Heaven and Hell (42 page)

Time was a blur as the crowded city became a forest of solitude, and then a soft bed. There was comfort, darkness, then the bliss of sleep.

C
HRIS awoke quite abruptly from his dreamless sleep to a myriad of ticking sounds coming from every quarter. At first he was confused, unsure where he was. Chris sat up slowly. The window shades behind him were drawn, lending a sort of shadowy atmosphere to the room. He was in a large bedroom with a glossy hardwood floor, reflecting a single shaft of light streaming in from the partially open door far to his right. The beige walls were covered with maps—maps not of terrestrial landforms, but of those forms celestial, of the stars. And then, there were the clocks, clocks of all sizes and descriptions, perfectly synchronized. There was a grandfather clock on the floor along the far wall of the room. Three smaller clocks, with swinging and whirling pendulums beneath bold faces, sat upon a fireplace mantle not far away. There were at least two or three clocks on every wall. The throng of timepieces even included a late 20th century digital clock with red glowing numbers sitting on a small table by the bed, beside an old style oil lamp that burned with a remarkably steady flame.

Chris pondered why one would possess so many timepieces in a place where time was an almost meaningless concept. It was as incongruous as the room itself, which was generally furnished in a style that was most certainly many centuries old.

“Are you feeling better now?” said a voice from near the door.

Chris turned to see a dark form silhouetted against the now wide-open entryway that led to a flower garden. “Yes, I’m better now.”

The dark figure moved toward Chris and stepped into the light of the oil lamp by the bed. Chris recognized him as the man from the Hall of Records, Johann. He was dressed in a black, loose-fitting cloak, of a fashion that Chris imagined was centuries old.

“I wanted to thank you for saving me,” said Chris, feeling very awkward. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t come along.”

“I assure you, you were never in any real danger. There are few real dangers here. Eventually, you would have contrived a means of escaping the pages of the book by yourself, though it might have taken you some time. I just saved you from additional grief.” Johann walked to the bedside and helped the young man to his feet.

“How long was I out,” asked Chris, who was surprised that he could stand at all.

“Not long, a few hours, no more,” replied Johann, walking back toward the door. He rested his hand upon the wall and gazed out into the flower garden, deep in thought. He turned quite abruptly. His countenance had taken on a quite stern visage.

“What would ever possess you to do such a foolhardy thing as you did? Do you really desire to know what transpires in Hell, to see the fate that our Lord Jesus spared us from? Do you have a passion for tragedy? That is all you will find in a black book—tragedy. There is no happy ending, no moral, just the futility of a life lived in vain.”

There was just a trace of anger in his voice. It was the sort of anger a father might express when his son had done something that might well have caused him serious harm. It was an anger ignited from love and concern.

“She didn’t live in vain,” objected Chris, his voice full of emotion. “She was a kind and gentile woman in life, the kindest and most gentle woman I ever knew.”

That comment produced raised eyebrows from Johann. For a moment, he said nothing. He appeared to be intellectually digesting what he had just heard. When he spoke again, his voice held the trace of surprise. “Are you trying to tell me that you knew this woman, this Serena Farnsworth?”

“She was my wife,” Chris said in a voice barely above a whisper, “of course I knew her.”

“Surely you jest. You could not remember her. She is one of the lost. You’ve perused the books of the Hall of Records only to discover that you did indeed have a wife during your days upon the Earth. That is how you know of her.”

“No,” objected Chris. “I told you, I remember her. I remember everything about her, everything. I don’t need some image conjured up by a book in the Hall of Records to tell me about my own wife.”

Quite abruptly Johann’s expression softened to one of deep sympathy. “You are serious, aren’t you?”

Chris nodded.

“Oh, I am deeply sorry, my friend. Truly I am. I should not have spoken to you in anger. I had no right. I am still prone to losing my temper from time to time. After three and a half centuries, God is still perfecting me.”

It was only now that Chris recognized this man. He was dumbfounded that he hadn’t put it all together before this. His thinking patterns were still far too earthly. “I know you!” he gasped. “I’ve seen your picture in science books. I saw a documentary about you on television a few years ago. You’re Professor Johann Kepler, aren’t you?”

Johann nodded.

“You’re famous! You’re the father of modern astronomy!”

Johann couldn’t help but chuckle. “Me, an astronomer? The father of modern astronomy? That title should more rightly go to Copernicus, Galileo, or perhaps my dear friend Tycho Brahe. Tycho, now there was an astronomer, an observer without equal. I actually consider myself more of a physicist or mathematician than an astronomer.”

“Incredible, that it should be you, of all people that came to my rescue,” Chris said, his mind swimming once more.

“Why is it incredible?” asked Johann.

Chris did his best to compose himself. “Well, it’s just that you were one of my favorite people out of history. I first heard about your work from watching a TV documentary when I was a kid. It was called “Cosmos.” There was an entire episode about you and your contribution to astronomy. I thought at the time how wonderful it would have been to have met you in person. That it was you who came to my rescue is…well, incredible.”

Johann smiled slightly. “I just happened to be there, that is all there is to it. History might have been kind to me, recognized me for my accomplishments in life, but there is nothing special about me. I’m just another one of God’s loving children. The Father is no respecter of persons. We are all equal in His eyes. I assure you, being Johann Kepler does not give me favored status in the eyes of our gracious heavenly Father. Let us speak no more of this.

“What I am interested in is your experience. You must tell me more. Tell me how it is that you remember your lost wife, while all of those around you are spared the knowledge of those whose names were not written in the Lamb’s Book of Life. Come with me into my study, sit with me; tell me all that you remember. There is something of great importance here, I am certain of it. You must tell me every detail.”

Every detail? Chris wasn’t all that certain that Johann would want to sit through that. Nevertheless, they retreated to the study which was more like a meeting room than a private study room, with its high ceiling, fine crystal chandelier, and large comfortable chairs. On the far wall was a large, old-style chalkboard upon which was scrolled a very complex series of mathematical equations that Chris couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“I often entertain friends in this room,” said Johann, seeming to read his guest’s thoughts. “We talk for hours about the nature of the universe and the greatness of the Creator. We are all of one mind, you see, intent upon understanding the template of creation. It is a daunting task, but we are slowly coming into the light.”

Chris gazed once more at the extensive equations upon the board, then back at his host. “Who are these friends?”

“Persons with a desire to understand the handiwork of God,” was the reply. “But we can discuss that at a later date; right now I want to hear what you have to say.”

For nearly two hours they sat there, Chris doing most of the talking. Chris told Johann a mountain of information, yet Johann kept probing for even greater detail. Some of his inquiries seemed absolutely trivial, yet Chris did not question his motives in asking them. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was some light that this genius from the past could shed on the situation. When the inquiry came to an end, Johann sat back in his chair, his hands folded, deep in thought. It was more than a minute before he spoke.

“I am mystified by your refusal to go to the Father with this enigma,” he admitted. “Nothing happens in Heaven, or the universe, for that matter, without His knowledge. He has allowed this thing to transpire for some purpose. Surely, the most reasonable starting point in solving this mystery would be to go to Him.”

“I can’t,” insisted Chris.

“Because you’re afraid of what He might say,” deduced Johann. “You fear that you would not like His solution. That is not very logical.”

“His solution might be for me to forget her, to go blindly on, unaware. Well, I don’t want to forget her again,” said Chris, growing emotion in his voice. “She doesn’t deserve to be forgotten. Someone has to mourn for her.”

“Yes, and I suppose that someone has to be you,” Johann said.

“Yes, it has to be me,” confirmed Chris, tears welling up in his eyes.

“And if you spend your eternity in a perpetual state of mourning…this will accomplish something? Do you think that your wife would want you to do this thing? I find that most unlikely. From what you have told me of her, I think that she would want you to move on, to be happy. Chris, you spoke of your admiration for me; if so, then heed my words now; take council in them. I do not wish to appear cruel or callous, but you must let go of her, for your grief will avail nothing.”

Chris didn’t respond.

“Or does it go deeper than that?” asked Johann, leaning toward his young protégé. “Do you harbor in your heart some hope of rescuing her?”

Johann’s query bordered on an accusation. Again, it was met with complete silence.

“I pray that this is not the case,” he continued, “for know that those in Hell are doomed to an eternity of suffering. There is no respite from their agony, no peace, and no hope of rescue. Hell is a prison like none other, rescue is not a possibility.”

“Are you so sure?” retorted Chris.

“Yes, I am sure,” Johann said, without so much as an instant of hesitation. “Did you ever read Dante’s
Divine Comedy
? I speak specifically of the canticle known as the Inferno?”

“Yes, I think I know what you’re talking about,” replied Chris. “It’s the story of a journey through Hell, but I don’t see what that has to do with my Serena.”

“It has everything to do with her,” Johann said. “Do you recall the inscription at the very gates of Hell?”

“Not exactly,” replied Chris.

“It said: abandon all hope, ye that enter here.”

“You’re treating Dante’s story like it was Scripture,” objected Chris, “it’s just a work of fiction.”

“In part,” Johann said. “Understand this. Dante’s vision of Hell is flawed. But I truly believe that he received a divine revelation. Prophetic visions from God didn’t end with the Book of Revelation; they continue to this very day. They will continue as long as God’s Holy Spirit dwells in the presence of humans. However, like so many who have been granted a glimpse of the dark realm, Dante allowed his own intellect to stand in the way of his understanding. In the end, his vision became a surreal mixture of the mythical Greek underworld, and the real Hell—but that inscription perfectly describes the condition of those sentenced there.”

Chris shook his head sadly. “You know, in the short time I’ve been here, I really haven’t thought very much about Hell.”

“And that is as it should be,” replied Johann. “Most of the inhabitants of Heaven know practically nothing about Hell, nor do they have any desire to learn about it.”

“You know, I don’t even know where Hell is,” admitted Chris, leaning forward. “Some people say that it is in the center of the Earth.”

“Indeed they do,” confirmed Johann. “Those people have made the mistake of confusing the biblical Hell with the Greek underworld. I suppose that confusion arose from the fact that so many of the Christians of the early church were of Greek heritage. It was only natural for them to relate the biblical concept of Hell with their traditional underworld, the realm of the dead. Eventually that tradition became dogma, and the meaning of the divine Scripture became distorted by humankind’s own earthly traditions. They read the Scriptures but chose their own interpretation. It was so during my time, and it remains true even in your era. There are some scriptural references to lucifer falling down into the Earth, but I feel that they are open to interpretation. Indeed, it might be the foretelling of events yet to come.”

“OK, so where is Hell?” asked Chris. “What makes it so inescapable? Is it on the far end of the universe or something?”

Johann leaned toward Chris, trying to decide how best to describe so complicated a concept to the uninitiated. “No, Chris, Hell is not at the far end of the universe. I suppose you could say it is beyond the bounds of the universe as you understand space and time. You see, there are no ends of the universe. The natural universe is a closed system. You can’t escape it by simply traveling on and on in normal space, for no matter how far or in which direction you travel, you are still within its bounds, you never reach its end.”

Chris wasn’t so sure he was following Johann’s logic. “You’re not saying that the universe goes on forever, are you?”