XI
THE MAN IN THE COTTAGE
‘YOU mentioned other places, Monsignor,’ remarked Roger ‘places that are not pleasant, as these are.’
‘That is so, Roger,’ I replied.
‘Where are they?’
‘As to their precise location, well, that is not so easy to define. As I expect you’ve noticed, the four points of the compass have no significance in these realms or anywhere else in the spirit world. That, as you will remember, was a matter that might have cropped up when you once asked if it were possible to lose one’s self here. Still, we could soon take you to those unpleasant places. Do you really wish to see them?’
The boy was silent for a moment. ‘Perhaps I had better guided by Ruth and yourself; I mean, guided by your advice.’
‘Then, my dear boy, if you wish for our suggestions, I'm sure Ruth will agree with me that it were much better that you keep away from the dark regions for some time yet.’
‘Monsignor is perfectly right, Roger. Don’t go there. You know we will do anything for you that we possibly can, but those beastly regions are not for you yet. Later on, perhaps. Accept our word for it—there are thousands who could corroborate us—that you wouldn’t feel at all happy about it afterwards. You know how, on earth, deep curiosity would lead us towards looking at something or other we were pretty sure we should afterwards regret having seen. We would give in, and our first impressions become verified. Here’s just such another instance.’
‘There’s this can be said, Roger. Those dark realms are not the theological hell to which people are condemned for all eternity—once in, never out again. Every person who at present is an inhabitant of those terrible places has the free choice to emerge from them whenever he changes his mind. He can work his way out in precisely the same way as we can work our way from these lovely lands into still lovelier. The law is the same there as here, and applies to us all—there and here. And here is a living witness to what I say.
‘Do you see that trim cottage over there, Roger, with the two tall trees near it? Well, I’m revealing no secrets when I tell you that the dweller in that cottage once lived in an awful hovel, not actually in the dark realms, but in the dismal, bleak regions that lie close to them—the sort of twilight of the dark lands themselves. Ah, our friend has seen us.’
We had perceived the owner of the cottage sitting in his garden, and now he was waving to us.
‘Shall we take Roger to see him, Monsignor?’ Ruth suggested.
‘That would be a capital notion, my dear, if Roger doesn’t mind listening to our friend’s story. It’s not a long one, nor is it frightening or anything of that sort. But I must tell you this, that it was largely due to Ruth that he was able to turn the corner, as it were, and emerge from his unhappiness. So you can readily imagine that he regards Ruth as something only very slightly less than an archangel.’ Ruth laughed.
‘Well,’ said Roger, ‘I think that the gentleman is entirely right. He’s a very good judge, anyway. I can easily understand how he feels, for both of you have done so much for me already, even in this short period.’
‘No, my boy. We’ve done nothing that millions of others would not have done. But we must spare Ruth’s blushes.
‘I’ll tell you what, Roger. If you feel like listening to our friend’s story you will be doing him a very good turn, because he feels that he owes so much for the help he’s been given that he can’t do enough in return, and telling others about his rehabilitation, he believes, is some small way of showing his gratitude. Bless him, his heart’s in the right place, and you'll find he doesn’t spare himself, either.’
‘I thought for a moment you were going to say “doesn't spare the horses”.’
‘Roger! How could you!’ exclaimed Ruth. ‘If Monsignor ever puts that down on paper—and he’s liable to—what would some of the earth folk say?’
‘“Trivial rubbish”, my dear; all of it,’ I said. ‘I hope you won’t think, Roger, from what I’ve said about our friend here that he’s a trying old bore. Far from it. But in this case I think you’ll find his simple story will answer a number of questions for you without your having to ask them.’
‘And if I didn’t know otherwise I should say that will save you a great deal of bother, one way and another,’ said Roger with a grin.
‘Glorious, Roger; that’s a good one against Monsignor,' said Ruth.
‘He included you in that statement, Ruth,’ I pointed out.
By this time we were within hailing distance of our friend, and he came rapidly towards us.
‘Ruth, Monsignor,’ he cried with evident delight; 'this is a pleasure. It seems a long time since I saw you both. And who is our young friend? I’ve not had the pleasure of seeing him before.’
We introduced Roger, and explained that one of the reasons why we had not seen him of late was that we were showing Roger round his new land.
‘How are you?’ asked Ruth.
‘Why, my dear, I never felt better in my life. Is it possible, do you think, for us ever to feel better than we do now?’
‘That’s something I should very much like to know as well, sir,’ said Roger.
‘There you are, my dear. Here’s this young gentleman firmly supports me in my demand. Now then, what does that wise head say?’
Our friend slipped his arm through Roger’s.
‘Why, I don’t know,’ Ruth answered with a smile, ‘but I don’t see how we could feel any better than we do already. Perhaps it’s all a matter of comparison.’
‘That must be it, and compared with what I once felt, this is perfection. It might be called “Paradise regained”, if I were at all sure that I ever had it to lose and regain. But come inside, and let our new friend see what a spirit world country cottage looks like.’
This small dwelling was as neat and trim inside as it was outside, and everything was arranged with the greatest taste and refinement, and with yet an eye upon solid comfort and enjoyment. In the apartment which we entered directly from the garden, the furniture was of the ancient style, well constructed and pleasant to behold. It was kept in a high state of polish, and reflected the large bowls of flowers that were everywhere displayed. The other rooms, both upstairs and down, were similarly appointed, and altogether the whole dwelling revealed the natural pride and devoted care of its owner.
‘I have no shame in telling you, Roger, my friend, that this is a very different place from the one I inhabited when I first came into the spirit world, as Ruth and Monsignor will tell you, and, of course, Edwin. Where is Edwin, now? Why isn’t he with you?’
‘He has been very busy of late,’ Ruth replied, ‘and none of us has seen much of him beyond a fleeting visit. Roger was one of our own cases—do you like being referred to as a case, Roger?—and we thought we would take time off and show him things.
‘Doing for him, what Edwin did for you and Monsignor. Do you remember your first visit to me?—but of course you do. I shall never forget it.’
‘If you feel so disposed, tell Roger about it.’
Our friend reflected for a moment. ‘Why, yes, if you wish,’ he said, ‘but he should know first how I came to live in such a place, such an awful place, as that was.
‘When I lived on earth, Roger, I was a successful business man. Business was my preoccupation in life, for I thought of precious little else, and I considered all means right in my dealings with others, provided such means were strictly legal. As long as they were that, I deemed the rest did not matter. I was ruthless, therefore, in gaining my ends, and coupled with a high degree of efficiency, I achieved great commercial success.
‘In my home, there was only one person to be thought of, and that was myself. The rest of the family did as they were told—and I did the telling.
‘I always gave generously to charity when I thought I should derive the greatest benefit and credit for myself, for I did not believe in anonymity as far as I was concerned. If any donations were to be given I saw to it that my name was sufficiently prominent. Of course, I supported the church in the district where I lived, and at my own expense had some portions added to the building, with proper emphasis upon the donor.
‘The house I occupied was my own, and of such size and situation as befitted my position in the world. In every respect, Roger, I regarded myself as a god. It wasn't until I came to the spirit world that I discovered that I was one—made of tin, the sorriest, shabbiest god that ever existed.
I was only a year or two past middle-life when disease overtook me, and at length I "died".
I have every reason to know that I was given a magnificent funeral, with all the customary trappings, suitable mourning, and so on, though I have since learned that there was not one soul who cared a brass farthing that I had gone. One the contrary, they were glad. Some declared that the devil had got his own at last. Others said that I was the one justification for the existence of hell, and that the earth was the sweeter for my removal. Such was the fragrant memory I left behind me. And where was I, do you think, Roger, during all these sad lamentations at my departure?
'I awoke to find myself in the dirtiest, wretchedest hovel you can imagine. I could take and show you the place this moment, for it's still standing. The house—the hovel—was small, and seemed all the more so after the large establishment I was accustomed to on earth. It stood in a horrible, bleak spot, without garden or any living thing round about. The inside was in keeping with the outside, poorly, meanly furnished.
'Seeing it for the first time, some might have thought that poverty was the trouble. So it was—poverty of the soul—for I had never done anything for anyone on earth, except it be for my own ultimate benefit, not theirs.
'The very clothes I was wearing were threadbare and soiled. In this dingy hole I found myself, smouldering with rage that I should, in some inconceivable fashion, have been reduced to such a state of squalor. I didn't seem able to leave the premises; I felt glued to the house. I gazed out of the windows, and could see nothing but barren ground, with a belt of mist not far away. A grim, dismal outlook, in a literal sense. I stormed and raved, and it was in this situation that Edwin found me.
'He came to me one day, and I treated him as I had been accustomed to treat those whom I considered my inferiors on earth. Now Edwin was the last person to be spoken to in that fashion. You've not met him, have you, Roger, my boy? A quiet, kind personality, but firm. He stood no nonsense from me, I can tell you, but in my then frame of mind he could make no headway.
'I was consumed with anger, an anger that was aggravated by the fact that I did not know whom to blame for my present situation. The last person I thought of blaming was myself. However, I found some measure of consolation in assigning the responsibility where I fancied the largest share of it should rest, and that was upon the Church, for I felt I had been misled. Had I not given generously to the Church, and had I not been led to believe that my donations, and they were upon a considerable scale, would stand me in very good stead when my time came to depart from the earth? I considered I had been done a grave injustice, and that the Church, of which I regarded myself a most ornate pillar, had flagrantly misled me, and that I was called upon to pay for its mistake.
'To whom was I to turn in my difficulties? I was perfectly well aware of what had taken place; in other words, that I was "dead". But the mere knowledge of that was of precious little use.
'I suppose I must have emitted some kind of thought in request of assistance. Whatever it may be, I perceived a man coming towards the house, and that man was Edwin. It was the first of many visits he paid me, and every one with the same result. I was adamant. I was also extremely rude. But Edwin was not the sort to be intimidated by one such as me, and he gave me as good—better, in fact—as I gave him! He could always have the last word, so to speak. He simply marched out of the house and left me when I became too intractable.
‘At length he returned, but this time not alone, for he brought with him two friends (and another whom I had sometimes seen in the area), the same two friends who are looking after you, Roger—Monsignor and Ruth.
‘Glancing back now, I know that visit was the turning point. Ruth and Monsignor stood in my room, very discreetly in the background, while Edwin spoke to me. I began to feel a trifle less angry, and my eyes were continually drawn towards Ruth, when I had first glimmerings of light, if I may so express it.
‘Ruth’s presence served to remind me that I had a daughter of my own, though I had treated her equally abominably with the rest. There was no physical resemblance between Ruth and my daughter, it was more one of temperament, as far as I could judge. Whatever it was, I already began to feel differently. That, combined with all that Edwin had spoken to me on so many occasions, had its effect. After my visitors had gone, a terrible loneliness came over me, as well as deep, dark remorse, so intense that I cried aloud in my despair for Edwin’s presence now, which I had so often spurned with contempt, for I had put in some good thinking.
‘You can imagine my joy and surprise when I perceived Edwin coming towards the house almost upon the instant of my cry. I met him at the door, and as he would tell you himself, I was a changed man.
‘The first thing I did was to thank him for coming so expeditiously—and I was not much accustomed to thanking people for anything. The next, was to apologize to him for all I had said and done to him. But he waved my words aside with a brilliant smile upon his face that clearly bespoke his great pleasure that, at last, I was on the way to being something very different from the inflated egoist and spiritual blackguard that I was when I arrived in the spirit lands.
‘Edwin at once sat down with me and proceeded to discuss ways and means of getting me out of the hell-hole that was my abode. A course of action was decided upon. Edwin did the deciding, for I put myself entirely in his hands, and for the present it was arranged that I should remain where I was for a brief while, and that I had but to call him and he would come.
‘After he had gone, I gazed round upon my house, and in some extraordinary manner it seemed much brighter than it was. It was unquestionably less dingy, and my clothes were less shabby, and that discovery helped to make me feel a great deal happier.
‘I will not bore you with all the struggles, hard struggles, I had to make up for all that was past. It was hard work, but I never lacked friends. I don’t need to look farther than this room to see two, at least.
‘Well, Roger, you see me now, as unlike my old self as day is to night, still working hard, and glad of it. My work? Why, doing for others what Edwin did for me—and for the same kind of people! It’s easier to handle them when you’ve been one of them yourself,’ our host added with a chuckle.
‘There’s one consolation,’ he went on; ‘they’ve pretty well forgotten about me on earth. Otherwise they’d think of me as being far worse than old Scrooge, and would point out that, at the last, Scrooge reformed and became a decent citizen, while I went to my end unrepentant. Perfectly true, but they don’t know that I’ve changed my views somewhat since then, and they’d not know me for the man I was.
‘Still, maybe they’ll find out one day, and, my word, there’ll be surprises all round!’