Cemetery World Read Free

representatives,” he said. “It may be that at times the enthusiasm of our copywriters may have given rise to advertisements that were somewhat more flamboyant than would be dictated by good taste. But by and large we have made an honest effort to maintain an essential dignity in keeping with the responsibility that has been placed upon our shoulders.
    “Every Pilgrim who has visited Mother Earth will testify that there is nothing more beautiful than the developed portions of our project. The grounds are landscaped, in the most tasteful manner, with evergreen and yew, the grass is tended with a loving care and the floral beds are the most exquisite … but, Mr. Carson, you have seen all this.”
    “A glimpse of it,” I said.
    “To illustrate the kind of trouble we must face,” he told me in what seemed a sudden rush of confidence, as if somehow I had betrayed some sympathy, “a salesman of ours in a far sector of the galaxy caused to circulate, several years ago, a rumor that Mother Earth was running out of room and would soon be full and that those families who wished to have their dead interred here would be well advised to immediately reserve those few remaining lots that were still available.”
    “And that, of course,” I said, “could not possibly be true. Or could it, Mr. Bell?”
    I knew, of course, that it couldn’t be. I was just needling him, but he didn’t seem to notice.
    He sighed. “Certainly it isn’t true. Even those persons who heard it should have known it wasn’t. They should have known it was a most malicious rumor and have shrugged it off. But a lot of them went running to complain about it and there was a most messy investigation of the whole affair, causing us no end of trouble, both mental and financial. The worst part of it is that the rumor still is reverberating throughout the galaxy. Even now, on some planets out there, it still is being whispered. We try to stamp it out. Whenever it comes to our attention we try to deal with it. We’ve been emphatic in our denials, but it seems to do no good.”
    “It still may sell plots for you,” I pointed out. “If I were you, I would not try too hard to stamp it out.”
    He puffed out his cheeks. “You do not understand,” he said. “Fairness and utmost honesty have always been our guides. And in view of that we do not feel that we should be held to strict accountability for the actions of that one salesperson. Because of the distances involved and the resultant difficulties in communication, our organization table is, of necessity, a rather loose affair.”
    “Which brings up the question,” I said, “of the rest of Earth, the part of it that is not Cemetery. What might it be like? I am very anxious …”
    He waved a chubby hand, dismissing not the question only, but the rest of Earth.
    “There is nothing there,” he said. “Just a wilderness. An utter wilderness. All that is significant on the planet is the Cemetery. For all practical purposes, the Earth is Cemetery.”
    “Nevertheless,” I said, “I would like—” But he cut me off again and went on with his lecture on the trials of operating Cemetery.
    “There is always,” he declared, “the question of our charges, always with the implication that they are excessive. But let us, for a moment, consider the costs that are involved. The mere cost of maintaining an organization such as ours staggers the imagination. Add to this the cost of operating our fleets of funeral ships, which make their constant rounds to the many planets, gathering in the bodies of the late departed and returning them to Earth. Now add to this the cost of our operations here on Mother Earth and you’ll arrive at a total which fully justifies our charges.
    “Few family members, you must understand, care to experience the inconvenience necessary to accompany their loved ones on the funeral ship. Even if they did, we could not offer many of them such accommodations. You have had some months of