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Category:
Science Fiction
Publisher: Jeanette Gibson
ISBN-10: B0189ZKBR4
Copyright: December 2015
ISBN-13: 9781311269010
Price: FREE! (eBook)
The Last Word Cemetery is a mind-bending mash-up of tragic love and apocalyptic mayhem…in which the cemetery itself is responsible for both causing the chaos and extending the ray of hope at the end of the world. There is something for everyone in this hilarious, poignant, irreverently told story.
Tobias McCreedy, the lead character in Part One, is a wealthy humanitarian whose world is shattered when his wife dies only a few years into their marriage. Solace and inspiration come from an unexpected source—the gardener who tends the McCreedy estate. The gardener describes the Mexican Day of the Dead observance, which inspires Tobias to build a magnificent necropolis in which the dead can have the last word. No longer, Tobias resolves, will lifetimes of experience be obliterated by time. But what will be the mode of expression?
Tobias turns to his young scientist friend, Lobsang Liu, to create memorial holograms of the deceased that may be viewed at each grave. Lobsang more than succeeds at his task, and the Last Word Cemetery endures for centuries. Then comes a long period marked by wars and natural calamities, erasing most of the historical and archaeological record.
In Part Two, the satire breaks loose. Twelve thousand years later, we see a world civilization based on mostly unwitting misinterpretations of the scant remnants of the past. A team of archaeologists discovers the vault of the Last Word Cemetery. Most of the holograms stored within it are still viewable, and their content blows to hell all the concepts upon which “Second-World” society is based. We follow March Archaeologist-Engineer 68 and Credence Archaeologist 741 as they come to grips with recalibrating reality. The archaeologists decide to make the holograms known to the public, and pandemonium breaks out. But this time, as far as planet Earth is concerned, there are no more punches left on the ticket.
Excerpt
It was toward the end of Tobias’s first summer without Danielle. Early one afternoon, he walked onto the back patio of the family mansion, carrying a tray with an iced pitcher, which he placed on an umbrella table. Miguel was working on a nearby flowerbed.
Tobias shouted, “Miguel, come and take a break!” Miguel put down his trowel, dusted himself off and climbed the steps to the patio.
“Thank you, Mr. Makeedy.” Miguel always mispronounced “McCreedy” this way, but Tobias never corrected him. He couldn’t see the sense in embarrassing a hard-working man over a missing syllable.
“Sangría—sin alcohol,” Tobias said.
Sin alcohol? Que lástima!” Miguel joked.
They sat in the shade, drank and chatted about the weather, the landscaping and Miguel’s children. During a lull in the conversation, Miguel stared with concern at Tobias, who seemed to be miles away, and said, “Sen͂or Makeedy, you look so sad…I no like you be this way.”
Tobias dropped his gaze and nodded slowly, “You’re right, Miguel, I am sad…I just came from visiting Danielle’s grave…again.”
Miguel shook his head, “Ah, sí… .”
“Cemeteries are such forlorn places…you feel worse after visiting them… . Well, that’s the way it is, I guess.”
Miguel patted Tobias on the arm and said excitedly, “Oh, no, sen͂or. In my country, in Mexico, we have el Día de los Muertos. Everybody go to graveyard, have food, talk, laugh…no es triste!
Tobias brightened a bit. “Yes, of course—the Day of the Dead—paper flowers everywhere, fancy candy skulls….”
Miguel grinned broadly. “Sí! No scared of the death, and family come back!”
Tobias listened thoughtfully to the gardener. His eyes moved from Miguel’s lined face to some point in the distance, where his thoughts were incubating.
“Mr. Makeedy?” Miguel said softly.
Tobias answered absently, “Yes, Miguel…sorry… .” Then he burst out, “You’ve given me an idea, Miguel! Why indeed should cemeteries be sorrowful places? What if…what if…ha, ha!”
Grinning from ear to ear, Tobias clapped Miguel on the shoulder and refilled his glass. “Please sit and finish your drink. Thank you, amigo!”
Miguel watched Tobias stride energetically back to the house, perplexed but happy to have pleased his kindly but eccentric boss.
For the rest of the day and evening, since his chat with Miguel, a multitude of thoughts and images flooded Tobias’s imagination. He paced back and forth nodding and sometimes talking to himself. He ignored his phone calls and other business matters, to allow his mind to be entirely devoted to the inner vision that was taking form.
That vision began with a kaleidoscope of bright flowers—some fresh, some made of paper, some in garlands and others on the graves of a Mexican cemetery… . He saw crowds of people of all ages milling about…guitar players strumming and grandmothers singing old songs…children playing…friends reuniting…feasts laid out for the dead and the living…and everywhere, decorated, sugar skulls… .
The images danced and mingled, giving way, at the end of the day, to a dream of an alabaster necropolis planted with flowers and trees…and on each stately tomb, a kind of ghost of its inhabitant, as if conjured by some white-magic necromancer.
Tobias replayed his dream well into the night, seated in his favorite armchair, his Irish setters Job and Zophar lying at his feet. He mused aloud to the appreciative dogs: “El Día de los Muertos…ongoing for hundreds of years…all those memories…experiences recorded…for them…for posterity…” He sat up abruptly in his chair. The two setters reluctantly came to attention. “I can do it!” he cried out.
Tobias placed his snifter of brandy on the table, next to a photo of Danielle. He picked up the photo and spoke to it. “I’ll do it for you, my darling. I know you’d approve…you always loved an adventure.”
Tobias kissed the portrait and laid it on his chest. A smile crept onto his face…his eyes were heavy and his tongue was thick from wine and warmth. “When you see me again, my love, you’ll say, ‘Why, you crazy old man! You actually pulled it off!’ ”
He nodded off and began to snore. Job heaved a noisy sigh of contentment. Zophar raised his head and sniffed at his master. Satisfied all was well, he curled up and joined the chorus of snores.
Sleep that night was profound and restorative. Tobias awoke with that peculiar sense of not knowing where or when he was. Once he oriented the direction of the bed, the location of the nightstand, the approximate date, et cetera, his mind returned to his musings of the previous night—the alabaster necropolis…the simulacrums of the dead… .
But how would he accomplish this thing that was barely an idea? The answer came as soon as the question was asked: Through the magic of Lobsang Liu! Lobsang would materialize the specters with his confounding holography. God knows what he might have created since they last met.
Tobias sprang out of bed and phoned Lobsang.
Two days later, Lobsang appeared on Tobias’s doorstep with his backpack, prepared to stay for the weekend. Tobias had not given details of his plan, saying only that he had an idea like no other, and Lobsang was the only person in the world who could execute it. Had anyone but his old friend made such a claim, Lobsang would have kept his distance.
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