The FitzOsbornes at War by Michelle Cooper

Author:Michelle Cooper [Cooper, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: teen fiction
ISBN: 9781742750330
Publisher: Random House Australia
Published: 2012-04-01T23:00:00+00:00

‘You don’t believe in Heaven?’ I asked. I wasn’t sure I did, either, but it was a bit depressing to think that this dusty, overgrown graveyard was the best we could hope for.

Rupert was silent for a moment, thinking. I liked that about him, that he always took our conversations seriously.

‘I want to believe in some sort of afterlife,’ he said at last, ‘but the logistics have always baffled me.’

‘Oh, I know!’ I said. ‘So many questions, and the answers never make any sense. Do dead children ever get a chance to grow up? Do people who die of old age have to stay old forever, even if they were happier when they were young? And that bit in the Bible about the widow who marries again – you know, the idea of the woman and all her husbands living together for eternity. What if they didn’t get along?’

‘That would be Hell,’ Rupert said, and we couldn’t help sniggering.

‘I know there aren’t supposed to be bodies in Heaven, only souls,’ I said, more seriously, ‘but what would one do for eternity, without a body? Would one simply feel abstract joy, for ever and ever? It sounds a bit tedious, doesn’t it?’

‘The thing that got to me,’ said Rupert, ‘was when our Sunday School teacher announced that animals didn’t have souls – that when they died, they were like plants, they just went back into the earth. How could anyone spend any time at all with a dog, and not think dogs had souls? If dogs don’t have souls, then we don’t, either. Dogs feel the same things we do – happiness and loyalty and love and loneliness. I’ve seen birds get distressed when their mates died. Even lizards and insects must have thoughts and feelings – it’s just that humans can’t understand them. So I think life is a continuum, as Darwin said, and humans aren’t anything special. Except, unlike other animals, we make up a lot of stories about eternal life, because we’re so terrified of death.’

‘Being able to make up stories is special,’ I said. ‘A special, comforting skill.’ I glanced again at the gravestones. ‘Of course, that doesn’t mean the stories are true.’

‘And we won’t find out if they are,’ said Rupert, ‘not until it’s too late to change anything about our lives.’

‘This is such an optimistic conversation,’ I said.

Rupert smiled. ‘I suppose we ought to be getting back to the house,’ he said, without any enthusiasm.

‘Yes,’ I sighed. ‘I suppose so.’

I straightened my hat and he pushed back the lock of hair that kept falling over his face, then we turned towards the gate.

‘Thanks,’ said Rupert. ‘For the conversation, I mean.’ He caught my eye and seemed on the verge of saying something more, and I held my breath. But then he bent down to drag the gate out of our way and to point out some wild orchids beside the path, and the rest of our walk was like that, mild and soothing and familiar.

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