Dandelions in Paradise Read online

"What happens to the babies?" I asked Silas one morning. "The ones who die early. Where do they go?"

  "They go back where they came from," Silas said. "Hand me that rake over there, will you?"

  I walked to the shed and retrieved the garden rake.

  "Not that one!" he yelled. "The one next to it! With the fan-like head. Yeah, that's the one. Bring it here." He paused a second, then added, "Please."

  After the dandelion globes had been reduced to mere stalks with little greenish disks on top, Silas had mowed the whole back yard again. The stalks and the tall grass littered the yard, made it unsightly, Sallie said. Sallie hated unsightly things. She liked things tidy and pleasant. Not perfect, just pleasant. All of this Silas told me while he raked the yard.

  "Need any help?" I asked.

  "No, no," he growled. "You just relax, you just sit under the tree. You just take it easy."

  "Fine," I said, and I plopped down on one of the Adirondacks. After a little while, when the yard was full of little piles of clippings, Silas came and sat next to me.

  "What about the babies?" I asked again.

  "What babies?"

  "The ones who die. I asked you about them a while ago."

  "Oh, the babies," Silas said, mopping his head with her handkerchief. "I already told you, they go back where they started. Babies from Heaven go back to Heaven, babies from Paradise go back to Paradise, end of story."

  "What about babies from the Basement?" I grimaced, not sure I was prepared to hear about newborn babies and young children dying and being sent directly to hell.

  "I already told you, Newbie. Heaven to Heaven, Paradise to Paradise. You're not listening! Ain't you got your ears on?"

  "But you said that from time to time when a person living in the Basement conjures up enough compassion they might be allowed to jump in the pond and return to life. What happens if they die early? What happens to those babies?"

  "Oh, I see," Silas nodded his head. "Well, I guess I haven't been clear."

  I agreed, and he frowned.

  "Well, the thing is," he explained. "No little one born straight from the Basement ever dies young. I mean, not before their twenties or thirties, thereabouts.

  It's a little gift from nature. Everyone gets a chance, no matter what they've done in any previous life."

  "So there's no such thing as a 'bad seed?'"

  "No. Oh, there are glitches that happen, nature being imperfect. But that doesn't have anything to do with a previous life. Sometimes a little kid, a young person, runs into problems, mental problems, stuff like that. It's not because they're fresh out of the Basement. Usually it's because of something in their upbringing, not enough love, not the right kind of love. You don't handle a little one with a good balance of affection and direction, you're likely going to see some behavior problems."

  "But sometimes children are born into wonderful homes, raised by fine parents. And they still turn out, well, not quite right."

  "That's true," Silas said. "Life's not fair. Eternity don't even always seem fair. But anyway, nine times out of ten, problems aren't caused by nature. Problems are more likely caused by choices. When people figure that out we'll all be in better shape!"

  "What about when a baby or a little kid dies and comes back here?"

  "Well," Silas said. "It's no big thing, not up here, anyway. Now, down there, among the living, they reckon it's about the worse thing that can happen, a young person dying. I'm not saying it's a great thing, understand. I'm just saying that everything works out okay. A couple of things can happen to the kid, depending on circumstances."

  "Like what?"

  "Well, for instance, we might just haul it back over to the pond and bounce it right back into life. I like doing that. It's kind of fun, and the babies generally squeal with delight."

  "I see," I said without much feeling. The thought of throwing babies, even if they were going to dive headlong back in among the living, didn't sound like much of a good time to me. "What else?"

  "Well, sometimes we just hang onto 'em awhile.

  Someone on one of the farms or towns will raise 'em up. Kind of like keeping a newbie around. After awhile they'll make their own decision whether or not to go back to living.

  "I know this one fellow, bless his heart, he's been born at least ten times, maybe more," Silas giggled. "Within three years, every time, he plops back into Paradise somewhere. No, wait," Silas tapped his forehead. "I've misspoken myself. Once he was nine years old. Anyway, he'll stay up here for, oh, I don't know, a hundred years or more, then go jump back into the pond. Next thing you know, bang, there he is again. Life just don't get a good hold on him is all. He's got a good outlook about it, though. Bless his heart."

  "Seems like it's an unnecessary heartbreak for the parents, though," I said. "Losing a baby, I mean."

  "Oh, it's hard on 'em alright," Silas said. "And I don't mean to sound like I got no feeling about it. Happened to me a couple times."

  "You had kids?"

  "Shoot," Silas said, "I've sired seven all told."

  I was trying to get an image of Silas changing a diaper but shook the picture vigorously from my head when he started talking again.

  "But, Newbie, pain or not, life happens. So does death. We don't have a lot of control over some things, and we can get awfully aggravated. Angry, miserable. Most pain, though, from little things to the really big ones, like losing your child, is just an opportunity to grow. Tough, tough lessons, sure. But life's just like nurturing a garden, you know."

  "How's that?"

  "Well, you turn over the soil, work your carcass off, dump some manure on the ground, blend it all in real good, plant, tend, water, plead a little from time to time. And in the end you might have a prize pumpkin. You might have a wilted little tomato plant. You might just get a little stem or two, or you might get an average crop. You do the best you can, or near to it. Then life gets rained on, hailed at, blown against, flooded, dehydrated, ripped apart, put back together. You can stomp against nature if you like, or you can do the best you can with what you have."

  "So, what you're saying," I asked, "is that life pretty much sucks raw eggs?"

  "Oh, for God's sake, Newbie!" Silas yelled. "Clean out your ears! No!" he took a deep breath, and through clenched teeth, he slowly, deliberately said, "I'm saying that life ain't fair. That things sometimes happen, sometimes really bad things. And when nasty things happen, a fool rolls over and whines, and a wiser person makes the best with what's left over, moves ahead. Plants a new garden, maybe, I don't know. But no, life does not suck raw eggs, Newbie."

  Silas stood up and reached for his rake. "Grab that garbage lid over yonder, will you?"

  I took the lid to him, and we worked together filling the lid with clippings, dumping them in a compost pile behind the shed, raking some more, and hauling more clippings behind the shed.

  "I wonder," I said as we closed the shed door.

  "What's that?" Silas asked.

  "I wonder if I'm ever going to understand all this."

  Just before we reached the back door of the house Silas stopped and put his hand on my shoulder. "Newbie," he said, and our eyes locked. "You understand more than you know. I'm just too impatient, is all. I ain't never gonna give Sallie that eternity in Heaven if I don't quit flying off at the handle! Well, we better wash up. I expect supper's nearly ready."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN