And when I was dead, I had this wonderful experience. It changed my life. Changed absolutely.”
“Tell me,” said Joanna, who would have been told anyway, who had encountered her own Ancient Mariner, in this antechamber. The other swung into a well-polished narration, impeded by twinges of dental agony.
“I didn’t mention it for ages, I thought I wouldn’t be believed. But I knew all along it was true, truer than most things, if you see what I mean,
more
true. There I was, swimming as it were, up and up, away from myself — I could see myself lying there, it was in anunderpass at Pimlico tube station actually — I could see this body lying there like a banana-skin someone had dropped — and there was I, moving away quite fast
up
a kind of tunnel — or funnelthing — and at the other end was a sort of opening and an indescribable light, ever so bright. And more than anything I wanted to go through that door. It was bliss. Bliss. I can’t describe it. When I got near, there were Figures, who Opened, and I came out into a kind of green place — a
clean
green place, all washed clean, it made me see how polluted our poor earth is — you’ve never dreamed such green — and there across a field was a little bungalow, ever such a lovely bungalow, with a garden
brimming
with every kind of peony, and I thought: Mum would have
loved
that, she always said her idea of heaven was a labour-saving bungalow and a garden full of peonies — and when I came to the door, there they all were, inside, Mum and Dad, and Uncle Charlie I never liked much, and my auntie Beryl, and a quietish lady who I knew was my grandmother, though I’d never set eyes on her, she died before I was born, I proved it later from photographs. They were all sort of young and healthy-looking. The
scent
of those peonies. Mum was baking cakes, and I stood in the doorway and said, “Oh Mum, can I come in, oh can I come in, how good it all looks.” And Mum said, “No, you can’t come now. This cake is for your uncle Jack. Not you. It’s not your time. You must go back. You are needed back there.” And a shining kind of person, dark-skinned like a Red Indian maybe, came up the path, and said — he didn’t exactly speak but I
heard
him tell me, no, Bonnie, you’ve got to go back, it isn’t your time, there are things for you to do, and people who need you. And then I was back in my body in intensive care in St George’s and I heard them cry out, she’s breathing. Ever since then, I’ve
known.
I’ve
known
death was good and not frightening. But all the rest — the healing and the clairvoyance and all that — I discovered when I joined the Academy.”
“The Academy?”
“The Academy of the Return. We’re a research group and atherapeutic community. You see, it turns out that my experience wasn’t unusual really, not in terms of the other experiences of NDE. The experience seems to be the same — in all cultures and religions — the tunnel and the light and the figures, and seeing your parents again —”
“I’ve just lost my mother,” said Joanna, involuntarily.
“Well, there you are. We were brought together, because of your need to know what I have to impart. Our two toothaches were brought about with a purpose, and that’s why I couldn’t cure mine, of course it is, our meeting was
meant.
”
“But,” said Joanna, her face furiously stabbing. How can you say, I don’t want heaven, I want …
A white-clothed figure beckoned from the inner room. “Mr Kestelman will see you now, Mrs Roote.”
Mrs Roote rose, a little tremulously, looked to Joanna for reassurance, and crossed the threshold.
Joanna remembered Molly, in her last few months, complaining of noises. Joanna did not wish to remember the exact nature of these complaints, but they rose in her mind, with a difference. It was Molly’s habit to wake herself with an automatic radio-teamaker, so that the voices of the world’s news and the chatter and gossip of the
“Tell me,” said Joanna, who would have been told anyway, who had encountered her own Ancient Mariner, in this antechamber. The other swung into a well-polished narration, impeded by twinges of dental agony.
“I didn’t mention it for ages, I thought I wouldn’t be believed. But I knew all along it was true, truer than most things, if you see what I mean,
more
true. There I was, swimming as it were, up and up, away from myself — I could see myself lying there, it was in anunderpass at Pimlico tube station actually — I could see this body lying there like a banana-skin someone had dropped — and there was I, moving away quite fast
up
a kind of tunnel — or funnelthing — and at the other end was a sort of opening and an indescribable light, ever so bright. And more than anything I wanted to go through that door. It was bliss. Bliss. I can’t describe it. When I got near, there were Figures, who Opened, and I came out into a kind of green place — a
clean
green place, all washed clean, it made me see how polluted our poor earth is — you’ve never dreamed such green — and there across a field was a little bungalow, ever such a lovely bungalow, with a garden
brimming
with every kind of peony, and I thought: Mum would have
loved
that, she always said her idea of heaven was a labour-saving bungalow and a garden full of peonies — and when I came to the door, there they all were, inside, Mum and Dad, and Uncle Charlie I never liked much, and my auntie Beryl, and a quietish lady who I knew was my grandmother, though I’d never set eyes on her, she died before I was born, I proved it later from photographs. They were all sort of young and healthy-looking. The
scent
of those peonies. Mum was baking cakes, and I stood in the doorway and said, “Oh Mum, can I come in, oh can I come in, how good it all looks.” And Mum said, “No, you can’t come now. This cake is for your uncle Jack. Not you. It’s not your time. You must go back. You are needed back there.” And a shining kind of person, dark-skinned like a Red Indian maybe, came up the path, and said — he didn’t exactly speak but I
heard
him tell me, no, Bonnie, you’ve got to go back, it isn’t your time, there are things for you to do, and people who need you. And then I was back in my body in intensive care in St George’s and I heard them cry out, she’s breathing. Ever since then, I’ve
known.
I’ve
known
death was good and not frightening. But all the rest — the healing and the clairvoyance and all that — I discovered when I joined the Academy.”
“The Academy?”
“The Academy of the Return. We’re a research group and atherapeutic community. You see, it turns out that my experience wasn’t unusual really, not in terms of the other experiences of NDE. The experience seems to be the same — in all cultures and religions — the tunnel and the light and the figures, and seeing your parents again —”
“I’ve just lost my mother,” said Joanna, involuntarily.
“Well, there you are. We were brought together, because of your need to know what I have to impart. Our two toothaches were brought about with a purpose, and that’s why I couldn’t cure mine, of course it is, our meeting was
meant.
”
“But,” said Joanna, her face furiously stabbing. How can you say, I don’t want heaven, I want …
A white-clothed figure beckoned from the inner room. “Mr Kestelman will see you now, Mrs Roote.”
Mrs Roote rose, a little tremulously, looked to Joanna for reassurance, and crossed the threshold.
Joanna remembered Molly, in her last few months, complaining of noises. Joanna did not wish to remember the exact nature of these complaints, but they rose in her mind, with a difference. It was Molly’s habit to wake herself with an automatic radio-teamaker, so that the voices of the world’s news and the chatter and gossip of the
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