"Superman Nietzsche?" I asked. "The fellow who went crazy and was found hugging a horse? The guy who was such an influence on Hitler?"
"Yes, he wrote Superman," Silas said wearily. "Yeah, he did go a little nuts, had some sort of disease, I think, that affected his brain, and he felt sorry for the horse when he found it being beaten. At least that's what I heard somewhere. And no, Hitler confused much of what Nietzsche wrote, distorted it to his own agenda. Nietzsche wasn't anti-Semitic at all. His sister was, and she 'edited' his last book after he died. Causes a lot of confusion, I'm afraid."
"Oh," I said flatly. "And this has what to do with money?"
"Something he wrote in one of his books. Let's see, which one was it?" Silas scratched his head. "Oh, the one with the axioms. Human, All Too Human. You ever read it?"
"No, I don't think so."
"You'd remember it if you had, I think."
"I expect there are a good many of books I've read that I can't remember," I said. But I wasn't being honest, I realized immediately. I could remember nearly every book I had ever read. Maybe not the entire contents, of course, but I knew if I had read something or not.
"Ever read anything by Nietzsche?" Silas asked.
"No," I said.
"Well, doesn't matter right now," Silas said. "But anyway, there's a quote from one of his books. The idea's not really that original to him, because we've been practicing it in eternity since, well, eternity."
"What's the quote?" I asked.
"'Only the boldest Utopians would dream of the economy of kindness.'"
I looked at Silas, and he looked at me. At the same time we both sat down on the stoop, and we sat quietly for a long, long time. Silas finally broke our silence.
"It's all that matters," he said. "In all that exists, in all that is and all that will ever be, kindness is all that matters. As you can see," he chuckled a little, "I definitely don't have it down pat, and sometimes I wonder how it is I've never lived in the Basement. I can get powerfully impatient sometimes."
"I noticed," I said dryly.
"But I rally back pretty quickly," Silas said. "Usually. What's important, though, I guess, is not that we are a hundred percent kind a hundred percent of the time. That would be perfection, and like as not, a little dull. But we must still keep it in our foremost attention as best we can. Treat one another respectfully, compassionately. How we manage that has everything to do with our status, and our sense of joy, both here in eternity and especially in our lifetimes."
"So being nice to one another is how you pay for things up here?"
"Oh, nice, baloney!" Silas snorted. "Nice don't have nothing to do with it. A wall-eyed, pigeon-toed monkey can be nice. Don't take no brains at all to be nice. No. I'm talking about actual kindness, from the heart, from the core of your spirit. Ain't easy, though, takes a lot of practice, takes a lot of commitment. Anyone can act nice for a little while, but compassion, now that only comes from eons of caring, even when it hurts to care. Besides that," he looked around to make sure we were alone, then turned back toward me and whispered, "I'll let you in on a little known secret."
I leaned toward him.
"Some of the most compassionate people are a little rough around the edges, socially speaking." Silas nodded his head wisely. "Know what I mean?" And he grinned a wide flash of teeth.
"Ya'll 'bout ready for supper?"
Silas and I both jumped and swung around. Sallie was standing just inside the screen door, and she giggled at us. "You being naughty again, Silas?" she winked a grin at Silas, and he looked a little sheepish.
"Well, get on in here, 'fore it gets cold," Sallie said, and she stepped away from the door.
"You haven't tasted Paradise till you've flapped your lips around Sallie's fried chicken," Silas whispered to me as we went inside.
It didn't occur to me at the time to ask where the chicken came from, or the mashed potatoes, green beans, or homemade biscuits. I hadn't realized how hungry I was. It had been hours since I'd eaten the peach and chocolate chip cookies.
One works up quite an appetite first day back in eternity.
I offered to help with the dishes, but Sallie brushed me away. "No, Honey" she said. "You go on out back and rest a spell. Silas and me'll take care of the plates."
Silas started to protest, but Sallie tossed a tea towel at him that landed on his left shoulder. "Here. You dry."
"Yes, Dear," he said in mock servitude, but before I had gone out the back door I heard him excitedly telling Sallie about the tickets for the musical, and she squealed a little delight.
Bluebonnets grew up all the way to the edge of the front porch, but in the back of the house there was a large yard of shaggy, patchy grass. Two white Adirondacks sat near one another under a walnut tree, with a little green table between them. Across the yard was the large shed. An assortment of flowers and bushes lined the edges of the yard.
Sallie was right. The grass was pretty tall and could use a good mowing. Little yellow buds spotted the yard. Dandelions. Weeds. I smiled at an old, faded out memory.
I was four years old. I woke up one spring morning and discovered our front yard full of the most beautiful little flowers I had ever seen. I grabbed as many as my stubby little fingers could pluck and rushed back into the house, and enthusiastically offered my mother the precious bouquet.
She laughed at me, not with malice, but I felt my eyes sting with tears anyway.
"Why, Peanut," she said, "These are just weeds. These are dandelions, not flowers."
"But they're so pretty!" I whined, holding back my tears as best I could. "I thought you'd like them."
Mom squatted down beside me and took the bunch of dandelions from my hands. She sniffed them as if inhaling the sweetest fragrance in the world, and then she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and squeezed me with a long hug. A tear found its way down my cheek, and Mom smiled tenderly and wiped the tear away.
"Come on, little Peanut," she said, taking my hand. "Let's find us some water for these precious little flowers."
I was still smiling several minutes later when I heard the back door slam. Silas grabbed a lawn chair that was folded up against the back of the house, and he and Sallie walked toward me. Sallie sat on the Adirondack next to me, and Silas opened his chair and sat down.
"Nothing like a good sunset," Silas said. "My favorite time of the day. Everything winding down and getting ready for the night."
I was surprised that there would be nighttime in eternity. As I thought about it, though, if there were seasons in eternity it only made sense that there would be day and night as well.
And Silas was right, of course. The sky was brilliant with sunset, golds, and oranges, and reds, and blues, and greens. The flatter the horizon, the more gorgeous the sunset.
"Need to get to the weeding tomorrow, Silas," Sallie said.
"Nah," Silas countered. "I think I'm just going to wait till they turn into fuzzy clock balls."
"Suit yourself," Sallie replied. "But if you don't mow before long we'll get eat up with chiggers."
"Chiggers?" I asked. "In Paradise?" I scratched my right leg.
"She's yanking your chain," Silas answered. "Sallie, quit teasing!"
They both chuckled. "Sorry," Sallie giggled.
I had more questions, many more questions. But I wondered if perhaps Silas and Sallie were both weary of answering, so I sat quietly and listened to them talk in that calm, relaxed way that lovers and friends do after centuries of being together. They seemed oblivious to me after a short time, and I closed my eyes, and relaxed in the chair. When I opened my eyes again it was dark and I was alone in the yard.
CHAPTER EIGHT