Chapter 2 (2) The Other Land

After Arthur had disappeared into the crowd, I wandered around a while on my own, thinking things over, and trying to make some sense of them all. I gradually began to work it out then, little by little, and I slowly realized that being dead wasn't the besall and end all like you might think. Because if it was, then everyone would still be there in the Other Lands, wouldn't they? Everyone from time immemorial, everyone who had ever lived. But they weren't. So they must have moved on to other things. Maybe it all had something to do with the Great Blue Yonder, over there on the far horizon. And maybe I could move on too. Or maybe I couldn't. Maybe it all depended on settling the unfinished business. Only how was I going to do that?
I walked around for a good long time, not really going anywhere in particular, just strolling aimlessly, and nodding to the people that I passed on the way
What I said to Eggy those few minutes before the lorry got me had been tormenting me ever since I'd arrived.
Of all the things to say, I kept thinking to myself. Of all the stupid final things there are in the world to say to someone, I had to go and say that "You'll be sorry one day when I'm dead.'
Because you sometimes imagine it, don't you - about being dead, and how everyone will be so upset, and they'll all cry something terrible, and they'll all be so sad as they carry your little coffin down to the cemetery, and everyone will say what a wonderful boy or what a wonderful girl you really were deep down inside - even if you were naughty occasionally and did have some nasty habits. Maybe it's just me, and maybe you've never done this, but sometimes I'd lie in bed at night, and just before I fell asleep, I'd think what it would be like if I never woke up again, and what they'd all do and say, and how my mum and dad would break the bad news to everyone.
I'd imagine the funeral and the flowers and everyone at school being unable to believe it, and how anyone who had ever been nasty to me or said a bad word about me would be really, really guilty. They'd feel really, really bad about it. And it would serve them right. But I'd find it in my heart to forgive them just the same. And Jelly Donkins - who'd got me at the back of the Portacabin once - would be really sorry that he'd got me, especially now that he'd never be able to make amends for it. He'd feel bad for months, or even years or even the rest of his life. And maybe he would start being kind to little children and sending money to Oxfam and helping old ladies over the road and going on sponsored walks and doing good deeds every day - just to make it up to my memory. And all the grown-ups would be amazed, and they'd say, 'Whatever has caused this change in big, bad Jelly Donkins? Why, he seems like a different boy now. He's all but saintly. He's even stopped pulling the legs off spiders and shaking salt onto snails when his mum's not looking.'
And no one would ever know why Jelly Donkins was a changed boy. Apart from me.
Only I'd never tell anyone, because I'd be dead. But even dead, I'd still be an inspiration to others. An inspiration and a fine example.
One thing about these dreams I used to have though, was that I was still there. I mean I was dead and gone, but I was also still there to see everyone, to see them find me all cold and peaceful in the morning, to hear them crying softly and tiptoeing about the house, saying things like, 'Poor Harry, he was such a good, kind, marvellous boy,' and 'There'll never be another Harry, never.'
And I'd feel really sorry for them, not having me with them any more. And I'd wonder how they'd ever manage without me. And they'd probably have to go for counselling to get over it all, or get some beer in to drown their sorrows.
And to see everyone so sad about you dying - even if only in your mind - it kind of made you feel all warm inside, just like you'd been sucking extra-strong peppermints. And you even felt a bit sort of heroic too. Especially if you hadn't died in your bed, but more if you'd died from doing something brave like rescuing a little baby from a flooded river. And you'd just managed to swim to the river bank with the baby in your arms and to retum it to its weeping mother, who could never fully express her gratitude to you, as you collapsed and died right there in the mud. And they put a statue up in honour of your memory then, and they gave you a medal, even though you were dead, and couldn't wear it. And then all the local pigeons would come and stand on your head.
It was all right though, that kind of stuff, all that imagining what it would be like when you'd gone. It did used to leave you sort of nicely sad. And no matter how upset the people you left behind felt, you yourself felt all serene and peaceful and far away above it all. At least that was how I pictured it. But that's not how it really is. Not when you have unfinished business. You feel quite bad yourself as well.
So anyway, there I was, strolling along through the Other Lands, admiring the scenery and wondering how those I'd left behind were getting on without me. I nodded to the other dead people I met and I went on thinking my thoughts, feeling bad about what I'd said to Eggy that few minutes before the lorry had got me.
The people I met were all very nice on the main - apart from Ug the Caveman. I said
'Hello' to him and all he said back was 'Ug'. But then, that's all he ever says to anyone and he probably doesn't really know any better. So I nodded to them all, and they all nodded back to me, and we strolled along on our way.
'Hello,' you'd say.
'Hello,' they'd reply - if they spoke the same language, if not they'd just wave and smile.
Yes, they're quite a friendly bunch really, all the dead people. which is quite extraordin-ary, when you think about it. Because when I was alive, I used to be a big horror fan, and I was always reading these books about the slime coming up through the plughole to get you, and about these ghastly apparitions from the underworld coming and grabbing you by the leg and dragging you down into the pit. And some of these books used to have titles like The Gruesome Dead, and The Cemetery Fiend and The Killer From The Creepy Coffin.
But really, people aren't like that at all. They're just ordinary on the whole, and generally speaking they don't want to get you by the leg and drag you down into the pit - although there's maybe the odd exception. But most of them wouldn't even know what the pit was.
And neither do I, come to that. Because I must have walked miles and miles, all over the Other Lands, and I never saw any pits anywhere. Just sort of trees and hedges and fields, like you'd see at home, with the odd bench where you can pause and admire the view.
But as for the gruesome dead and what-have-you, it's not like that at all. And if you don't believe me, well, you only have to think of your long-dead great-granny or somebody, who was probably a sweet old thing who wouldn't harm a fly. And she certainly wouldn't want to come back and get you by the leg and drag you into the pit. It she could come back in some way (which isn't altogether impossible, as I shall tell you about in a minute it would probably only be to tell you to wrap up warm and not to forget your scarf. But you could hardly write a frightening horror story about that, could you? - about your great-granny coming back from beyond just to tell you to wrap up warm and to do your scarf up and to put your gloves on as it was nippy out. That wouldn't make much of a horror film, would it? Not that I reckon, anyway.
But I mustn't ramble. As I say, I was walking through the Other Lands wondering about the meaning of it all, wishing that I could just go back for a little while, just turn back the clock so that I could still be alive. I didn't want all my life back, only the last ten minutes of it. I just wanted to change what I'd said to Eggy, to alter it to, 'Bye, Eggy, I love you' or You've been a great sister, Eggy, even if we did fight a bit.' something nice. Or at least something that wasn't nasty. Even to say nothing - that would be something. Anything other than those awful last words, 'You'll be sorry one day when I'm dead.'
So I ambled on through the Other Lands, not really sure where I was going, not really sure if I was going anywhere. Because the Other Lands aren't quite like anything you see when you're alive. They're a bit like a walk through the country, like I said. Only there's no destination. No picnic sites. Nowhere to really get to. When you're alive and you go for a walk, you know that sooner or later the walk will come to an end. But the Other Lands aren't like that. The Other Lands are all journey and no destination. There's no real map, and yet you never get lost, but you never know quite where you are either. You can look for someone and never find them - like Arthur and his mum. Or you can not be looking for someone, and you meet them all the time. And the only real place there is to get to is the Great Blue Yon-der. And yet my way never took me there. As if I wasn't quite ready to go there yet.
So anyway, there I am, strolling around wondering what to do next, and I can't get Eggy or what I said to her out of my mind. I don't know how long I've been walking - minutes, hours, days - but I decide to sit down on one of the benches provided and to admire the view of the sunset, to watch that wonderful twilight, which never quite turns into night.
As I sit down on the bench, I notice that there's a little ghostly brass plate on the back of it. Just like you get when you're alive. Have you ever noticed? In parks and places and at the seaside. When someone has died, their relatives pay for a bench to be put somewhere for other people to sit on. And there's a little brass plate on the bench which reads something like:
In Memory Of Georgina
Who Always Loved This View Of The Hills
(Presented by her Family)
Well, this bench I'm sitting on in the Other Lands had a little plaque on it saying very much the same kind of thing:
In Memory Of All Those
Who Let Go And Moved On
(Presented by those who still wait and linger)
And I start to wonder what that could mean letting go' and 'moving on' and where all these people had moved on to. And it all seemed such a mystery.
So there I am, sitting on the bench on my own, when the next thing I know, I've got com-pany. It's Arthur again, all top hat and patches.
Wotcha,' he says. "How are you doing?'
'Not so bad,' I say. 'Find your mum?'
"No,' says Arthur. 'Saw several who might have been her. But when I got a look up close, they had all their buttons. She'll be missing a button, see. I'm sure of it. I'm sure she's here somewhere and she's looking for me just as I'm looking for her. And I'll know her by the button missing just as sure as she'll know me by having the button. In fact that's the only way we will know each other, come to think.'
whatever that means.'
"But, Arthur,' I say to him, 'what if she isn't here? What if she's - you know - moved on,
He gives me a funny look then. He almost seems a bit angry.
'No,' he insists. 'She wouldn't do that. Not without finding me first. No. She wouldn't.
She'll be waiting and lingering, till she finds me.'
'Yes, but suppose 'I begin.
'No,' Arthur says, quite definite like, 'she wouldn't. And I'm not letting go till I find her.'
And that seemed to be the end of the matter.
So I don't say any more. But I do wonder, about Arthur and his mum, and about me and Eggy, and about all the other people wandering around the Other Lands, all looking as though they had things left undone. And I wonder again about the little plate on the back of the bench, that said In Memory Of All Those Who Let Go And Moved On. And things begin to make a little bit of sense then. And I see that maybe the only way to move on was to settle your unfinished business, and then to leave the past behind you, and then
Well, then I'd just have to see.
Suddenly Arthur leaps to his feet.
Tell you what, mate,' he says, and he has a bit of a twinkle in his eye, and a bit of a grin on his face. 'I know! Let's go and do some haunting!'
'Haunting?' I say.
'Yeah!' Arthur beams. 'You can't be going round looking for people all the time! What's the point in being dead if you can't get a bit of fun out of it every now and again.'
'But, Arthur,' I say, 'I'm not sure if you should
'Course you should!' he says. 'Come on, I'lI show you how!' And he starts moving on down the path.
'Yes, but-“
"Come on!'
But I don't even know where to go - how to - I mean - are you saying you can - go back?'
Arthur stops and turns.
*Course you can,' he says. 'You're not supposed to. But you can. It's easy once you know how. Come on.'
I stand up, but I still hesitate. going haunting, he'd said. I don't much want to go haunt-ing. I don't like the idea of haunting at all. But going back. Well - yes. Maybe I do want to go back. It only to see how they are all getting on without me and what had happened to the world - or at least the small part of it that I knew.
And yet still I hesitate. Arthur begins to get impatient.
"Come on if you're coming,' he says. "Or I'll go without you.'
But I still can't decide.
Come on, Harry! What's to be afraid of? You're dead, aren't you? What can possibly happen to you now?'
But, Arthur, if we go back - I mean - doesn't that mean - when we get there - as far as other people are concerned - we'll be ghosts?'
He laughs and grins and pushes his hat back so that it wobbles and nearly falls off his head.
'Ghosts!' he says. 'Of course we'll be ghosts! What else could we be, Harry? We're dead, aren't we, after all.'
Yes,' I say. 'I suppose we are.'
And I have to admit it. I don't have much choice. But it is one thing to be dead with all the other dead people, here in the Other Lands. But to be dead back in the Land of the Living
- to be a ghost
'I'm going then,' he says. "Are you coming with me, or aren't you? Last chance.' I hesitate still. He turns on his heel and makes as if to go. I suddenly think of Eggy, of Mum and Dad, of all my friends, of everyone who knew me. I suddenly and desperately want to see them all again. I can't live without them. Or even be dead without them. So in that split second I decide. I run after Arthur, calling as I go.
Hang on, Arthur, I'm coming with you.'
And he stops and waits for me to catch him up. Then we go on headlong down the path.
Back to the Land of the Living.