like the question of where the universe came from, or where it will go
after it collapses. But I really believe the afterlife option should be kept
open — whilst we still guide people to good deaths as the final end of life.”
“That
sounds like one almighty contradiction,” said Weinberger. Jim noted the
interest in his voice.
“Not
really. The least likely thing about any afterlife would be continuity of personal experience. Why? Because it’s the person who
dies. Just suppose that all the memories of everything you experienced
in life survived: in what context would they survive? As a sort of tape-loop
repeating itself endlessly with no fresh input? A sort of
animated scene-screen of your life? Hardly! On the other hand, if there is new experience, how long would it be
before you were totally swamped with this fresh input — which had no connection with this life of ours? So
there may be something after death, but it isn’t a continuation of all this.
And it isn’t a repetition. We have to accept the closure of the here and now.”
“You
saw the light of bliss when you drowned. And now that’s what you expect, isn’t
it? A sort of eternal orgasm?”
“I’d
rather call it an enlightenment . But I’m glad you
mentioned eternity. Our time sense depends upon the metabolic rate of the body,
doesn’t it? So a child experiences an hour as a much larger span of time than
an adult does. Time shrinks as we grow older. The higher up the pyramid of life
we are, the narrower it becomes. Now, what if there’s a sudden reversal at the
moment of death? Or what if we reach a point of no-time, and all-time? What if
the instant of death is an eternal moment to the person experiencing it? What if it goes on and on forever, for
us, even though the ordinary world cremates us and moves on at its usual
average pace?”
“So
the afterlife would be the last fading second — but it just goes on and on?
What a mad idea! Listen, fellow, Death waits for us — but sometimes we get past
it. Sometimes we’re too fast for it.”
“Too fast?”
“Norman
Harper went too quickly — thanks to me. So he got through.”
Jim
shook his head in bewilderment.
“Through whatV'
“Have
you ever heard of corpse-sweat, Mr Todhunter? Alias: the pheromone of death?”
“I
know what pheromones are,” said Jim. “They’re chemicals which living creatures
secrete to influence other living creatures. For instance, sexual attractor
pheromones: those attract males or females — and then they switch off the
opposition.”
Weinberger
sat up. “They’re the most powerful substances in nature. A single molecule five
miles downwind will bring a moth flying to the female that released it. Let me
tell you something, fellow. There’s a pheromone of death: a substance which
people release when they’re close to dying. It attracts Death to them. And
Death harvests them. Originally I guess it evolved as a warning signal. It
tells other members of the species, ‘Something’s dying here. Danger! Clear
off!’ It had survival value. And then carrion eaters learned how to home in on it.
How do you suppose that vultures know when to gather? No one ever explained
that to my satisfaction. The answer’s obvious, if there’s a pheromone of death.
And there is. That’s what corpse-sweat is: the stuff released by the dying
body, and the dying mind. Of course, you begin releasing it before you’re
actually a corpse. But we’re damn poor as a species at reading body signals, so
nobody has ever really noticed it. Not consciously.”
Weinberger’s
eyes were wild, obsessed.
“The
pheromone warns — but it attracts as
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley