of the End (20 page)

“Guilty as charged,” Ben laughed.

The Mad Hop escorted him to the door, shook his hand, and in a lower than usual tone said, “Good luck with your dad.”

*   *   *

On the way to February 1994, Ben slipped into the warm pool of reminiscence, recalling how his dad, who issued bizarre insurance policies for a living, died, ironically, by drowning. He had been on his way back from a meeting with Indian pop star Ishkapar Matuli—the man wanted to insure the magic udders of New Delhi’s most famous cow, which, thanks to some genetic mystery, supplied deliciously rich coconut milk—when his plane went down over the Indian Ocean. Mr. Mendelssohn had garnered quite a reputation by then. His livelihood rested on his unrivaled efficiency, his freshman enthusiasm, and his unusual patience for deals that, at best, reeked of wealthy eccentricity gone wild and, at worst, of an acute idiosyncrasy akin to lunacy. It goes without saying that the energetic Menachem Mendelssohn made most of his fortune off the former group’s permanent quirks. By the age of twenty-five he’d secured an American partner, Justin Case, to co-head the successful insurance agency, which specialized in handling the degenerate needs of the harebrained and cash-addled aristocrats who wanted to insure their every asset, material as well as spiritual, in order to keep their peace of mind and the feeling of supremacy that the object afforded them once it was insured. When asked about the secret of his success, Menachem always emphasized people’s fear of the unknown and his willingness to address his clients’ most deeply entrenched anxieties. As evidence he admitted that he had drafted a water policy for himself. He’d always harbored an inexplicable fear of water. His parents were made aware of the problem when they first took him to the beach and he screamed so loud and so long at the prospect of swimming in the shallow water with the other kids that he fainted. Twice. By his eighteenth birthday he had seen twenty-five highly competent lifeguards fail miserably in their attempts to teach him the basics of buoyancy and swimming. The three psychologists his parents hired didn’t do any better, unable to find any hint of trauma in the lively boy’s past that could explain his hydrophobia. Therefore, when he got older and found his path in life, he drafted an insurance policy that stipulated that if he was fatally injured in any sort of body of water his wife would receive twice what she would get if the scythe of death was wielded in any other way. Moreover, since he was adamant about proving the depth of his fear, he stipulated that if it could be proven that he had approached the offending body of water of his own volition and choosing, the policy would be revoked.

As soon as his wife, Deborah, heard about the accident, she hoped he had died in the air, well before impact with the water, but the pathological report was definitive. She assembled the family, told them what had happened, and then got on a plane along with the rest of them and flew abroad, where they cremated him, as instructed, and scattered his ashes on the bobbing water of the sea, convinced that there was no better way to portray the soul’s ultimate victory over the fears of the flesh.

*   *   *

When Ben reached his father’s apartment, he was certain he’d made a mistake. The woman who opened the door looked nothing like his mother. He uttered an apology, but the woman smiled and said, “You’ve got the right address.”

He smiled back at her. “Excuse me?”

She shook her head in disbelief and laughed. “I know who you are. You’re Menachem’s son. Ben, right?”

He nodded, slightly confused.

She giggled warmly. “I know you from your father’s tapes.”

After a short silence, she shook his hand cordially. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Anifried Balaksen Dortmunsgund, and I am a rude woman, otherwise I would have invited you in long ago.”

Ben entered, noting in a single glance the heavy wood furniture so loved by his father. Anifried showed him to the oval couch and asked if he’d like something to drink. Ben declined. She went over to the bar, poured herself a brandy, sat down opposite him, looked him over, sighed lightly, and said, “Yes.”

“I didn’t ask anything,” Ben said.

“But you meant to ask if I’m your dad’s girlfriend.”

“On second thought, I will have that drink,” Ben said.

She nodded, got up, and promptly returned with a glass of brandy. Before she even had the chance to sit back down, Ben threw back the amber liquid, cleared his throat, and asked, “So, where’s your boyfriend?”

She leaned back, crossed her legs, and looked at the godget. “He should be back soon. He went to the multilingual lab to get his chip fixed.”

“I see,” Ben said, trying to mask his turmoil.

She peeled the façade away with her penetrating stare and said, “I know this is difficult for you, Ben. Maybe it would be a bit easier to swallow if I told you about Menachem and me. We met on the plane that went down. He was sitting next to me, and trust me, there are few ways to get to know a stranger quicker than spending your last minutes on earth with them. At takeoff, we were two cold-blooded businesspeople on their way home. When it became clear we’d never see home or our loved ones again, we held hands, hugged, and cried like little kids. As you can imagine, we found one another in the white room and among the thousands of confused and scared people, we no longer felt like strangers, but like the only two people who knew each other in this mysterious world. I know it sounds like a Hollywood movie, but it was only a matter of time till we fell in love. Before we even had the chance to grasp each other’s personal tragedies, we had forged an indelible bond. Menachem and I discovered a new world together and we were dizzy with excitement. Sorry for the cliché, but he was the hand to my glove.”

“I thought my mother was his glove,” Ben whispered.

“People have two hands,” Anifried said.

“Meaning?”

“Oh, at long last I detect a trace of hostility. Ben, don’t be embarrassed. You’re allowed to hate me. After all, as far as you’re concerned, I’m the other woman, the one who took your mom’s place. I just want to make one hundred percent clear: that wasn’t the case. When I met Menachem, she was still alive. She came here five years late.”

“Late?”

“Yes, if the plane hadn’t gone down, your father and I wouldn’t have met. If your mother had been on the plane, I would have come here all alone and, it stands to reason, you wouldn’t be sitting here wishing me all the bad luck in the world.”

“I don’t even know you. Why would I wish you any harm?”

“Because of my current status, dear. I’m your father’s significant other now.”

“And what about my dad? He’s happy?”

Anifried closed her eyes. “He’s like a schoolboy in love. Calls me his happiness policy.”

Ben pursed his lips and swallowed hard.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, opening her eyes.

“That’s what he called my mother.”

“Look, Ben, this is all a lot simpler than it seems. Monogamy is a charming idea and it often simplifies matters, but not when you’re facing an eternity…”

“What do you mean?” Ben asked.

Anifried laughed. “Had your parents died of old age, they could well have said they’d beaten all the statistics and made their love last for fifty or sixty years, but even then, neither of us could possibly guess what was next. They’d come here and realize they have an eternity to spend together. An eternity, Ben, do you follow? Would you still think they’d never part? There’s no end to the time we have on our hands, so there’s also no end to our romantic options.”

“Perhaps then one day you and my dad will part ways? Is that what you’re saying, that you may cease to be like a hand in a glove?”

“It’s possible. We’ve only been together seven years. Who knows what will happen in another five, fifty, hundred years? I believe every love comes to an end. Then comes new love.”

“And that’s an opinion my dad shares?”

“If he didn’t, he’d be with your mother.”

“Has he met her?” Ben asked, his voice giving out at the end of the question.

Anifried bowed her head and, in a commiserative tone said, “He hasn’t, but I have. She came to our doorstep one day. He was out visiting a friend. She asked me who I was and then stormed off.”

“They haven’t met?” Ben roared.

“She said she didn’t want to see him. Menachem was depressed for two weeks. He said he didn’t even know she had passed away. It took a few days but then he settled down. I pointed out that the ball was in her court. She could come see him whenever she wanted. And anyway, no offense Ben, but he has moved on.”

Ben ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe this. This is insane. This cannot be happening.”

“This happens all the time. And listen, you must keep in mind that these two worlds are radically different. No one can guarantee that a love that worked there will work here. You say this can’t be happening because you think the two people who brought you into the previous world were meant to stay together in both worlds.”

“I’m sorry, Anifried, I have to go,” Ben said, getting up suddenly and heading for the door.

Anifried followed him. “You’re not going to wait for your father?” she asked.

“I’ll see him another time,” Ben said, opening the door. “Do you happen to know, though, if he met my wife, Marian?”

“I have no idea.”

She cast a light hand toward his shoulder. “Maybe just wait a bit more for him? If you’d like, I could give him a call.”

“That’s okay. I’ll come back another time.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Anifried called after him, even though he, like his mother before him, marched out of her apartment, down the hall, toward the elevator and the undulating music of the perfumed sitar player.

For the first time since he’d arrived, Ben made some room in his mind for something other than his missing wife. Concern for his mother overwhelmed him. He abandoned his original plan and headed toward December 1999.

*   *   *

Knocking on the door and hearing the limp female voice from within, he felt a tightening in his chest.

“Leave me alone,” she said.

Ben banged harder. “Mom, it’s Ben.”

There was a long moment of silence. He put his ear to the door and said, “Mom, please, open up.”

The door opened, revealing an ashen woman, robbed of her former vibrancy. The two exchanged alarmed glances, stunned by the effects of time on their faces. Deborah, a vivacious woman who had died after having suffered a sudden cardiac arrest, took a step back, leaned against the wall, put a hand to her disheveled hair, and whispered, “I think I’m going to faint.”

Ben wrapped his hands around her and led her to the king-size bed in the middle of the living room. He sat her down, noted the strange clay ornaments surrounding it, and got her a glass of water, smiling lovingly as she gulped it down, her eyes riveted on his, unwilling to waver. “Sorry for the surprise. I didn’t mean to shock you.”

Deborah started to cry, caressing his hair, whimpering, “Ben, sweetheart, my Ben, you’re dead, nothing’s left, everyone’s gone. I thought maybe death would skip over you … that you’d reach old age … Ben, honey, I don’t know whether to be happy or … I missed you so much but I didn’t think you’d get here so fast.”

“I missed you, too, Mom.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” she said, kissing his forehead and smiling. “I don’t remember you ever being so big. Did you do something to your body?”

“I worked on it a bit. You changed a lot, too. What happened to you, Mom? Why are you so skinny?”

Her response amazed him. She pulled away, wiped the trail of tears from her face, blinked several times, and burst into husky laughter. “You want to know what happened to me? I’ll tell you. Your father is what happened to me! The idiot has a Norwegian girlfriend, this unbelievably annoying woman with a name that you have to be Scandinavian to pronounce. Turns out they met on the plane that went down.”

“I know, Mom, I met her two hours ago.”

“They have been together for seven years. When I died and came to this place, the first thought that crossed my mind was to see how Menachem’s doing. After all, we had a lot of years together. I just wanted to see how he is, but he wasn’t at home. The great belle of the fjordlands opened the door, said I had every right in the world to be angry with her, and all kinds of other garbage. Obviously, I was upset, so I left. A week later I came back. This time he was there. Alone. Oh, Ben, the man issued every kind of insurance in the world, but he never came up with one for brain tissue gone flabby.”

“I don’t think I get it.”

“I thought that with death something would change—in the man, in his perspective, in his beliefs; I don’t know, something along those lines.”

“But Anifried says that…”

“I know, I know. She fed him all that crap about love in the face of eternity, and how can two people stay together for that long, and why should we restrict ourselves to one person, and all the rest of that rubbish.”

“You don’t buy it?”

“Forget me, Ben—turns out your father doesn’t buy it either.”

“He doesn’t?”

“You should have seen him the first time we met. He wouldn’t stop apologizing, begging me to forgive him. He started blabbing about Phase II and saying that he still loved me but was
in
love with the Norwegian. That the last thing he wanted was to hurt my feelings. Ben, you wouldn’t have believed it. Your dad, obsequious, hysterical as a teenage girl, devoid of any sense of humor.”

“Didn’t you expect an apology?”

“For what? For the fact that his plane crashed and he fell in love with another woman when I was nowhere to be found? Sweetheart, I got used to living without a partner. I’m sure you remember that during the first two years I was devastated, but after that I got the hang of it and really started to enjoy the whole thing. I missed him, of course, and not a day went by that I didn’t think of him, but when I came here I felt like I’d been reborn. I felt like a girl discovering everything all over again, on my own! You know what I mean, Ben? Being single has upsides that I’d already forgotten about.”

“And what about love?”

“Love? Who says it needs to be shared? I love Deborah Mendelssohn and I don’t care how that sounds. I go out, travel, meet new people. I don’t need to sit around for weeks and wait for my husband to come back from some faraway business trip. I meet my family every once in a while, just like we did in the previous world, and I recognize that life is just the prologue, the introduction to the real thing. Ben, I’m happier than I ever thought possible. I’ve never felt as alive as in death.”