The Tomb of One Direction (2)

The emperor finally died after a long, glorious reign. He left his greatness behind him and found himself, as we all shall when we die, in the Tomb of One Direction.

 

Behind a desk there sat a man with clipboard.

 

“Name?” he asked, rather brashly.

 

“I am the emperor,” he replied, rather astonished at being so treated.

 

“I asked your name, not your job title.”

 

“Do you not know me?”

 

The argument could have continued a very long time, but the emperor was suddenly distracted by the sight of a dancer.  For it was the Maiden of Death, trapped in the Tomb of One Direction by a harsh turn of fate, and determined to put her talent to use, performing the Dance of Death for visitors to the tomb, on their way to heaven.  

 

“Who is that?” the Emperor asked.

 

The Keeper of the List of the Dead saw his opportunity. “First tell me who you are.”

 

Impatient, the emperor gave his name and repeated his question.

“She is the Maiden of Death.”

 

“She seems familiar,” the emperor replied. He gazed for a long time in silent awe, before continuing his sentence. “Like a dancer I knew once, a ballerina who came to my court.”

 

“She spoke of an emperor I seem to recall.”

 

The emperor was overjoyed. “It is her, so she is waiting for me here. We shall enter paradise together. Oh, what joy.”

 

“Alas no. The ballerina remains here because she has ne’er been added to the list of the Dead, so she may not travel to the next world.”

 

“Then why did she not return to life? I hear of such things, corpses climbing out of their very graves, carefully organised funerals being ruined by the deceased rising from his coffin. Why not so with the ballerina?”

 

“Alas she could not return. Her name no longer appears on the List of the Living.”

 

“I could get her added to the List. I can arrange any papers, any documents, I am the emperor.”

 

“You WERE the emperor. You hold no power here. You kingdom has passed on, as must you.”

 

A long silence followed during which the emperor ignored the Keeper of the List of Death and focussed entirely

 

“It’s that way.” He pointed towards Heaven’s Gate.

 

The emperor ignored the words for several minutes. “Hmmm?” he said eventually.

 

“Heaven is over there, through Heaven’s Gate.”

 

“I’m fine thank you.” He returned his gaze to the dancer.

 

“You don’t understand me. This is the Tomb of One Direction, the name refers to the direction souls take as they pass through. That direction,” once more he pointed to the Gate, “is the one you must take. It is your destiny, this is merely the intersection where you change from the living to the dead. It is not somewhere where you can stay.”

“And yet she has stayed.”

 

Another man appeared in the Tomb, suited similarly to the Keeper of the List of the Dead, who explained the situation to him.

 

“Paradise lies this way,” he said, pointing towards heaven.

 

“I’m fine thank you. I’m enjoying the dancing.”

 

“You don’t understand me. Only one soul may pass through this Tomb at a time, and they must go on directly through to paradise, otherwise the dead have nowhere to go. It is where ghosts, ghouls and other loose spirits come from and you are causing a GhostStorm.”

 

“Well, if you have a word for it, it means I am not the first. Who are you anyway, the Tomb Chief? Can you sort out the problem with the dancing girl’s pass?”

“Alas no, we can do nothing for the girl until she appears on a List. I am the Director of Lifespans.”

 

“To be perfectly honest with you, Director of Lifespans, I am used to dealing with leaders: kings, governors, church leaders, heads of state, not list-men, clipboard holders and general gofers and lackeys. Leave me in peace to watch this beautiful dancing.”

 

Another man appeared in the Tomb, an older, deader version of the two list-keepers. The Director of Lifespans. The situation was quickly explained to him.

 

“More innovations, more newness,” he said, “what a modern world this is becoming.” He turned to the emperor. “Hey you, emperor, you cannot stay here. There are souls outside waiting to get in, you must go.”

 

The emperor barely bothered acknowledging the new man, let alone responding.

 

“You are missing out on heaven, on paradise itself. Why entomb yourself in this place, with three old spirits and a hundred millennia of death. Go, pass through the Gate, take your place in heaven, before god changes his mind.”

 

Eventually the emperor turned to him. “You are in charge of the Tomb?”

“Yes, I am the Commune Chief of the Tomb Gate, I oversee the Tomb of One Direction.”

 

“I have some knowledge of how things are organised here, below my city. You are in charge of the day to day running of the Tomb of One Direction, is that not so?”

 

“It is so.”

 

“In which case I have nothing to say to you. I will speak only to the Earl of the Tomb.”

 

With these words the emperor turned back to watching the ballerina dance.

 

Another man appeared, in fiery temper. How he had been summoned I cannot tell you, but he clearly blamed the Commune Chief of the Tomb Gate, who he prodded angrily with a finger as he hurled words at him. “You disturb me TWICE in the same millennium. What is it this time? I was engaged in important business.”

 

The Earl was dressed differently from the other three: he was clad in bright yellow Bermuda shorts, a pair of ray ban sunglasses and a T-shirt which read: ‘Don’t ask me I only work here’.

 

The situation was hastily explained to him and he approached the emperor, kneeling and bowing before the former-man before he spoke. “Your majesty, I am the Earl of the Tomb. I am here to facilitate your smooth transition to paradise. I gather there is some impasse delaying your smooth passage to heaven.”

 

The emperor nodded in acknowledgement of the respectful address. This was how he was used to being spoken to, not by snappy bureaucrats with clipboards.

 

“I do not intend to dwell here forever, but there is an issue I would bring to your attention. This girl, she is trapped here, I would like her to be allowed to join me in paradise. An emperor is allowed an entourage, surely?”

 

“Alas no. And though I am Earl of the Tomb I have no authority as to who may pass into heaven. I can only allow through those on the List. I do not draw up the List.”

 

“I see,” said the emperor. “Then it appears I am wasting my time speaking with you. I should speak to the creator of the List of the Dead.”

 

“I agree,” the Earl replied. “That is the course of action I would urge you to take and to take it as soon as possible.”

 

“So are you going to summon him?”

 

“Alas no, it is not within my authority to summon up God.”

 

“Ah.”

“But if you wish to see him, He lives through that Gate. I’m sure as an emperor He will find time to talk to you, to listen to your case.”

 

The emperor turned, and looked at the dancer once more. “Yet I shall miss her greatly. Her dancing is so beautiful. Surely there is nothing in the whole of paradise to compare?”

 

“Then I shall give you the power of perfect recall, so you can remember it as if it were taking place in front of you. It will keep you entertained until she is able to join you.”

 

“That is most generous. I like your outfit, by the way, very unusual. Where can I get clothes like that?”

 

“They are from your future. They will not be invented for another 2,000 years.”

 

“You travel through time?”

 

“”No, I just ignore it. Silly thing time, people let it get in their way, you can get so much done without it.”

“I’d love an outfit like that.”

 

“Of course. Anything for an emperor. Commune Chief of the Tomb Gate, fetch the emperor a set of clothes like these.”

The Commune Chief bowed assent, “But where …”

 

“Oh, some time in the future, I don’t know exactly. Shop around.”

 

The emperor interjected. “And if I can have a top which says ‘Don’t ask me, I’m only the emperor’, I’d like that.” He turned to the Earl of the Tomb. “Thank you for your help, you have been most gracious.”

 

“Anything for an emperor. Well, I must take my leave, I have important business to attend. I AM The Earl of the Tomb, I really can’t afford these constant interruptions.”

 

With these words he departed. The Commune Chief of the Tomb Gate turned to the Director of Lifespans.  “Go and fetch those clothes, I have business here and can’t leave.”

 

The Director of Lifespans left and returned shortly afterwards with the emperor’s new clothes. Changing his attire, so that he would enter heaven wearing something special, the emperor said his farewells to the residents of the Tomb, including a private, special word in the ear of the ballerina who, for the first time in many years, ceased dancing, in order to cry at whatever words had been spoken.

 

And so the emperor finally went in the one direction he could go, and passed through Heaven’s Gate. “I shall send word from god,” he said and with those words he was gone.