VII.

"I beg your pardon?" Victoria asked. It seemed as though her voice was coming from rather far away, and it took Victor a moment to respond.

"I'm sorry?" he asked in return. Without thinking he gave his head a little shake to clear it, and only at the last moment remembered to clamp a hand over his left eye to keep it in place. I'll have to get used to that, Victor thought as he secured his eyeball in its socket.

"You're mumbling to yourself," Victoria replied. "What were you thinking about?"

What was I thinking about? Victor wondered. How to put it into words? "I just..." he said, more to fill the silence as he considered than anything else. He rested his chin on the top of Victoria's head, his mind full of nothing but that vision of butterflies.

"Yes?" Victoria prompted gently. "What is it, Victor?"

"For a moment I thought I had it all figured out," Victor said slowly, staring out into the distance. "Then it just sort of...slipped away."

Victoria seemed to understand. She patted his knee and said, "That happens. Little glimpses here and there, and then it's gone again." Victor was a little surprised that she seemed to know exactly what he meant, until he realized that she'd been here much longer. More time to think about...things...Victor sincerely wished that he could stop thinking in such generalities. But there weren't really any words. Death wasn't all loud parties and frivolous drinking, apparently. There was some thinking to be done as well.

"It happens to everyone," Victoria said again. "Don't be worried. Along with all of that forgetting, one does some remembering too." Victor looked down at the top of her head. What an odd thing to say.

"Remembering?" Victor asked vaguely. He smiled a little. "You mean the sort of remembering that includes memories of how your husband never polished his own shoes?"

Victoria nudged him with her shoulder as she said, "No, that's not what I mean. It's more like...remembering something you never knew you knew. But that you knew all the same." A short silence followed this pronouncement.

"Forgive me," Victor finally said, "but what?"

Victoria pulled her head out from under his chin, and leaned away so that she could look him in the eye.

"I really don't know," Victoria replied. She sounded as though she'd confused herself a bit along with Victor. "Just that...well..." Victoria stopped to think, and then continued, "Maybe that there's something in everybody. That part of us that feels as though it's waiting for something. A part that we never really realized was there while we were alive, because we never needed to." She leaned her head against his shoulder again. "Am I making any sense at all?" she asked.

Victor almost went with his knee-jerk reaction, which was None whatsoever--you're confusing me even more, but then he took a moment to really think over what Victoria had said. Suddenly it began to make a bit more sense.

"I think you are," Victor replied. "It just takes some thinking about."

So for a moment, they both just sat and thought, Victor letting his mangled cheek rest against Victoria's hair. Everything was quiet. Quiet, except for some distant thuds, crashes, and shouts. It sounded as though a bit of a brawl had broken out over at the Ball and Socket. While listening to what sounded like some shattering glass, Victor had an idea.

"Maybe," he said, "Maybe that remembering you talked about--or realizing, I guess--I think...I think it might have something to do with all of the forgetting."

"Hmm," Victoria replied. Victor took that noncommittal "hmm" to mean, You aren't coming through. So he elaborated, his thoughts turning into words almost as soon as they occurred to him.

"I suppose what I mean is that we all forget, but it isn't really forgetting so much as...well...letting go. And it doesn't matter because it's supposed to happen, because...Well, I don't know the 'because' just yet, but it's something natural. It seems to me," Victor straightened, getting into his stride, and Victoria looked up at him as he rattled on,

"It seems to me that the realizing is the letting go, or the forgetting, or whatever you want to call it. Maybe that's why some people are here longer than others--some people have a harder time letting go. And some..." Emily's face flashed in Victor's mind, and he continued more slowly, "Some need help to do it, for whatever reason. And when we can finally let go--butterflies!" Victor emphasized that last with a wave of his hand, overcome with his own philosophical brilliance.

Victoria just continued to look at him. Victor had the idea that she might be thinking that the severe blow to the head he'd received had caused more damage than she'd thought. But instead of calling him crazy, Victoria nodded slowly.

"Butterflies," she repeated softly. "I think you might have something. Victor, that actually makes quite a bit of sense."

At least she agreed with him. Victor could have done without the surprised tone she'd used while she'd said it, but she agreed all the same.

"So," Victor said, still feeling rather proud of himself, "What do we do now?" There was an awful lot of time to fill between the present moment and transcendence, after all. No wonder there were so many parties down here.

"Now that we have the mysteries of existence figured out, you mean?" Victoria asked with a smile. Victor chuckled quietly as she continued, "I'd say it's time I taught you how to play pinball, darling."

"Ah," Victor said, "Are you sure all of those young boyfriends of yours won't be upset?" Victoria laughed in her throat as she shook her head at him. Victor edged a bit closer to her on the bench.

"Incidentally," Victor asked nonchalantly, as though it had just occurred to him, "how long have you been...'entertaining the troops,' as it were?"

"Oh, stop that." Victoria elbowed him in the ribs, laughing out loud now. She reached up and gently tugged on the lapel of his suit jacket. "Do you want to play a game of pinball with your wife or not?"

Victor smiled at her. "Of course I do. Maybe I'll try a pint or two of whatever Fred was drinking earlier, too." Victoria returned his smile before she shrugged.

"At least you know it won't kill you," she said, standing up. Victoria held out her hand, and Victor took it as he hoisted himself from the bench. It was wonderful to be able to sit on a hard bench for more than ten minutes without losing all of the feeling in his legs. It had been a while since he'd been able to do that. As he held Victoria's nearly fleshless hand, though, Victor noticed that he couldn't actually feel it. He knew what it was supposed to feel like--just as he knew, after over sixty years of experience, what kissing Victoria felt like...And yet, Victor suddenly realized that he was only getting impressions of feelings. Not emotions, those were still real enough--but his sense of touch was sorely lacking. Still, Victor didn't let it bother him. After all, it was probably just another one of those things that happened to absolutely everybody. Nothing to worry himself over. The time for worrying was well over with. Death was, really, just a different kind of life.

A bit of a poor imitation, though, Victor thought to himself as Victoria slipped her arm through his and led the way down the narrow staircase. And as for what happened after...who knew what that was? As much as he wanted to derail it, the train of thought kept right on going.

Every feeling was somewhat...well, deadened down here. Victor forgave himself the awful pun simply because it was the truth. Had this existence, such as it was, really seemed worth it to him, maybe even somehow romantic, when he was young? True, there weren't any restrictions here, no rules, no worries...those belonged to the realm of the living. But there was so much more to it than that! Being alive...To be aware, to see a flower blooming, or leaves changing, or water running. The sun coming up in the morning, the moonlight. To be able to smell things, taste things, to really be able to feel. Victor realized again how much he would have missed; all for the sake of something that seemed like it would be more fun, more colorful, and livelier, than the repressive life he'd known as a young man. But the world wasn't really gray, he'd found. Somehow, after that night with the butterflies, life had seemed much brighter. More than anything else in the world, Victor was grateful that he'd had the chance to live.

And now it was time for a pint and a game of pinball with his wife.

End.