The Jehovah Contract

by Victor Koman

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  I stood naked and alone on a vast, empty plain under a red sky upon which no sun shone.

  I waited. I knew God would arrive soon.

  I waited and waited and wondered and waited. And just when I was sure God wouldn't show up He didn't show up.

  I started to walk.

  Not having any idea where I was going, I wasn't sure when I got there. When I got there, though, to another arid part of the featureless expanse, the ground began to slope. Not just part of the ground. The whole infinite plain. It was as if the whole world were turning edgewise.

  The soles of my feet began to slide, kicking up dust clouds that rolled and fell with me. I flopped over on my backside and slid forward, still gazing at a distant horizon.

  The plain tilted more and more. The feeling of

  down

  was no longer down, but more toward the horizon. Bouncing and rolling, I tried to grip the dirt that crumbled beneath my fingers. Skin tore away from me in chunks and sheets.

  I screamed. It was a hollow, muted sound, as if I were inside a coffin.The plain slanted vertically now. I fell straight down its side, my fingers snapping off and breaking away with every grasp I made. The pull of gravity (or whatever it was) angled another degree.

  I fell away from the desert into the featureless carnelian sky.

  I fell for hours. Days, though there was no period of darkness. The plain stretched above me as I fell farther away.

  I counted my heartbeats. Aside from the rush of air, it was the only sound I heard. When I reached 443,557 beats, I hit a swarm of razor blades. Slices and strips of flesh tore away from me and continued to fall. The plain looked as huge and uncurving as ever, though I must have been thousands of miles "up." A red haze of blood fell with me, a screaming ruby comet.

  Then I hit.

  Pain exploded inside me as the spikes I'd landed on punched through my body. One went straight through my skull with a sickening crunch. I crossed my eyes, focusing on something yellowish-grey that dangled at the tip of a slimy red cone.

  "You've made your point!" I shouted, the spikes through my lungs aspirating my voice into a raspy wheeze. "Show yourself so we can get on with it!"

  There was no sound other than the slow dripping of my blood. I stood, pulling myself up off the barbs. Gobbets of my own skin and muscle lay about here and there where they had landed. I picked them up and placed them in torn folds of flesh that served as pockets.

  Something looked strange about the ground on which I stood. The spikes grew out of small depressions in the surface. It looked unsettlingly familiar. Especially the salmon-pink color of the flesh.

  A giant hand darted out of infinity at an impossible speed to seize me between a thumb and finger of planetary dimensions. Crushing pain steamrolled across me. The immense digits rolled my body around like a ball of snot; after ages of grinding, twisting agony, the fingers separated.

  Across a million-mile chasm, bridged by an arm thicker than worlds, I stared at my quarry face to face.

  His hair had been styled in a crew cut. I had never imagined that God would look like Jack Webb.

  "I love you," bellowed a voice that rumbled deeper than earthquakes.

  He had some way of showing his affection, having smeared my body across a good portion of his index finger. Stinging anguish cried from every particle of ruined flesh.

  "Knock off the displays, little boy," I said. "I've been worked over by professionals-L.A. cops."

  "I love all of you, and you've all turned your backs on Me."

  "According to Your supporters," I shouted across the gap, "You gave us the ability to do so!"

  "You stole it from the Tree!"

  "Why didn't you take it back, Omnipotent One?"

  "You didn't have to use it!" He put the squeeze on again.

  When the fingers released, I said, "You're supposed to be all-powerful, yet You didn't remove the knowledge of good and evil from us. You could have easily corrected the Original Sin, yet a third of the angels turned against You. Why are the creations of a perfect God so flawed? Is there something we've overlooked?"

  "Mocking me. You've always mocked me. I created the world for your happiness-"

  "Yeah," I said, seeing an opening, "and filled it with storms and earthquakes and famines and wars and suffering when you could have made it a paradise."

  "I had!" His voice thundered like a thousand Hiroshimas. "You broke the rules, and I had to throw you out!"

  "You gave us the ability to break the rules."

  "I didn't want mindless automata, I wanted free minds-"

  "Then why," I screamed, "do You threaten us with punishment in Hell for exercising that freedom? You could have turned us into robots, but You didn't.

  Why can't You accept the consequences of Your actions?

  "

  "I wanted you to choose Me freely, out of

  love

  for Me."

  "

  Freely?

  Under threat of eternal suffering? Out of

  love?

  For a God that obliterates civilizations, murders infants, punishes the slightest deviation with brimstone and hellfire? On earth we have a term for that-protection racketeering."

  "It's your fault, not Mine. You were bad."

  I gazed around at the blood and guts smeared across the mountainous ridges of His fingerprint. "We only questioned Your authority."

  "You disobeyed a direct command! You became one-in-yourselves. You became divine in your own right and left Me with nothing.

  Nothing!

  " Thunderclouds formed around His one visible eye. Lightning flashed in His gaze. A hot blue bolt of energy sizzled a few inches to my right.

  "It was She," He said. It was the first acknowledgement He had made-I wouldn't let it be the last. "It was all the work of the Woman.

  She

  conspired with the Horned One to ruin My Paradise. I sent My Son to destroy Her works."

  "That reminds me," I shouted, desperate to find some sort of leverage. "When a God such as Jove or Jehovah impregnates a human, is it rape, incest, or bestiality?"

  "Your mockery damns you!"

  "Then take away our power to mock! Don't keep killing and maiming, expecting to coerce us into loving You in self-defense. We're too tough to knuckle under!"

  "

  Her

  doing. She tempts you back into sin, forcing Me to discipline you."

  "Forget it, pal. I take the rap myself. As long as I have free will, I reject You. Don't pretend You're giving us a choice when the wrong choice results in eternal torture. You're giving us rules-rules for slaves."

  He snarled. "You must obey your God!"

  "Why?" I asked. It was an ancient child's game, but it just might work.

  "Because I created you."

  "Why?"

  He stiffened up-millions of miles up. He towered over me until I shuddered from terror.

  "Because I wanted to recreate My own image."

  "Why?"

  "

  So you would obey Me!

  " His voice rolled like the sea.

  I wasn't going to get back into the whole free will contradiction again-He seemed rather impervious to logic. I gathered together all my resolve, half-expecting the result.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "

  BECAUSE I'M BIGGER THAN YOU!

  "

  His breath blew me off His finger with the force of a stellar nova. I clung to as much of me as I could, falling and tumbling and twisting and spinning until I fell into a brilliant red light. It enveloped me, warm and revitalizing.

  I sat at a card game (rather low in the chair). Other players sat beside me. At my right elbow (which lay on the table to my left, along with a section of one of my legs) quivered my pile of savaged flesh.

  The other players bid portions of their own mounds as the betting progressed. I must have had beginner's luck. I won a piece of Martin Cann and the left lobe of Donovan's
brain. I also won a chunk from somebody's buttock. I gave it back and left the game. I wasn't like Ann-I couldn't stand to see a poker player lose his ass.

  For an hour or so, I sat at a table putting myself back together. I had nearly finished when a Stranger sat down beside me. He was tall and lean and dressed to riverboat-gambler's perfection. Long white hair flipped inward at the nape of His neck.

  The Stranger pulled three cards from His vest pocket. He started to toss them about-face down on the table. Each one had a single perfect, sharp crease down the midline.

  "Do you trust Me?" He asked casually.

  I tried to follow the motions of His hands. His fingers crossed over one another at times, so I couldn't quite follow the cards. I shrugged and looked at Him.

  "Why should I trust You? You've never shown Yourself before. You've given me no cause to trust You."

  He nodded amiably, though still aloof. "You don't have cause to mistrust Me then, either." He flipped over a card. King of clubs.

  "I've played this game for a long time," He continued. Another card flipped over-king of diamonds. "I win, I lose. Mostly I win." He eyed me with a noncommittal gaze. "You look good enough to beat Me. But you've got to trust Me. Otherwise, you don't stand a chance of winning."

  "If the game is straight," I said, "what would it matter whether I trusted You or not?" I tapped the last bit of skin into place on my body and leaned the whole patchwork mess back in the chair.

  "If you don't trust Me, you lose."

  "And if I trust You, I win?"

  He smiled. "I didn't say that." He took another calculating glance of me. "I only said that you can't win if you

  don't.

  "

  "And if I refuse to play the game?"

  He flipped over another card. The ace of spades.

  "Then," He said, "I'm afraid you still lose."

  "Sounds like a sweet racket."

  The Stranger shrugged. "It's kept Me going. And it keeps My boys in chips." His fingers danced around the cards as He nodded at the men behind Him.

  Half a dozen of His boys stood along the bar, grinning at me. They wore gamblers' clothes, all right, but their faces were all familiar.

  The Ecclesia.

  "It's a healthy game to play," the Stranger continued. "But you've simply got to trust Me." The cards sped over one another at an increasingly blinding rate. He flipped one card over to show me the ace. Following the card was useless-He pointed to it, turned it over, revealed the king of clubs.

  "Don't try to follow the game," He counseled. "Just trust Me. I wouldn't cheat you. Trust is the basis of the most sublime relationships." The Ace popped up again, got moved around, and became the King of Diamonds.

  I tried to concentrate.

  "Just pick a card," He said, the soft shuffling sound on the green felt blending hypnotically with His voice. "Just pick a card and trust Me. There is no other game. There is

  nothing else.

  "

  Something intruded, though. A pair of delicate hands rested upon my shoulders. A scent of patchouli lightly caressed my nostrils. I could feel Her warmth.

  "Take a walk, sister" the Stranger said. His gaze never deviated from me. "You never trusted Me."

  "That's because he cheats," She whispered in my ear. "That's simple enough reason not to trust him. Ask for proof of his honesty."

  I stuck my hand out like a department store dummy. "May I see the cards?"

  He scooped them up off the table. "No one can see all three! You've got to trust Me!"

  "Why?"

  I didn't really need to ask. His boys stepped away from the bar toward our table. They'd stopped grinning.

  "Because," He said, "those are the rules!"

  "Then I don't want to play." I stood defiantly. No one suckers Dell Ammo.

  "Then you lose." He leaned forward across the table, one fist clutching the cards, the other clenching up.

  The lovely voice behind me whispered, "You can't win or lose if you don't play the game. He's bluffing and terrified that anyone might find out."

  Her hands squeezed my shoulders. The Stranger swung His fist at my jaw. I ducked, thrusting my hand forward to seize His wrist.

  Laughing, She snatched the cards from His hand. All three were kings.

  "He palms the ace. The whole game's fixed." She threw the cards down on the table.

  "You never trusted Me," He accused Her again. His voice was as petulant as a child's. He stiffened, regained His composure. "You might have won if You'd trusted Me."

  She laughed like spring rain on crystal. "I've always won, precisely because I don't trust you." She released His hand. "You, however, can never win. Why else do you continue to play so desperately?"

  "You-" He stared at me with vicious hatred. "You couldn't face Me alone, could you? You had to run to Mother for help like a little child."

  "At least," She said, "I help those who ask. And I don't require their souls in exchange."

  Somewhere, a coyote-or maybe it was a wolf-howled heartily. Suddenly, like a movie frame caught in a projector, all motion froze. A burst of flames evaporated everyone and everything except for the table and the cards. I turned them over.

  All three had become queens of hearts.

  25

  Wheels Without Wheels

  The street was littered with corpses.

  I turned around to return to the saloon, suspecting that I was in for more fun.

  The building had vanished. In its place lay an unending field of lifeless bodies. Some were mere skeletons with hardly any flesh at all. Others looked fresh. Most of them were in a condition somewhere in between, exuding that ripe putrescence that someone described as "the sickly sweet stench of freshly baked bread."

  Only this smelled far worse. It choked the lungs and gagged the throat.

  Animals and beasts of all kinds lay mixed in with the people. The flies might have gorged themselves if there had been any. Scattered over the corpses, though, were the husks of dead insects. Nothing lived. Nothing moved.

  Except for whatever was making that repulsive smell. And me.

  And one other... person.

  Of course.

  He dragged the body of a woman across that of a man in an attempt to lay them together, arm in arm. The woman's left arm separated at her shoulder, though, and he was forced to arrange the vignette as best he could.

  "

  Fnord

  ," he said. His gaze lifted to meet mine.

  He was squat, scraggly, and covered with oozing boils. Clad only in a few rags, he waddled across the charnel morass barefooted.

  "What do

  you

  want?" His voice was as harsh as sandpaper on a sunburn. "You're not supposed to be here. You're not rotting!"

  "Is this hell?" I asked.

  He stared at me as if I'd asked him if it were the Chinese Theater. Grubby-no,

  slimy

  -fingers smeared a few grey strands of long, matted hair away from his eyes.

  "Of course this isn't hell, you stupid tit. There isn't any hell or heaven. You don't go anywhere when you die. Except maybe underground." He picked up a finger from one of the more advanced cases of decay and waved it at me. "And mind you not to start asking me about souls, you ignorant bastard. Your soul dies with you!"

  "Energy," I repeated from high school physics, "can neither be created nor destroyed. My mind is electrochemical energy that cannot be destroyed. It's my soul, and it's got to go somewhere."

  The squat little man (if it was a man) sat on the withers of a deceased horse. Its ribs caved in with a crunch and a sigh. He jumped up cursing.

  After brushing away the excess putridity, he said, "Thermodynamics, eh?" He hefted a pair of bloated, purplescent bodies one on the other, then climbed atop to straddle them.

  "All right," he said, "where does the memory of a pocket calculator go when you switch it off?"

  "Huh?" I think I preferred playing Three Card Monte with the Stranger. T
he smell was getting to me.

  "The electrons that form the number pattern in the calculator aren't destroyed when you switch it off. Where does the memory go? Silicon Heaven?"

  I shrugged. "It must go somewhere."

  He jumped off the bodies to land on some dead puppies. "It goes nowhere! The electrons remain, but the

  pattern

  is destroyed."

  "My soul's a pattern?"

  "Your mind is an electrochemical ordering that is built up over time. Ten, thirty, fifty years. Oh, sure-the constituents of that ordering remain after your death, but the order itself begins to disintegrate in the absence of oxygen and electrical current. The pattern randomizes, and your soul dies with you!"

  "Mighty deep philosophy for a caretaker."

  "And why not? I've eaten some of the best minds here. I've breakfasted on Buddha, lunched on Leibniz, noshed on Nietzsche, and munched a Messiah or two. They all come here. They're dead and their souls are, too. So I eat their brains and-oops." He glanced sheepishly in my direction.

  "And they live on in you."

  "Oh, shit."

  "And back on earth," I said, watching him sink his head in his hands, "people's souls live on in the things they've done, the people they've touched."

  "Only metaphorically!" he retorted with a shake of his tired grey head.

  "Metaphors are all we need." I bent over him. "I'm only a simile of my genetic code. Our image of God is only a crude, externalized metaphor of the ineffable processes of our minds."

  All those obscure philosophy books were coming in handy now. He looked up at me with pleading eyes.

  "Leave me alone. Give me back my nothingness."

  A voice shattered across the endless, carcass-strewn plain.

  "

  Who?

  " it demanded to know. "

  Who disturbs My perfect serenity? Who disturbs My eternal peace?

  "

  "Me?" I asked.

  "

  This is My dominion. All men come to rest here!

  "

  The little caretaker fearfully burrowed to hide under a woman's body that dripped a blackish goo. His terrified quivering shook the nearby corpses.

  He

  appeared.

  He wore a doctor's outfit, entirely black. Even the mirror strapped to His forehead reflected ebon darkness from some hideous realm of shadow.