Chapter 17

Another cloud, another scene, as distinct from the previous, Hubert learned to expect, as from the one to come. They flew over beaches and mountains and prairies of flowers in bloom; past New York City as it was in 1890, as it was in 1955, and as someone hoped it would be five hundred years into a computerized, push-button future. Some streets unraveled like pastel imaginings by Dr. Seuss; some rivers ran over with champagne; some people seemed happily settled into eternities of scenic solitude, others would never fear another moment away from the dance floor. Bright, dark; bustling, calm; nature and cities, but also spaceships, steam trains, and yachts the size of Yosemite.

“Definitely something for everyone,” Hubert said when they landed on the lawn in front of the house in his Heaven.

“Exactly,” Bartholomew said. “So why should you be any less worthy?”

Hubert shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I dunno. ‘Cause I’m queer, I guess?”

Unimpressed, Bartholomew shook his head.