Page 42 - Unlikely Stories 3

Left in Limbo

From Fantastic Transactions, volume 1(1990)

“Oops!”
“Huh? Oh, excuse me. Didn’t mean to invade your space.”
Two entangled wraiths, blown together briefly and randomly by
subtle currents in the stratosphere, usually welcomed the opportunity
to socialize. It was, however, good form to apologize for these
completely involuntary collisions.
“Permit me to introduce myself. My name is Ludwig
Wittgenstein. Formerly of Oxford. I was a philosopher; ever hear of
me?”
“No, but I’ve been up here a long time. Centuries, in fact. I am
William, yclept William of Ockham. I was in the same line of
business—of course, in those days, the church was just beginning to let
the universities get into the act.”
Wittgenstein, despite his incorporeality, experienced a modicum of
joy. “At last! Someone intelligent with whom to discuss the situation!
And in English, too! The last soul I bumped into was a Guatemalan
Indian, and we had very little in common.”
“Yes, it is a problem up here,” replied the monk. “I must tell you
that I have communicated with dozens of individuals from all walks of
life in the last six hundred years, and none of them has added to my
understanding.”
A shift in the etheric wind tossed the ghostly philosophers end over
end; they tumbled like dandelion seed high above the terrestrial
firmament, miraculously remaining entwined when the storm had
passed.
“Then we have no time to lose,” uttered Wittgenstein. “Perhaps,
between the two of us, we can come to some conclusions. Let us first
establish a basis for analysis: will you grant that we are dead?”
“Certainly not! What would be the point in it? But for the sake of
argument, I will say it is undeniably the case that our bodies are gone,
and that whatever is left has become trapped mid-air, unable to rise or
fall.”
“Fair enough,” assented the Austrian. “We are in limbo. But what
does that mean?”

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