25 Sep

It’s been a week since I last visited this story because my wife and I have been in Italy enjoying the lakes there. So, like me, you may have to refresh by reading previous parts, all of which have been posted, in sequence, here.

“Now then, now then, now then,” smirked God in bis best Jimmy Saville voice as Bernard stared at his old University friend, Philip, “there’s no call go be gawping at that young fellow! He’s here and he’s happy here. He spends a huge amount of time with my angels. He gets on so well with them he does.”
“Angels? But I thought he … I mean, it seemed ro me…”
“That he was gay?” suggested God.
“Exactly, though I don’t always like to put it into words, but if that’s what you call it that’s what I thought,” muttered an embarrassed Bernard.
“Then it’s perfectly natural. Haven’t you read the ancient manuscripts ascribed to my way of thinking?” asked the benevolent Deity. “Haven’t you taken note of the contents?”
“I’ve read most of it,” confirmed Bernard.
“Then you’ll know that my angels are fellas,” smiled God. “Each and every one of them! Remember Gabriel, he of the deflowering of the so-called virgin Mary? They’re all blokes, all manly figures, and there’s nothing a manly figure likes more than a bit of how’s your father… and it’s not naughty like you seem to think it is, especially if there aren’t any of the alternative gender around to fiddle with. It’s natural. It’s how I … er … created them in the first place, and angels haven’t got the feeble excuse of needing to reproduce the species because the angelic species is immortal and eternal. So don’t you go worrying about your friend Philip: he’s in good hands, and plenty of them!”
“Oh dear,” groaned Bernard.
“Now before you burst into floods of tears let’s go for a ride in my boat,” said the immortal King. “For I’ve got the best boat ever and it’s got a proper throne on it so I can take my rightful place in glory and have all the teeny boppers prostrate at my feet, licking my toes for the perfection of my toe-juice and generally being obsequious.”
“Boat? Throne?” stammered Bernard, lost and confused.
“Both,” said God. “Now come on! There’s a heavenly river down here, and you’ll see what I mean.”
Unable to find words in order to do anything Bernard found himself walking the few yards that separated them from a river that he hadn’t noticed before, even though it flowed like a special and mighty celestial Rhine through a verdant scenery that never ended.
On board were a dozen or so delightful scantily-clad young females, all with golden hair and all with sparkling blue eyes and the most perfect smiles.
“These are my harem,” said God, “and I love every one of them! They bathe my feet with the purest of waters drawn from the river and I love the sensation like I love no other, save one, and I’ll leave you to guess what that might be, you naughty fellow! But first, to my throne so that I can administer justice!”
A golden and gem-encrusted chair appeared, with an enormous and luxuriously padded taffeta seat that Bernard thought looked the most inviting seat he had ever seen. And his deity, his guide, sat majestically on it as though it had been made specially for him by craftsmen in possession of more than human skill.
“Now I feel at home,” sighed God. “What do you think of my darlings? The curve of so many tender bosoms, the swish of so many silken skirts, the smile on so many cherry lips? Does it not feel appropriate for Heaven that its Lord and Master be surrounded by so much subservient beauty and by so many hands eager to caress my languid locks and tickle my tender and noble flesh as I struggle to administer justice in this sacred land … can you imagine that …?”
“What justice?” almost whimpered Bernard.
“Aha, there are so many calls on my wisdom,” sighed God, “for am I not the arbiter above all arbiters and do I not let peace and love flow from every pore of my body? And there are occasions, rare I must admit, when even I have to don my black cap and order an execution! Yes, even that! For sin is everywhere, even on odd occasions in Heaven! And then executions are messy affairs, with screaming and agony and eyes blinded by hatred, and flesh torn by flails barbed and toxic with poisons unknown anywhere but here so that ultimate pain can be inflicted for ever and ever, amen!”
“Surely the dead have no flesh?” stammered Bernard questioningly, “surely that’s all been left behind in life?”
“What?” roared the deity, suddenly and for no apparent reason enraged. “You dared suggest that I punish those who have died? No, I would never do that, for their punishment is being here and twiddling daisy chains whilst chanting meaningless madrigals or playing winsome harps. Always under a shadeless sun! No – those I punish are my angels, and when I do that I do it with a deft cruelty mankind can never achieve, for angels cannot die! They must scream their pain to the forty-seven corners of the Universe for all eternity! And by eternity I really mean for ever and not the silly span attributed to time by men like Einstein!”
“I’m sorry…” mumbled Bernard. “Can I go back to Hell please? It makes more sense there.”
“But I thought you’d spent a lifetime trying to be perfect in order to get here,” grinned God, his violent mood evaporating in an instant. “I thought you wanted to be here, to live a life of endless and tuneful monotony whilst suns die and new stars are born, to die in turn themselves?”
“I only wanted to do the right thing…” whimpered Bernard.
“And by golly you did!” roared God. “Come my little friend, come with my and I will introduce you to a brand new friend, and I know you’ll like him because he was the direct opposite to you whilst he lived! Now where did I send him? My memory … it’s no what it used to be!
“Adolph, where have you got to my charming moustachioed chum!”
© Peter Rogerson 25.09.16


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