(9)
 "No," Rector said firmly but kindly. "You have something far more interesting. Follow me." We did, and he took us around the house. "You notice that it's far more spacious. At least three times bigger than Upside. You have over 3,000 square feet divided into a large kitchen with mid-island for chopping or serving or whatever. There are a full master bath and a jacuzzi, in case you have guests over like me and Judith, in which case you can enjoy dinner or a hot tub." Ghosts don't have sex, but they make love, so there would be no consternation from our side about bathing with Rector and Judith, though it wouldn't happen because of their human, living hangups. For me and Tamsin, it would be like putting two small children in a bathtub, covering their foibles with foam, resulting only in innocent babbling and play.
"You have six rooms and plenty of closet space, Tamsin." She clapped her hands together, and he continued. "Now here's the really cool thing. We call this a Compass House, but also a House of Four Seasons. You'll notice that there is an outer corridor that runs all the way around." As we stood in that corridor, which was just a pleasant run on blond wood, with a nice runner-carpet and pleasant wallpaper and indirect lighting, he banged his fist on the outer wall. It made a splat sound. "Try it."
We both slapped the wall with our hands. "Concrete," I said.
"A foot thick," Rector said. "And the doors are extra strong, because we don't know what all may come knocking from time to time." He quickly added, as Tamsin's face fell, "But don't worry. I think you will enjoy living here." He stepped quickly a few feet further along, and slapped the door with the palm of his hand. "This is the door to winter." With a quick twist, he turned the deadbolt, and with another twist, turned the handle and pulled the door open. We stepped to the doorway, amazed, to look over an Upside landscape entirely clothed in white. There was a long, rectangular yard bounded by eight foot concrete walls, clothed in snow. There was a doorway in the far wall, leading to a forest beyond. Out of the forest rose distant high meadows on tall hills under a frigid gray sky. In the yard, closer up, were some snow-muffled shapes: an old chicken coop, a dog house, a pair of saw horses, and some rudimentary farm equipment. "This used to be a small farm, until the owner died and willed it to Compass News," Rector explained. "It's getting cold," he said, and shut the door and deadbolted it. "You'll have all the time in the underworld to explore your new home. Let's look at the other doorways." As we walked along the corridor and turned the corner, he explained: "It's always the same scene, but in a different season. I'll explain the twists in time and rotations in the Temporale some other time. We are actually walking backward in time, so to speak, to reach the next door. Time inside the house is perfectly congruent with your local Coronado time. Outside the house is where the seasons vary. Here is the door to Autumn."
He unlocked and opened the next door, and there was the same scene, but without snow. It was mid-day, but somewhat gray and overcast. A troubled autumn wind ruffled yellow and red leaves, and the trees in the forest were already half bare, showing their black twigs and branches above the rear garden wall. The wind that blew in smelled of coming rain, of burning leaves, of unease and a need to gather your nuts and squirrel them away.
The next door brought in a blast of summer heat. The sun broiled away in a blue sky, and the tree tops were rich and green. The lawn in the yard, by contrast was withered. "Nobody here to water," Rector explained. He closed the summer door, and we went to the last one.
Ah, Spring! The air was filled with drifting pollen and the twitter of a thousand birds. New growth on the trees had a glossy red sheen. The very trees and bushes seemed to long to burst into song. The sky was powder blue, with drifting cumulus clouds like lazy zeppelins.
"That will do for your introduction," Rector said. "I have to get back to work at home, and you'll want to bring your belongings and ephemera from your current little place. I hope you like it here." He turned to Tamsin.
She looked very happy. I could tell. And I was pleased for her. I asked: "So is there a reason for creating a thing like this?"
He reached over and patted my shoulder. "First of all, it's a wonder in itself. It's beautiful, and meant to be enjoyed. Just think—you can take a walk on an autumn morning, go swimming in a summer lake, throw snowballs in the evening, and wake up to a spring morning, all in 24 hours."
"But there's more, isn't there?" Tamsin asked shrewdly.
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