Dead Guy: Part Three

Read parts one and two first.

The audience, for the most part, was a treat. In the front-row, a clutch of Duke Montana wannabes, clear-faced psychology graduates primed for a career in trash TV. Behind them, a larger than normal delegation from the local Active Retirement society- a gang of lean-jawed old Americans who rattled with laughter at every mortality gag. And at the back, your regular smattering of minor Goths. Nothing to be scared of, in other words. And I was in fine form. My opening remarks were solid, though that piece of business with the coffin and the dry ice needed re-structuring. Rapport was established early on. Eye contact was main-tained and re-tained. The Ten Top Tips were conveyed reasonably well. At a push, I could do more workshopping on Top Tip number five ("Just Because Your Job is Heaven Doesn't Mean Your Boss is God"). But overall I'm pleased with my performance. No, the only troubling event of the evening, the only time I really felt my world cave in, was when I opened up to questions from the floor.

The first question came from one of the retirees- a weathered, skinny broad, with astonishingly ample breasts, which she wore proudly, like water wings. She spoke into her bunched fist, which doubled as an ersatz microphone.
"My question is this. Would you term yourself a zombie? And my second question follows from that. I want to ask: what do you eat? More specifically, do you eat, or have you ever eaten, human flesh?"
"Am I a zombie?" I said. "Well, let's see. I run my own company- and run it well. I make complex business decisions on the go. I recently published my life story- and, believe me, the only ghost-writer on board was myself. I tour the nation, speaking to over a hundred people every night. I like to think I motivate them to go out and change their lives. So, if I'm a zombie, what does that make our President? (Some laughter here.) As to your second question, what I eat- I eat chiefly sunlight, as I explain in my memoir. Of course, up here in Washington State I'm feeding from scraps. That's what I'll say when I get back to LA: the people were lovely, but the food was… terrible."
Laughter, of course; when it abated a young woman raised her hand.
"Mr Neville. I have a question. How did you in fact… You know," She blushed and rolled her eyes. "Mr Neville, sir, how did you die?"
"It was a routine operation," I said. "And I'm not blaming the anaesthetist. I hear he's very well regarded in his native Turkmenistan. And this was his first operation on American soil, so there were bound to be some complications. Some say it was jetlag. Some say the language barrier. Maybe he had problems converting from metric. All I know is, he gave me 27 times the required dose."
"Holy moly," said a pale, unwieldy gent in the front row.
"27 times," I said. "People who've had a near-death experience talk of floating up a tunnel. I sped up it. Hit that bright white light at ninety miles an hour. I was electrocuted, double-terminated, killed again. When the mist cleared, I saw a door in front of me. Recognised it. It was the door to Gerry Daimler's office. My boss. As I'd been laid off three days previous, I should say: former boss. And when I opened, there he was, eating a pastrami and cream cheese on rye.'
"You're dead," he said.
"I am not," I said.
"I went to your funeral," he said. "Yes, you are."
"I don't feel dead."
"How do you know how dead feels?" Gerry said. "I buried you. I shook hands with your mother. Her name is Annie May."
"What was she wearing?" I asked.
"She was wearing one of those pink suits with black edges that used to be in fashion way back when," he said. "I'm guessing Chanel, but don't quote me on that."
"That's my mother alright," I said.
"It suited her," he said. "Don't get me wrong."
"No offence taken," I said. "So, Gerry when do I start back?"
"Henry," Gerry said. There was a new astringency in his voice, a cautious flattening. "You've died. You've crossed the river Lethe. You've accessed hidden knowledge. So tell me this straight: have you learnt anything along the way?"
To be continued