Sebastian Gloom

Eternity

     “I've been thinking,” said Gloom some time later.

     The three men were sitting in comfortable padded leather armchairs in the drawing room of a large mansion that resembled the museum Gloom had once lived in. One wall was lined with bookshelves containing the greatest works of wisdom and literature in history while the other walls held portraits of the historical figures Gloom admired the most, some of whom he'd actually met. A large log fire crackled contentedly behind an iron grate, throwing out the occasional spark and glowing ember to die on the stone hearth. Some logs lay beside it, drying out even though the fire would burn forever. Turning the charred logs with the soot stained poker was entirely unnecessary, but Gloom did it anyway every now and then, simply because it pleased him to do so. The whole thing was an illusion, of course. It had taken them very little time to learn how to create their own illusions, under the tutelage of older souls who'd been in Heaven for far longer than them, but the fact that it was an illusion didn’t make it feel any less comfortable and welcoming.

     “What about?” asked Benson, swirling a half inch of brandy around in a large, wide bottomed snifter. He took a sip, savouring the delicate sweetness of it. He'd never had occasion to taste brandy in life and was doing his best to make up for it in the afterlife.

     “Where did God come from, do you think?”

     “It was my understanding that He has always existed,” replied his former manservant.

     “Yes, but that answer bothers me a little. He existed for eternity, doing nothing, and then, one day, he suddenly sits up and decides to create the world. Why? What changed?”

     “When I asked a missionary that question, he said that He spent the time creating inventive punishments for people who ask awkward questions,” said Nacoma. He was dressed in the traditional garb of his folk, the colourful ribbon shirt and turban somehow not looking the least bit out of place in the modern English drawing room. The Cherokee and a small group of his people had their own village not far away where they enjoyed their traditional lifestyle, but he liked to visit his friends every so often, as well as many other friends from other lands and other ages of history.

     Gloom laughed. “Yes, they really hate people who ask logical questions. I had a somewhat similar experience, which was what started me on the whole anti-Christianity thing.”

     “So what’s your answer?” asked Benson.

     “I don't have one. Just speculations. Possibilities. I asked one of the senior angels a while back, and he wasn’t able to answer either.”

     “You could ask God Himself, perhaps,” suggested the former manservant. “I understand they're letting Him have visitors now. Under supervision, of course.”

     “Maybe, but I have a suspicion that He Himself doesn't know where He came from.”

     “So what possibilities and speculations have you come up with?”

     “We’ll, the most plausible explanation I can come up with is that he just popped into existence one day.”

     “Out of nothing?”

     “Out of chaos. Chaos is, by its very nature, totally unpredictable. It can do anything, and sooner or later it will. Maybe a patch of chaos just turned into God one day, just by chance. It's possible that even God Himself doesn't remember it happening. One day He was just there, with no memory of where He had come from, and he immediately started creating things.”

     “It's an interesting idea, said Benson. He took another sip of brandy and then willed another half inch of the golden liquid into the snifter.

     “It’s more than interesting, because if it happened once...”

     Benson and Nacoma both looked up sharply. “Great spirits above!” said the Cherokee. “It could happen again?”

     “Maybe it has already happened, somewhere else out there.” Gloom waved a hand to indicate the infinite expanse of chaos that surrounded the universe on all sides. “And not just once. Maybe many times. There could be dozens of other universes out there, all ruled over by their own gods. Hundreds even. Who knows? All waiting to be discovered...”

     “Discovered? But it’s not possible to travel through the Chaos.”

    “How do you know? Has anyone ever tried?”

    Benson and Nacoma stared at each other. “You'd need some kind of ship,” said the former manservant. “A real one. An illusion wouldn't do. You'd need something solid, something real. We're just spirits. We can only create illusions.”

    Back in our investigating days, we heard tales of many spirits that can manipulate solid objects. The case of the Bradford poltergeist, for example, who kept rearranging the furniture in the Swallow family's house. We would need to manipulate matter in a much more intricate and extensive way, but the fact that it can be done at all, no matter in what minor, trivial ways, proves that it’s possible.”

     “It would take, I don't know. Centuries probably to learn how to do it, assuming we can do it at all.”

     “So what? We've got eternity. Remember?”

     “Yes, and we'll need something to occupy our minds before the tedium of eternal bliss drives us totally insane.”

     Gloom stared at him in astonishment. “So you know about that?” he said. “The ultimate crisis of banality that awaits all immortal beings? When everything’s been done to death and there's nothing new to do, ever again?”

    “So that’s what's been bothering you!” laughed Benson. “Surely the final tedium of eternity is obvious to anyone who thinks about it for more than a couple of minutes. Even exploring the vastness of chaos for new universes will only put it off for a bit. I suspect the only escape is the one God seems to have found; to just slip away into dreams and unreality. Eternal senility.”

     “I've been trying to protect you from it,” laughed Gloom. “I didn't want the ultimate fate of all immortal beings to detract from your happiness now. I should have known you'd figure it out for yourself. Forgive me, my friend, for underestimating you.”

     Nacoma was frowning thoughtfully. “You'd need some way to get through the outer shell that surrounds the universe. Are there any openings in it? If not, would it be possible to create an opening?”

     “And would it be safe to do so?” added Benson. “We might allow the chaos in, to the ruin of everything.”

     “And if you did somehow build a ship and get it outside the universe, you’d need some way to navigate through the chaos. You might get lost out there, with no way to find your way home.”

     “These are all problems that would need to be solved,” agreed Gloom. “Fortunately, we have all eternity in which to solve them. What do you say, Benson? Fancy a project you can really get your teeth into?”

     Benson grinned. “I'll help you build your ship, Sebastian, and when it’s built I'll sail on it with you. We'll explore the chaos together!”

     “And me as well!” agreed Nacoma. “And there are others who'll want to go, I know it!”

     “Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” said Gloom though. “We don't even know if It’s possible yet. There might be a thousand reasons why it can’t be done. We’d need to go back to Earth, for instance, because that’s the only place where we can get real building materials...”

     The three men lost themselves in conversation, and the great ship of the Chaos gradually took shape in their minds.