Lincoln in the Bardo(35)

We understood that we were to step forth in our previous order.

Our red-bearded friend, ridiculous in his bathing costume, went first.

Appearing now from either side, walking in perfect step with him as he approached the table, were two beings, beautiful in appearance: tall, thin, luminous, borne on feet of sun-yellow light.

How did you live? one asked.

Tell it truthfully, the other said, as, from either side, they gently touched their heads to his.

Both beamed with pleasure at what they found within.

May we confirm? said the one on the right.

Sure, said our red-bearded friend. And I hope you will, too.

The yellow-footed being on the right sang out a single joyful note and several smaller versions of himself danced out (I use this word to denote the utter grace of their movements) bearing a large mirror, the edges of which were encrusted with precious gems.

The yellow-footed being on the left sang his single joyful note, and several smaller versions of himself tumbled out, rolling forth in the most exquisite sequence of gymnastic movements imaginable, bearing a scale.



Quick check, said Christ’s emissary from his seat at the diamond table.

The being on the right held the mirror up before the red-bearded fellow. The being on the left reached into the red-bearded man’s chest and, with a deft and somehow apologetic movement, extracted the man’s heart, and placed it on the scale.

The being on the right checked the mirror. The being on the left checked the scale.

Very good, said the Christ-emissary.

We are so happy for you, said the being on the right, and I cannot adequately describe the sound of rejoicing that echoed then from across what I now understood to be a vast kingdom extending in all directions around the palace.

A tremendous set of diamond doors at the far end of the hall flew open, revealing an even vaster hall.

I perceived, there within, a tent of purest white silk (although to describe it thus is to defame it—this was no earthly silk, but a higher, more perfect variety, of which our silk is a laughable imitation), within which a great feast was about to unfold, and on a raised dais sat our host, a magnificent king, and next to the king’s place sat an empty chair (a grand chair, upholstered with gold, if gold were spun of light and each particle of that light exuded joy and the sound of joy), and that chair was intended, I understood, for our red-bearded friend.

Christ was that king within; Christ was also (I now saw) that seated prince/emissary at the table, in disguise, or secondary emanation.

I cannot explain it.

The red-bearded man passed through the diamond doors in his characteristic rolling gait and the doors closed behind him.

Never in my nearly eighty years of life on earth had I experienced a greater or more bitter contrast between happiness (the happiness I felt even glimpsing that exalted tent, from such a great distance) and sadness (I was not within the tent, and even a few seconds without seemed a dreadful eternity).

I began to weep, as did my funeral-suited friend from Pennsylvania.



But his weeping at least was leavened with anticipation: for he was next, his separation from that place to be that much briefer than mine.

He stepped forward.

How did you live? asked the being on the right.

Tell it truthfully, the other said, as, from either side, they gently touched their heads to his.

They recoiled, then withdrew to two gray stone pots set down on either side of that grand hall, into which they vomited twin streams of brightly colored fluid.

The small versions of themselves rushed to bring towels, upon which they wiped their mouths.

May we confirm? said the one on the right.

Wait, what did you see, he said. Is there some—

But it was too late.

The being on the right sang a single ominous note and out came the several smaller versions of himself, but crippled and grimacing, bearing between them a feces-encrusted mirror. The being on the left sang his (somber, jarring) note, and several smaller versions of himself tumbled out, rolling forth via a series of spastic clumsy gymnastic movements that were somehow accusatory, bearing the scale.

Quick check, the Christ-prince said sternly.

I’m not sure I completely understood the instructions, the funeral-suited man said. If I might be allowed to— The being on the right held the mirror up before the funeral-suited man, and the being on the left reached into the funeral-suited man’s chest with a deft and aggressive movement, extracted the man’s heart, and placed it on the scale.

Oh dear, said the Christ-emissary.

A sound of horrific opprobrium and mourning echoed all across that kingdom.

The diamond doors flew open.

I blinked in disbelief at the transformation within. The tent was no longer of silk but flesh (speckled and pink with spoiled blood); the feast was not a feast, but, rather, on long tables inside, numerous human forms were stretched out, in various stages of flaying; the host was no king, no Christ, but a beast, bloody-handed and long-fanged, wearing a sulfur-colored robe, bits of innards speckling it. Visible therein were three women and a bent-backed old man, bearing long ropes of (their own) intestines (terrible!), but most terrible of all was the way they screeched with joy as my funeral-suited friend was dragged in among them, and the way that poor fellow kept smiling, as if attempting to ingratiate himself with his captors, listing the many charitable things he had done back in Pennsylvania, and the numerous good people who would vouch for him, especially in the vicinity of Wilkes-Barre, if only they might be summoned, even as he was wrestled over to the flaying table by several escort-beings apparently constituted entirely of fire, such that, when they grabbed him (their searing touch instantaneously burning away his funeral suit), his pain was so great that he could no longer struggle or move at all, except his head turned briefly in my direction, and his eyes (horror-filled) met mine.