Richard Matheson - What Dreams May Come

“You will,” she told me.

“I hope so,” I murmured.

She looked surprised. “Why did you say that?” she asked. “You know you’ll see her again.”

“But when? ” I asked.

She looked at me for several moments before replying. “Would you like to know?”

I started sharply. “What?”

“There’s an Office of Records in the city,” she told me. “Its main job is to keep a register of people newly arrived but they can, also, provide information regarding those yet to come.”

“You mean I can find out when Ann is going to join me?” It seemed too marvelous to be true.

“We’ll ask,” Leona told me.

I drew in trembling breath. “Let’s not walk there, please,” I said.

“All right.” She nodded understandingly and held out her hand. “Albert told me that you’ve traveled by mind a little but-”

“Yes, please help me,” I said, interrupting her in my excitement.

“Wait here, Katie,” she said and took my hand.

I closed my eyes. That indescribable sense of movement again. With nothing visual for reference, I was more aware of it mentally than physically; there was no wind, no vertigo, no feeling of pressure.

When I opened my eyes, an instant later, we were in the city, standing on a broad avenue paved-is that the proper word?-with grass. I could see that the city was laid out like Washington-an enormous hub with radiating spokes of thoroughfares, one of which we stood on. On each side of us were buildings, some with steps or pavement leading up to them-a material resembling alabaster, all of delicate pastel shades.

The buildings here are broad, not high-circular, rectangular or square, magnificently designed with simple lines, constructed of what looks like translucent marble. Each is surrounded by sumptuous grounds which include ponds, streams, brooks, waterfalls and small lakes. My immediate-and overwhelming-impression was one of space.

I saw a taller building in the center of the city and asked Leona what it was. She told me that it was a place of rest for those whose lives had been terminated by violence or long, debilitating illness; I thought of Albert when she said that. As I gazed at the building, I began to see a blue light shining down on it. Leona told me that it was a beam of healing vibration.

I forgot to mention that, when I opened my eyes, I saw many moving nimbuses of light which, shortly, faded to reveal people going about their business. None seemed in the least surprised by our precipitous appearance but smiled and nodded to us as they passed.

“Why do I see everyone as light first?” I asked.

“There’s such powerful energy in the spirit body that its rays overwhelm the sight of those not used to it,” she explained. “You’ll adjust.” She took me by the arm. “The office is this way.”

I know it sounds bizarre for me to speak about the heavy beating of my heart. It did beat heavily though. I was about to find out how long I’d have to wait before Ann and I would be together again and the suspense was oppressive. Perhaps it was to avoid such a reaction in me that Albert hadn’t told me about the Office of Records. He may have thought it better that I, simply, knew she was to join me and wasn’t concerned about the amount of time involved. I recalled that Leona had hesitated before telling me. What I was about to do was probably not encouraged, I decided.

The paving we were on now looked like smooth, white alabaster which, although it appeared solid, felt springy underfoot. We were entering a large square with thickly foliaged trees of every variety growing on immaculate lawns. In the center of the square, five paths leading to it, was an immense, circular fountain of some dozen jets. If I had not been so anxious, I would have been enchanted by the musical tones emitted by the splashing water.

Leona told me-to distract me? I wonder-that every tone was created by a combination of smaller jets, each a separate note. The entire fountain could be-and was, at times-manipulated so that a complex piece of music could be played as though on an organ console. At the moment, the fountain was sending forth a series of harmonic chords.

Just ahead, now, was the Office of Records, Leona told me. I tried to keep my pace a steady one but kept increasing its speed. I couldn’t help it. More than anything else in this incredible new world, I wanted to know Ann’s destiny.

THE OFFICE OF RECORDS INTERIOR WAS IMMENSE AND PEOPLED-by Leona’s word-with thousands. Notwithstanding, there was little sign of noise and bustle as there would have been on earth.

Nor was there red tape. Within minutes-understanding that I use a term for earth time which is not valid here-I was in a private chamber with a man who had me sit across from him and gaze into his eyes; like everyone I’d met or seen, he was extremely cordial.

“What is your wife’s name?” he asked.

I told him and he nodded. “Would you concentrate on her?” he said.

I thought about the way she looked: her short-cut, brunette hair threaded with gray, her large brown eyes, her small, upturned nose, her lips and delicate ears, the perfect balance of her features. “It’s nice to be married to a beautiful woman,” I used to tell her. She’d smile with pleased appreciation, then, invariably, shake her head and answer, “I’m not beautiful.” She believed it too.

I thought about her tall, graceful figure. She took form in my mind as though she stood before me. Ann always moved well. I recalled her movements with pleasure. Recalled her warmth and softness against me when we made love.

I thought about her gentleness-her patience with the children and with me. Her compassion for the suffering-animals as well as people. Recalled how carefully and tirelessly she cared for us when we were ill. How carefully she tended ailing dogs and cats and birds. She had a wonderful rapport with them I never saw in anyone else.

I thought about her sense of humor-which she rarely displayed. The children and I always kidded with each other and Ann laughed with us. Her own humor she kept under wraps because she didn’t think it existed. “You’re the only one who ever laughs at my jokes,” she used to say. “That’s because you have to though.”

I thought about her faith in me through all the years of my attempts to succeed as a writer. Never once did she doubt I’d make it. “I always knew you would,” she said to me more than once. Simply; with total conviction.

I thought about her painful background; her stern, often-absent Navy father, her erratic, immature and, ultimately, terminally ill mother. Her unhappy childhood, her insecurities, her breakdown and beginning of analysis. The years it took to give her any confidence in herself. The horrible anxieties she suffered on the few occasions when I had to travel any distance at all. Her dread of traveling herself, of losing emotional control in front of strangers. Yet, despite these fears her bravery in-

“All right,” the man said quietly.

I focused my eyes on him. He was smiling. “You care for her a great deal,” he said.

“Yes, I do.” I looked at him anxiously. “How long will it take before you know?”

“A little while,” he said. “We have many such requests; especially from newcomers.”

“I apologize for pressing you,” I said. “I know you must be very busy. But I’m terribly anxious.”

“Why don’t you and the young lady walk around a bit?” he suggested. “Take a look at the city, then return. We should know by then.”

I was disappointed, I admit. I’d thought it would be possible to find out instantaneously; that the information was stored or something.