The Amateurs — Background and Themes

They were in the rich, rolling parkland at the rear of the palace and walking across the immaculate turf where colored fountains frolicked and shimmered in the sun. Lilting music floated out from a dozen hidden sources. The two men sat down on a seat facing the palace with its towering columns and vast marble steps.

"It's a very nice place," Mr. Sims commented, remembering that he hadn't said a word for at least five minutes.

"I suppose it's all right," Arthur Hoode agreed, his thin nostrils twitching condescendingly. He was a small, sleek man with a habit of emphasizing his words with airy gestures of his slim hands. "That section of the palace is the part I consider most uninteresting. After all, there's nothing but row upon row of stuffy little rooms where people come to die. And they take a long time doing it, too!"

Mr. Sims winced noticeably.

"You'll forgive me if I don't appear overly sanctimonious about death," Mr. Hoode said, smiling. "It's just that the other directors and myself decided we must take a realistic view of the situation. A place like this could become pretty morbid, you know, and there's actually no reason why a guest's last hours here shouldn't be pleasant and satisfying."

Pleasant and satisfying--the key words when you spoke of Sunnylands Palace, Mr. Sims thought grimly. Everyone used them--when not going there.

The words gave him a hollow, frightened feeling inside, perhaps because they made him remember the first time he had heard them used.

"It's a pleasant place and quite satisfying," Dr. Van Stoke had said. "There's no need to think of it as some kind of torture camp."

"But why should I go there at all?" Mr. Sims had asked. "I don't want to die. I'm only fifty-six and I've got nine more years left."

"Try and understand I'm doing you a good turn," the doctor had said. "You've lived fifty-six _good_ years; in your condition, the last nine won't be so good. You'll have pains, attacks, you won't be able to do anything strenuous. You'll hate to live under those conditions."

"I could always give it a try," Mr. Sims had protested.

Dr. Van Stoke had frowned bleakly over the tops of his glasses. "I know I'm a friend and family doctor," the frown had said, "but I'm also District Referee under the Euthanasian Legislation and you are becoming a burden to society. So don't make my job any more difficult."

He had signed his name at the bottom of the form.

And Mr. Sims had had a hollow, anxious feeling ever since.

"There's one thing I haven't found out yet," he said to Mr. Hoode. "Is it in order for me to ask how and when I can expect to die?"

"Certainly," Mr. Hoode said. "It's the reason I brought you here to talk. You see, anyone sent here under the Legislation is given a completely free choice as to the manner of his departure. Most people, although they realize this, show a distressing lack of imagination when the time comes. They seem unable to think beyond the ordinary methods of taking a pill, or a needle, or a poisoned cocktail."

"I can't say I'd thought about it, either," Mr. Sims admitted.

"We have a service to assist you," said the director. "We of the Sunnylands staff have discovered what you might call a Philosophy of Dying. For instance, if a man lives an active life, there's no reason why he should be subjected to a sneaking prick of a needle in his sleep just because he reaches the age of sixty-five. We discovered that a few people objected strongly to such methods. There are some people who would prefer to die fighting. We had a couple who chose the firing squad, for instance. Another desired the guillotine and nothing would satisfy him but a ride to his fate in a real tumbril. Because of these--ah--pioneers, our advisory bureau has been set up."

"You mean you obliged them ... with a guillotine and everything?" Mr. Sims asked.

"Certainly, though most choose the sneaking, cowardly way out. As far as I am concerned, they died as they lived--ignominously! It's depressing. We have the best accommodation, food, entertainment, everything the guest requires during his three days here; then they go ahead and die their miserable deaths. Somehow it makes all the luxury seem like pink sugar frosting around a rotten cake. That's why we're always happy to find a guest with the proper spirit." Mr. Hoode said.

Mr. Sims listened in silence to the sales talk, wondering absent-mindedly what the director's personal interest was in other people's death.