Departure

Thomas started his day with great expectations. As it usually is when one
undertakes a journey, his mind was already at his destination: Vienna. He
was travelling by train, an eight hour journey that was to get him to the city
by five in the afternoon. Still plenty of time to take a walk on the Ring,
admire the tastefully renovated neoclassical architecture, and let him take on
the leisurely, unhurried attitude of the Viennese middle-class, walking their
dogs or children or just themselves under the meticulously trimmed trees.
He was on a sentimental journey, to renew old memories of a mood he felt
while living there, among functioning members of a relatively prosperous
society, who wore their role in the community to the street like an outfit,
letting go of personal individuality in a kind of urban meditation. Thomas
was never really a part of this society, but, being extraordinarily receptive to
ambience, he was still able to assume an important role in it: that of the
outsider.
This nonchalance towards the minds inner life requires just the right
balance of hierarchy and mobility in society with ambition and competence
in personality. But Thomass ambitions were directed entirely towards the
intellectual realm, mainly to putting as many of his ideas on politics to paper
as he could, in the form of a book about the possible paths of social change
open to humanity in its current, volatile state. He was hoping to help end
great injustices plaguing the world and to oil the gears of progress, laying the
foundations for the towering achievements of his race that are to come. Such
goals make the whole idea of having a successful career seem laughable. To
change society, one must step out of it, and, despite the friendly or
authoritative voices warning of squandering ones gifts, adopt a unique
worldview, in defiance of the gravity of uniformity, then one must learn to
love the inevitable, constant feeling of solitude that comes with it. And this is

exactly what Thomas did. He secured a modest but steady income as an

assistant librarian at the worlds oldest university in Bologna, and his
mental health and continued inspiration by partaking in all of those things
in life which are pure, joyful and go well together: art, love, intoxication and
the society of good people.
Thomas didnt earn a lot of money, but he didnt do a lot of work for it
either, and even that consisted almost exclusively of activities he enjoyed or
at least didnt mind. Most of his work hours were spent in complete silence,
in large, comfortable chairs under one of the many enormous, vaulted
ceilings, reading, and occasionally looking up to rest his eyes on the frescos
above, or to give directions to someone in a well-polished, almost perfect
Italian, which he could usually maintain for the short duration of these
conversations.
But even if one is living the dream, there comes a time when melancholy
overtakes the mind, signifying the need for a change of circumstances, to
renew ones sense of purpose with new challenges. And when someones
normal way of life is full of surprises and joyful struggle, the desired change
comes in the form of a chilling dip into normality. Thomas decided to take a
vacation from his life of delightful chaos, vigorous creativity and violent
passions in one of his favorite cities, blessed with perfect food, mostly good
weather and a charmingly organic architecture that draws a continuous line
between antiquity and modern academic culture, for the sake of leisurely
walks along sterile streets masquerading in a fake classical style and
drinking mediocre, overpriced coffee in the politely pompous cafs lining
them to be the outsider again.
As he sat on the artificial leather seat of the intercity train and stared
vacantly out of the window at the idyllic landscapes of the Italian
countryside, sometimes interrupted by factories and other industrial
buildings in various stages of decay, in his mind he was already smiling with
a mixture of ridicule and apology behind the collar of one of his best shirts

at the watery brownish liquid served to him in some sort of exquisite

porcelain cup, abandoning himself to thoughts of a future he thought
certain, but which in fact was not. He thought that melancholy summoned
him to a previous setting of the story of his life, while in fact the hand of
destiny brought him to the storys end.
The train he was travelling on, this procession of cheaply furnished
capsules filled with bored men and women patiently paying the additional
price of sitting around and waiting for time to pass included in their tickets
while staring out the windows or at the symbolic windows that are screens
and books, suddenly showed itself as what it truly was: a great, mindless
metal monster with a very long braking distance, built and driven by fallible
human beings, speeding forward on thin metal tracks that afford no way of
avoiding what lies ahead. The fallible human beings organizing the routes of
these monsters from the distance failed to do their job in such a way that
two of them ended up speeding towards each other on the same set of rails
cutting through the plains of Veneto. By the time their drivers noticed each
other emerging in a bend from behind a growth of acacia trees and pulled
the emergency brakes, both of them knew that there was nothing to be done.
One jumped out through the door of the cockpit and silently bled out on the
rocks by the tracks, staring at his disfigured body, while the other one,
following the instincts obtained in his religious upbringing, started to pray,
without the prospect of finishing. Thomas had an even shorter notice of the
impending tragedy: he heard and felt the monotonous chugging of the wheels
under him suddenly turning into a deafening screech as the emergency
brakes got hold of them, which caused him to raise one of his eyebrows and
glance at the woman sitting opposite him in a serious but curious manner,
before the force of the collision applied to his body. At this point Thomas,
previously defined by his mental life, also showed himself as what he truly
was: a soft bag containing an ordered arrangement of various organic and

inorganic compounds, ready to burst and release its contents if met with the
right force.
Thomass death was in fact so swift, that he didnt even notice it. What he
did notice, was that he suddenly stood in an endless, bright, white space
reminiscent of the movie The Matrix, while just a moment ago he was in a
train. He wondered what could have happened. Drugs? Insanity? A dream?
None of these seemed to be the case, and the other possibilities seemed too
fanciful to merit serious consideration. Then he remembered the sound of
the emergency brakes and drew the necessary conclusion: he was dead, and
this was some sort of afterlife. Quite a surprise for a rigorous atheist such as
himself, which, at the moment, alarmed him far more than his and a few
hundred other peoples sudden demise and the ruin of his travel plans.
Before he had any chance to seriously ponder the issue though, a
screaming ticket inspector appeared next to him. As the middle-aged, very
thin, grey-haired man realized his new circumstances and saw Thomas
looking at him with the same inquisitive expression he assumed right before
his death, he straightened up and stared back in silent awe.
Sei Dio? He mumbled under his bushy moustache after a few moments.
No, solo un passeggero. Ma questo sembra veramente laldil, 1 Thomas
replied, as if trying to convince himself as well that this is indeed his best
guess on what was going on. They stared at each other silently for a few
moments, pondering the situation. The ticket inspector thought that he
made the right choice by sticking to the moderately religious way of life
imparted to him by his upbringing. A certain humble smugness filled him for
taking the right gambit: choosing to believe in the unfounded and
unverifiable propositions that make up the core dogma of Catholic
Christianity in exchange for the promise of immortality, despite the doubts
that come naturally to anyone trying to take such propositions seriously. But
his satisfaction subsided a little as he started to examine his life through the
1

Are you God? No, just a passenger. But this does seem to be the afterlife.

lenses of this dogma. Of course he accepted Christ as his savior and all that,
but did he live a good enough life to be admitted into heaven? He was no
saint, and he knew for a fact that he committed a few sins since his last
confession. In such cases God knows if the sinner has truly repented,
thinking of which put him in a specific state of anxiety that Thomas
recognized at once with a smile, having felt it many times during his studies,
before important exams.
The assistant librarian had no thoughts of his future in the afterlife; he
was entirely overtaken with curiosity as to how the place works, and how, if
at all, do its laws connect with those of the physical universe he had so far
inhabited. Could this be something described by some religion, or something
so far entirely unthought-of by humans? At this point it could go either way.
He bent down and touched the floor, which felt as if it was made of glass or
very smooth plastic that made no noise upon his knocking on it, and was
covered with a thin layer of heavy white fog. His suspicion that they are
waiting for something was reinforced when other people started to appear
around them, one by one and in clusters. They all seemed to be, or could
imaginably be, passengers of his train.
Thomas closed his eyes and started walking around slowly in small circles
to dissociate his mind from the cacophony of sounds of joy and surprise in
different languages that suddenly boomed around him, frowning and
stroking the stubble on his chin as he assessed the situation: everyone here
seems to have died together in the accident, so we were separated from all
the other people dying around the planet based on either time, cause or
location of death, or a combination of these. So this is probably not the
afterlife itself, since it would make no sense to have an afterlife that
consisted of standing around in an empty, white space with some people who
happened to die with you. It would be interesting in the case of battles for
example, to see the opposing sides come to terms with each other in the
utter neutrality such a place affords, or romantic and then shortly

maddening in the case of lovers who committed suicide together, but

otherwise it just seems pointless and unfair to people who die alone or in
bad company. And whatever is going to happen, will most likely take place
after all the people who died in the accident had arrived, otherwise everyone
would have just been taken at once to wherever they were going afterwards.
As he got to this point in his line of thought, Thomas heard his name
yelled at him from very close, which caused him to tremble and open his
eyes to see the pink, bearded face of Marco Belvedere right in front of his,
under a round, black hat. He was an assistant lecturer from the university,
researching the history of religion in the Middle East, if Thomas remembered
right. They met a few times at dinner parties and Thomas remembered a
particularly interesting conversation about the influence of Essene Jewish
sects on early Christianity.
Marco! Nice to see you, I guess. And my condolences, Thomas said with a
smile as he shook the hand of his newfound companion in the afterlife. So, I
take it you were also on the train?
Yes, I was on my way to Vienna for a conference, and then this happened,
he gestured around the crowd of people surrounding them, talking to each
other in clusters and greeting new arrivals, or seemingly deep in thought.
The situation was becoming more and more reminiscent of a party. I
thought I was all alone and was just about to introduce myself to some
people when I saw you.
Curious, isnt it? Thomas noticed that the ticket inspector was still
standing next to them, seemingly quite nervous, listening to their
conversation, so he turned his body to face both of them, and extended his
hand. By the way, sir, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Thomas
Bnhidy, and this is the late Marco Belvedere. We both worked for the
University of Bologna.

Piacere,2 the ticket inspector said somewhat timidly as they shook hands,
before continuing in English with a heavy accent. My name is Francesco
Ortona, and you already know my occupation from my uniform.
They all stared at each other for a moment, smiling in the different ways
that suited their states of mind, before Thomas decided to take control of the
conversation.
So, do we all agree that this is the afterlife? The other two looked at each
other and nodded. Thomas continued: I have to say that I was a convinced
Atheist for almost my whole life, and found the idea of any sort of afterlife
fanciful at best. But now here I am, very much intrigued. Thomas couldnt
help but notice that Francescos expression became increasingly grave as he
spoke. What worries you, Francesco? Am I right to assume that you are, or
were, religious?
Yes, I am, he said with as much conviction as he could muster without
indulging in the sin of pride. I strived to live my life according to the word of
God.
Well, I hope you chose the right god then, said Thomas with a smile that
was returned only by Marco, so he added: Im sorry, I understand this is a
serious matter for you, and I dont mean to make fun of it.
I am just worried for you, Thomas, answered the ticket inspector after a
pause. I dont want to see you ending up in hell.
Ah, of course, heaven and hell! Why not? Before continuing, Thomas
looked at Marco, who was waiting to see what he was going to do with these
new prospects. So, as someone who is obviously better versed in these
matters than I, what would you suggest as a means of avoiding hell?
Francesco took a moment to collect his thoughts and translate them to
English before he spoke.
As it says in the scriptures, even the heathens excuse me, but it is what
you are even the heathens may enter the kingdom of heaven if they
honestly and solemnly repent their sins and turn to God.
Alright. Does it still work if I do it now?
2

Nice to meet you.

Im not sure, Thomas, I am no priest. But I think it is possible until the

last moment, said Francesco hesitantly.
Yes, I think so as well. You can always repent, but you have to do it
honestly. And since there probably wasnt enough time for it before your
death, and you still seem in possession all of your capabilities involved in
repenting, it should still work, added Marco.
So, let me get this straight: some of my actions are deemed morally
reprehensible by God, and he punishes me for them by sending me to hell,
unless I solemnly regret these actions, in which case he does not blame me
anymore, since he is a benevolent god.
Yes, said Francesco.
Yes, something like this, said Marco. But the problem is that, as of now,
you dont know if this is indeed a Christian afterlife. You dont know exactly
which of your actions were sins, nor if you are even expected or allowed to
repent for them, or in fact if there is a heaven and hell at all.
You are right, Marco. As of yet, there are many unknown variables, but I
already know enough to say that I solemnly repent for all my sins. Thomas
turned upwards with a theatrical gesture and continued in a raised,
dramatic voice that wasnt meant so much for a god who might be listening
from above, but to all the other dead people standing around them,
especially the ones who seemed taken over by the same apprehension as
Francesco. I say with all my heart that I regret, as much as a man can
regret anything, those of my actions which would condemn me to eternal
suffering, and I can say with the utmost certainty that I would have
committed none of them, had I known that they would have such
consequences.
Marco chuckled and Francescos face failed to properly represent the
volatile combination of emotions brewing behind it, so he just let out a deep,
long sigh that left no room for doubt about how seriously he took the
situation. And frankly, neither of the two academics could blame him, for
under all the skepticism and curiosity that came from their experience in

dealing with things they didnt fully understand, they all felt the same angst.
Thomas spoke again after a few seconds.
So, Marco, you are Jewish, right?
Yes I am, came the answer.
How seriously?
Moderately. I keep most rules and holidays.
But do you, or did you, believe in the one God, miracles in the Old
Testament and all that?
It is not so simple for me. I received a set of traditions from my family, and
I follow the ones I deem important. I think most of them are the right thing
to do anyways, and the rest just doesnt take so much effort. I know some
Jewish people, my father for example, who take everything in the Tora as
true in the most direct sense possible. But I also know rabbis who teach that
most of it should be taken as metaphor. I tend to agree with this
interpretation, but that doesnt mean that I take my religion less seriously.
To my father, the Tora is the word of God to his ancestors; to me, it is the
word of my ancestors to me, which ultimately carries the same weight. If you
would have asked me what God was while I was still alive, I would have said
something like God is the abstract manifestation of the Jewish people as an
agent, taking control of their collective fate and consciously making its way
through history, thus giving rise to the first and still one of a kind idea of a
nation as a well-defined whole. Now, I would just say that I am waiting to
see.
As Marco finished his monologue, his mouth twisted into a smile for a
moment, just as those of Thomas and Francesco. But then all of their faces,
and the faces of everyone around them, became blank, their eyes opened
wide, staring at something not physically in front of them. Thomas knew the
reason for their behavior, since he was experiencing presumably the same
thing as the others: out of nothing, a voice sounded in his mind, perfectly
clearly, but without any of the sensual qualities it should have had, had it
entered his mind through his ears.
I am God, said the voice. You are here to be judged.

Thomas looked at Marco and Francesco, both of whom stared back at him
with the same awestruck expression that said all they had to say to each
other at this moment. Thomas wondered how to find out if it was the god of
any religion in particular.
No, answered the voice.
But are you the only God? Thomas thought.
There was no verbal answer, but Thomass eyes started wandering, without
him willing it, and focusing one by one on the people standing around him in
the same strange, half-frozen position. Some of their mouths were left open,
which made Thomas realize that this was the case with him as well, so he
quickly closed it. Then he understood that the god wanted to show him that
there was an instance of it in each of these peoples minds, having different
conversations with them, but they are also all the same. Being one and being
many cease being contrary outside the confines of conventional space-time.
It came to Thomass mind that Hegel must have loved this.
He did, followed the answer, so he articulated another question in his
mind:
How am I to be judged?
You have already been judged. I am only here to tell you the sentence.
So, what is the sentence?
Thomas, you have rejected the ideas of god and religion since you were a
child as part of an effort to rid your mind of unfounded beliefs. You saw that
belief in the existence of anything supernatural is by definition unfounded
and unverifiable, and any afterlife for human beings is fundamentally
pointless. With this, you did what can be expected of a rational man, and
your prize is confirmation and falsification. The memory of your death and
judgment will be imprinted on the mind of another you, who lives in another
world, which is parallel to yours in every way, except that the accident in
which you died did not occur.
This is certainly something new, Thomas thought. Then he started
wondering what happens to religious people like Marco or Francesco. He
tried to look at them, but found that he couldnt see, or feel any part of his

body or the external world anymore. He was just consciousness outside of

space, conversing with god.
Those who willingly commit to unfounded beliefs will continue to exist in
all the parallel worlds in which they exist, and in these worlds can still learn
to trust only in the light of reason. This is Francescos fate, but Marco
passed the test, like you did. Certainty comes only to those who find the
means of reaching it within themselves.
Thomas did the mental equivalent of humming, then thought of asking one
more question: what is the purpose of all this? But the question, as he
articulated it, instantly seemed ridiculous to him. Purpose the word echoed
in his mind like a hoarse grunt as he awoke to the cool sensation of glass on
the skin of his forehead. His body jerked forward softly as the train came to a
stop, and he opened his eyes with a gasp, as if drawing his first breath. The
woman sitting on the opposite seat glanced at him, and content that the
young man was merely waking up from a deep slumber, stood up, pulled out
the handle of her wheeled suitcase and left the cabin. Thomas shook his
head and took a few deep breaths. The metal arches of the final stop, Wien
Hauptbahnhof, lay outside the window. He got to his feet, put on his
backpack and started to make his way towards the exit. At the end of the
corridor that ran through the wagon, he saw a familiar, mustached man
opening the doors of the train for the luggage-laden passengers forming a
disorganized, panting line. It was Francesco, the ticket inspector. Thomas
waited patiently to get next to him, then, unable to resist the urge, looked
the man in the eyes and said his name:
Francesco Ortona?
Si? Came the answer as the man inspected his pale face. Ci
conosciamo?3
No. Thomas said and quickly got off the train. He spotted Marcos round,
black hat further down the platform, and then turned back up towards
Francesco, who was still staring at him.
3

Yes? Do we know each other?

Quando parte il prossimo treno per Bologna?4

End.

When does the next train for Bologna leave?