by Guy Adams
THEY STOPPED FOR a while to watch a One Man Band. Rather than the usual assortment of strapped percussion, he controlled a veritable orchestra of instruments. He was helped in this by the unusual quantity of limbs he possessed. Feet stomped on bellows that huffed air into brass and woodwind, fingers pulled bows across stringed instruments and, in the middle, he alternated between singing and head-butting a kettle drum.
He was halfway through a version of Teenage Kicks when he came to an abrupt halt and fell asleep, his face pressed against the drum. The skin quivered as his snores reverberated through the belly of the instrument.
‘Guess the show’s over,’ said Grace, leading them away from the sleeping musician.
In the distance they could see the familiar spiral tracks of the Cyclone roller coaster.
‘Ever been on it?’ Grace asked God.
‘God does not do roller coasters.’
‘He does today.’
They worked their way over to the Cyclone, stopping briefly to take in the sight of a large woman juggling fish. Every now and then she allowed one to drop into a bucket of water between her feet, a pedal flipped the refreshed fish back into play and, one by one, they continued to spin.
‘How come she’s singing but her lips don’t move?’ asked Grace.
‘It ain’t the woman that’s singing,’ God replied, ‘it’s the fish.’
Arriving at the Cyclone they were surprised to be greeted by a man wearing evening dress.
‘Table for two?’ he asked.
‘We just want to ride the roller coaster,’ Grace replied.
‘Naturally,’ the man said, smiling without an ounce of sincerity. Above his crumpled upper lip a drawn-on moustache began to smudge. ‘Table for two?’
‘Yes,’ said God, ‘there’s two of us. How much is it?’ He dug around in his robes as if they might contain pockets. ‘You got any money?’ he asked Grace after he’d tugged his robes for a suitable period.
‘Some,’ she admitted. She’d raided as much as she could from Uncle Ray’s stash. She’d felt it was the least he could do for her.
‘We have no use for money,’ said the man, ‘it requires a functioning economy to make it more than scrap metal and paper. Our little Queendom relies on more direct methods than that.’
Grace took a step back, reminded of the old man and his roasting cat.
‘A table with us costs a moderate favour per head,’ the man explained. ‘To be decided at a later date but on the understanding that said favour will be nothing too onerous. A bit of washing up, perhaps some laundry, or a pleasant song played on the guitar.’
‘I don’t play the guitar,’ said God, ‘but if you’ve come for favours you’re in the right place. I’m God, you see, and can grant you whatever you wish.’
‘I’m sure you can,’ the man agreed, arching his eyebrows, ‘but I assure you it won’t be anything too greedy.’
‘And you just trust us?’ asked Grace. ‘What’s to stop us running off and never paying what we owe?’
‘Nothing,’ the man shrugged, ‘as long as you think you can run faster than the Queen’s forces. Non-payment of debts is punishable by death, regardless of the size of the favour.’
‘That’s a bit much,’ said Grace.
‘It works,’ said the waiter.
‘It’s positively biblical!’ said God with a big grin. ‘No complaints here, let us in pal and we’ll happily discharge our debts as and when the time comes.’
The man led them to their car, and gestured for them to sit.
‘How is this going to work?’ Grace asked, staring at the retrofitted carriage. Someone had torn out the bench seats and replaced them with a dining table. The two chairs and table were securely bolted in place and a harness hung from the back of each chair. The man lifted the harness and tapped the chair, instructing Grace to sit down. She did so and he strapped her in before moving to the other side of the table to do the same for God.
‘The Cyclone is the latest in extreme dining, madame,’ he explained, lighting a candle in the middle of the table. ‘For the Coney Island visitor that simply doesn’t have time to experience the ride and partake in lunch. Are either of you vegetarian?’
‘I am,’ Grace replied, thinking momentarily of the remains of her uncle.
He walked over to a cupboard set next to the ride controls, opened it and brought out two covered dinner plates. He placed them in front of Grace and God, lifting the dish to reveal their meals. Grace had an omelette with fries and salad, God had a steak. Both appeared to be hot, steaming on their wooden plates.
‘As you are new to dining here at the Cyclone, allow me to offer you our novice service, free of charge.’ He went back to the cupboard, returning with a gleaming silver hammer and a handful of nails. With great ceremony, he nailed the steak and omelette to the plates. ‘I’m afraid that, with regards the sides, you’re on your own, there are simply not enough hours in the day to allow me to nail each and every French fry, I suggest you keep your hand on them when approaching any fierce corners. Your drinks,’ he tapped the pair of steel canisters fixed to the table, ‘are best taken through a straw.’
He fed a thin length of plastic tubing into the top of each sealed cup and offered them the other end. ‘Some customers tuck the tube behind their ear when chewing.’
‘This is crazy,’ laughed Grace.
‘My darling girl,’ the man said, smiling in the sort of way a serial killer might when you’ve just expressed an interest in dying, ‘what isn’t these days?’
With that he stepped back and threw the switch that set the car moving.
God shrugged and immediately set to shovelling the fries in his mouth. ‘Better get these down quick,’ he suggested. ‘The steak can look after itself.’
Grace looked over his shoulder at the approaching incline and decided she may as well go with it. It had been a long time since anyone had cooked her a hot meal, she would have preferred to have been able to appreciate it in more relaxed circumstances but she wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.
Like God, she went for the fries first, ignoring the cutlery as the car switched to a steep angle, mounting the incline in the tracks. She cupped her hands around the plate as all the food spilled towards her, pinching the fries in her fingers and shoving them in her mouth. Slowly, with the ratcheting of pulleys, the car crept towards the high point of the ride.
If she could only get the fries and salad done before they hit the top! The car flattened out at the crest of the incline, Grace still with a mouthful of salad and fried potato. God, his back to the ride, had a concerned look on his face. ‘I know what’s coming,’ he said, his voice shaking, ‘I know exactly what’s coming.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ she told him, ‘just watch out for flying French fries.’
The car dropped, the candle blew out and God roared in shocked panic as his face filled with leaves of rocket and slices of onion. ‘I don’t like it!’ he screamed.
Grace laughed and realised it was probably the first time she’d done so in longer than she could remember. She took a sip of her drink, diet soda, and pointed at God’s steak. ‘Get eating, my Lord,’ she said, ‘it’ll get cold real quick at this speed.’
His cutlery was still in his hand and, to give him credit, he tried to cut the meat even as the car levelled out, rising again slightly and shifting into a tight bend. He had a forkful hovering at his lips when the car approached the next drop.
‘Careful,’ she shouted, not wanting to see him choke to death.
The car dropped again, shorter this time, before rising briefly.
‘Now!’ she shouted, putting a forkful of the omelette into her mouth as he did the same with his steak. ‘Chew quickly.’
He did as she suggested, following her directions as she warned him of each dip and bend.
They rocked in their harnesses, doing their best to finish the food in front of them. As they finally drew level at the end of the ride, God was looking decidedly unwell.
‘God didn’t like his steak,’ he announced, ‘and would very much like to...’ He unclipped his harness and ran down the steps to ground level where he darted behind the ride and began to be sick.
‘Would sir like me to hold his beard for him while he takes care of business?’ the waiter asked, smiling in pleasure at his customer’s discomfort.
‘He’ll be fine,’ said Grace. ‘Is there a gratuity included?’
‘I’m watching it right now,’ the waiter said, chuckling at the sight of the vomiting God. Then he straightened his tie, gave a small bow and returned to where the next couple were waiting to be seated.
Chapter Nine
IT TOOK GOD a short while to get over his disastrous lunch. Grace walked him down towards the beach, thinking the fresh air would help.
They sat and looked out on the ocean for half an hour or so. God went over to the water’s edge to dip his beard in the surf and give it a clean, Grace watching him surrounded by inquisitive gulls. He refused to do the easy thing of just taking it off so was forced to bend down in the water, pressing his face against the incoming waves. By the time he returned he was looking very wet and distinctly sorry for himself.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I shouldn’t have laughed. It wasn’t a very nice lunch was it?’
‘It’s fine,’ he replied, trying to make light of it. ‘I could have risen above it but I thought it might be instructive to experience it just as a mortal would. It’s easy to become isolated when you’re a deity, immune to the human condition. I find it rewarding to remind myself from time to time what it is to live like one of you.’
‘It keeps you grounded,’ she said, doing her best to sound sincere.
‘Precisely,’ he agreed.
‘When I was a kid,’ she said, ‘I used to go to church sometimes. Not with Uncle Ray, he never had time for that sort of thing, but Auntie Lois would come over and take me to to the First Pentecostal. It freaked me out to begin with, all those people shouting, screaming and flinging themselves to the floor. It was so loud. It seemed, I don’t know, needy. Like the people were desperate to prove themselves in front of one another rather than to a God.’ She corrected herself. ‘You, that is. You know, it seemed as if it was all about who could shout the loudest, who was the most overcome, who was the most blessed. I just used to sit there while Aunt Lois threw herself around and people spoke in tongues. I know it was supposed to be a good thing but it took a few weeks before I stopped finding it terrifying.’
‘Those happy clappers,’ he said, ‘they’re a funny bunch. You don’t need to shout, people, I’m right here. Still, whatever floats your holy boat I guess. I’m not judgemental. Well, I am sometimes, comes with the position, but, you know, generally speaking I try not to take sides. Humans are weird, they always think they know best. Like little kids at a party, showing off and trying to get your attention all the time. Some of ’em float around being all serious, acting as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. Some are loud and abrasive. Others flip around or slide along the floor on their knees, trying to impress with athleticism. At the end of the day they’re all the same, just wanting daddy to give them a little love.’
In front of them, the sea crashed onto the beach, in the distance clouds rolled by without a care in the world.
‘You know,’ said Grace. ‘I feel weird. I’m actually relaxed. I really shouldn’t be should I? Not here, where we don’t know what’s going on and what we’re going to do. But after weeks of being on my own it’s just, yeah, nice to be sat next to someone.’
‘Someone who doesn’t want to kill you.’
‘Precisely. I think I’d sort of given up on that.’
‘In truth,’ he said, ‘I hadn’t wanted to come here. You know that. I was comfortable in my life at the church.’
‘Beating up cars.’
‘Beating up cars,’ he agreed. ‘But it’s no bad thing to be spontaneous. To get out of your daily routine and remind yourself why it is you created a world in the first place. I’d prefer it if it wasn’t so broken, I’ll admit, but that’s still one hell of a view.’
She nodded and took his arm. ‘You did good with the beaches, don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.’
Chapter Ten
THEY RETURNED TO the ticket booth outside the Queen’s castle. Both were licking at ice creams they’d bought from a street vendor who wanted no more payment than someone to scratch that part of your back you never could quite reach yourself.
‘That’s the business,’ he’d sighed as God had worked him over with his nails, ‘Goddamn that’s good.’
God had raised his eyebrows at that but said nothing, not wishing to jeopardise the soft scoop of pistachio he had his holy eyes on.
A small line of eight or nine people had formed at the booth.
‘Two to see the Queen,’ said Grace to the albino girls still manning the booth. ‘How much?’
‘No charge,’ the girl said, ‘though once you have a ticket you have to go in. If you have to go in you have to see Her Majesty. If you have to see Her Majesty you have to have a reason. Understand?’
‘Well, we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t have a reason,’ Grace replied.
‘Your call,’ the girl said, tearing off two numbered tickets and handing them to Grace. ‘You’re nine and ten, each session has a two minute window so you won’t have too long to wait.’
Grace gave God his ticket and they joined the end of the line behind a thin woman who towered above them, her arms and legs unnaturally elongated.
‘What are you here for?’ the woman asked.
‘I want permission to visit my brother,’ Grace explained. ‘You?’
‘I need to move from my place on 21st, ceilings are too damned low. My back’s killing me. I know a guy with a loft on 15th that’s willing to trade but I need Her Majesty’s blessing.’
‘Good luck.’
‘It’s no big deal,’ the woman said, ducking involuntarily as a gull swooped past, ‘as long as she’s not in one of her moods.’
‘Have you met her before then?’ asked God.
‘Oh yeah, loads of times. She’s great normally but, you know, on her bad days she can be a bit hard to please. I heard from Kookie at the Surf Shack, you know, the coffee place on the boardwalk...?’
Grace and God shook their heads. ‘We only just got here,’ Grace explained.
‘You should go, he does great shrimp latte. Anyway, he tells me she’s still pissed ’cos of the thing with the squids.’
‘Squids?’
‘You know? With the balloons?’
Grace and God shook their heads again.
‘Right,’ the woman nodded, ‘only just got here. There was a thing with some squids. And balloons. Caused a lot of fuss. Anyway, so Kookie says she’s still in a rough mood over it and he told me to wait until things had calmed down but, you know? I can only take so much of those damn ceilings. My scalp’s covered in scabs and white paint, know what I’m saying? I need out of there, like yesterday.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ said Grace, ‘as you say, it’s no big deal.’ She looked at God. ‘I just hope we can say the same.’
At two o’clock sharp, a pair of guards appeared at the entrance to the castle. They were dressed in a rough clash between gaudy clown’s outfits and chainmail. Their faces were painted black but with a clear section around their eyes and mouth, an approximation of knights’ visors done with makeup.
‘OK,’ said one of them, ‘who’s up first?’
A man with scaly skin held up his hand and offered his ticket.
‘Right,’ said the guard, ‘walk this way pal.’
They led him inside and the line shuffled one step closer to the door.
After a short wait there was a sound of screaming. The door opened and the lizard-like man was ejected, flung by the two guards, landing in a furious heap at Grace’s feet.
‘You’re barred for two months,’ said the guard, ‘and next time keep your tongu
e to yourself.’
‘I can’t help it!’ the lizard man shouted, his long tongue whipping out and wrapping itself around Grace’s ankle.
He tried to speak again but the noise was unintelligible as he fought to retract his tongue.
Grace, wincing, bent down and tried to help but he slapped her hands away.
‘Bad enough I gotta taste your jeans, girl,’ he said once free, holding a hand in front of his mouth to try to control the errant tongue. ‘I don’t want to taste whatever you’ve been touching too.’
He turned back to the guards. ‘Come on guys, do a man a solid would you?’
The guard shrugged. ‘You slap your tongue around a Queen’s face she’s going to lose her cool, what did you expect?’
‘Speciesist!’ the man shouted and, once again, his tongue lashed out, this time wrapping around his own wrist. ‘Ah fa fags sak,’ he grunted, wandering off in defeat, slowly uncurling the tongue with his free hand.
‘This ain’t a good start,’ said the tall woman. ‘Why did I have to pick today?’
Grace was thinking much the same thing as the guard led the next visitor in.
Chapter Eleven
FINALLY, THE TALL woman having been led in by the guards, Grace and God were next in line.
‘I think the best way is deference,’ said God. ‘Queens aren’t like Gods, they like a lot of bowing.’
‘I thought Gods liked that too?’
‘Well, averting your eyes from someone’s ineffable coolness is one thing—we’d have a lot less dead people in the world if people didn’t want to look the celestial smack bang in the eyes—but, speaking personally, I find excess praise wearing. My ego isn’t so fractured that I need everyone telling me how wonderful I am all the time. I created a whole universe, you really think I need someone else to tell me I’m amazing?’
The door opened and the guards reappeared.
‘Did she get her new apartment?’ Grace asked.
One of the guards shrugged. ‘To be honest I wasn’t listening, you tune out after a while. She hasn’t been beheaded or anything so odds are she got what she wanted.’
