Silas shifted in the old rocking chair, gurgled, and then, with a start, his eyes flew wide open.
"What's that, Sallie?"
"I was just telling this young 'un about us," Sallie answered. "Here," she stood up and reached for the tray of cookies. Offering them to Silas, she said, "Have one."
Silas obediently took one of her cookies and chewed it slowly. "Mmmmm!" he said with a long purr. "Now that is tasty!" Sallie leaned over him and kissed his forehead.
"I've got some mending to catch up on. And Silas, the back yard's going to need mowing before too long." With that, she disappeared back into the little house.
Silas stood up and stretched. My legs were feeling a little cramped, and I stood up next to him. "Well," he said with a twinkle, "What do you think of my Sallie?"
"She's something else," I said. I wasn't sure what to think of her, but I liked her very much. She was forthright but kind, and not at all pretentious. "Yes," I added. "She seems like a fine woman."
"Indeed!" Silas agreed. "And I should know! Want to walk around a little?" Before I could answer Silas had stepped off the porch and headed out across the meadow. I followed.
"Now, we were talking about reincarnation, weren't we?" Silas asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"It's a wonderful little cycle. I like it a lot. Gives you a chance to correct mistakes, or make new ones."
"So," I coughed a little. "Does everyone go through reincarnation?"
"Oh," he said. "Most of us do. Every now and then you find someone who doesn't want to be alive, but most of us enjoy it from time to time. 'Course, the folks in the Basement, they have to agree to reincarnation before they can come to Paradise, and they can't get to Heaven unless they come here first."
"How's that?" I asked.
"Well," Silas explained. "Here's the thing about the Basement. People get there only one way, you know."
"No."
"No, you don't know, or no, you don't agree with me?"
"No, I don't know. Sorry," I said.
"Well," Silas said. "The only way a person gets to the Basement is that they simply don't care. They don't care for themselves, they don't care for others. No compassion, no respect, that kind of thing. And we wind up in eternity living the way we lived in life. I believe I've already told you this."
I nodded, and Silas continued, "So if a person goes through a life not caring for himself, herself, or others, why, there's no alternative than the Basement. No discussion, just boom, there."
"But they can get out?" I asked.
"Oh, sure, sure," Silas said. "But it ain't easy."
"How do you do it?"
"Simple. You just got to care for others and for yourself. But that's a little tough to accomplish when you're surrounded by a community of indifference, even hatred. You got to work really, really hard to behave compassionately when it's not the norm. But when you do you get the opportunity to return to life and see if you can get it right. That's the only way to escape the Basement."
"So it can be done."
"Absolutely," Silas said. "Not only that, but some of the finest folks I've met in Paradise have lived one time or another in the Basement. I even know of a couple of people in Heaven who started out in the Basement. Pretty rare, but it happens. And of course, it can go the other way, too."
"Like falling from grace?" I asked.
"More like shooting yourself in the foot," Silas answered. "It takes an absolute moron to go down the ladder around here. You know, Heaven to Paradise, Paradise to the Basement. An absolute moron."
"How's that?"
"Well," Silas stopped walking and looked very sternly into my eyes. "I can appreciate how someone who hasn't had good things, hasn't known very many decent people, can be blind to love and kindness and gentleness. What I can't understand is how someone who has experienced these things can just toss them aside. See what I mean?"
I nodded, and Silas continued walking. I caught up with him quickly.
"You were speaking earlier about free will," I said.
"Yes," Silas answered.
"I was wondering, I mean," I didn't know quite how to phrase my question. "We have free will on earth, and free will up here, but it seems like you have a lot of problems if you have free will."
"Oh, that's true enough!" Silas exclaimed. "Free will is a messy, messy business. But you take it away all you have left is robotic automation, and who in the world would want that? But I think we have less problems here than we do in life."
"Why's that?"
"Most problems, you think about it, are caused because people don't get what they want, or they're afraid of losing what they have. Most problems are caused by loss, real or anticipated or just plain imagined. And up here, we just don't have as much loss, that's all. "Oh, we have to work for things, of course. Septic system overflows if you don't tend to it, house needs repainting from time to time if you live in it long enough. But there's just not the kind of fears and tension here like there are when you're alive."
"How does temptation play into this?" I asked. "I mean, are we ever tempted to do naughty things here?"
"Oh, absolutely," Silas said. "But you live a few decent lives you learn how to crave good things more than bad, how to want beauty and fun, how to nurture a kind heart. You channel your ambitions well, you don't need to worry about temptation too much, 'cause ugliness won't hold much an attraction for you. Folks don't need behavior modification. Folks need ambition modification."
We walked in silence among the bluebonnets but somehow we never seemed to step on them. After awhile I asked, "Sallie said something about a farmer. Mr Rawlings?"
"Yes," Silas said. "Stanley Rawlings. A honey of a guy. What about him?"
"Well, it wasn't about him really. Just something the way Sallie said it, something about 'two farms over. 'I didn't know there were farms in Paradise."
Silas stopped again, and when he spoke his voice was incredulous. "What in blazes do you think this is?"
I was taken aback, and a little wounded at his tone. "What 'what' is?"
"This!" he said firmly, and he stomped the ground, turned, and waved his arms wide about him. "This!" he repeated.
"Silas," I said, "I don't know what you're talking about."
His hands dropped against his legs and he sighed heavily. "I'm sorry," his voice was contrite. "I'm not as patient as I ought to be. Well, what I mean is this farm. Surely you can see that this is a farm."
I looked around the meadow again. I didn't see, hard as I looked, any signs of a farm. I looked back at Silas and shrugged my shoulders in ignorance.
"Why," Silas exclaimed. "The bluebonnets! Can't you see the bluebonnets? And the Indian brushes?"
"Sure," I protested, "but I don't see a farm."
"It's a bluebonnet farm!" Silas said, exasperated. "We raise bluebonnets!"
"Oh."
"Well, where do you think bluebonnets come from?"
"Seeds?" I suggested.
"And where do you think the seeds come from?"
"Bluebonnets?"
Silas scratched his head wearily. He turned and began walking away from me, and just under his breath I heard him growl, "Newbies!"
CHAPTER FIVE