by Mike Resnick
Anyway, after I’d wandered a couple of miles, stepping in all kinds of things that a gentleman would never discuss with you except to say they were vile and foul-smelling and mostly plentiful, I heard a shout off to my left. I turned and saw a guy riding up on a horse. He was kind of dressed like a cowboy, except for the chaps and the belt and the shirt and the hat, and he galloped up to me, and then just when I was sure he’d escaped from some hospital for the pixilated and thunk I was a polo ball or whatever it is that they hit with them sticks, he pulled his horse to a stop and said something to me in some alien tongue.
“I don’t understand a word you’re saying, Brother,” I replied, “but allow me to introduce myself. I’m the Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer Jones, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He jabbered something else I couldn’t follow.
“Before we resort to sign language, Brother,” I said, “perhaps you could tell me if I’ve indeed stumbled onto the lost continent of ancient legend.”
As I said it, I indicated the land with a wave of my hand, and cocked an eyebrow so he’d know I was asking a question.
It worked, because he shot me a friendly smile and said, “Pampas,” which I figgered was how they said Moo in Mooish.
“Thanks, Brother,” I said. “And now I wonder if you can tell me where I can find the king of Moo?”
He just stared at me, puzzled, and then I realized I’d made a simple mistake.
“Strike that, Brother,” I said. “Where can I find the king of Pampas?”
He kind of frowned, and I began thinking that my initial appraisal was right, except maybe for the polo part.
“Well, thanks anyway,” I said, “but I can’t waste no more time here. I got to scout up the people and start bringing the Word to any godless sinners I find among ’em, so I guess I’ll be going now.” I gave his horse’s neck a friendly pat, and noticed some weird kind of trinket he had with a ball attached to each end.
He saw me staring at it, and said “Bolas.”
“Thanks, Brother,” I said. Then, remembering my manners, I added “And bolas to you too.”
I headed off to my right, but he immediately urged his horse forward and blocked my way. Then he started jabbering at me and pointing to my left. I looked where he was pointing, and all I could see was maybe twenty thousand cows, give or take a couple.
“That’s mighty considerate of you, Brother, but I’m looking for sinners of the two-legged kind,” I told him. “Besides, mighty few cows contribute to the poor box, and that’s a serious consideration when you’re figuring out where to build your tabernacle.”
I walked around his horse and began heading off again, and again he blocked my way.
“Just what seems to be your problem, Brother?” I said, starting to get a bit riled.
He began talking a blue streak, but I didn’t hear no familiar words like “pampas” or “bolas,” and finally I held up my hand for silence.
“I appreciate your concern,” I said, “and as near as I can figger it, either you think I’m here to convert your cattle, or I look so hungry you want me to take a couple of hundred cows home with me, or—and now that I come to think of it, them first two don’t hold a candle to the next reason, which is that you got all your womenfolk stashed in the direction I’m going.” I gave him a reassuring smile. “You don’t have to worry none, Brother. The way I smell after walking through your pasture, I doubt that any woman of quality would let me get near her—and if she would, that just means she’s been stepping in all this stuff too, and I ain’t wildly interested in getting much closer than fifty feet to her, or maybe a hundred, depending on which way the wind’s blowing.”
I began walking yet again, and this time he just sighed and frowned and shook his head, and finally he dug his spurs into his horse and headed off toward all the cattle he’d been trying to introduce me to.
It took me a whole day and a night to get out of that cow pasture, but finally I came to what was either a large rocky hill or a small rocky mountain, and I followed a footpath up it, and pretty soon I became aware that I was being watched by unseen eyes, which in my broad experience are just about the worst kind of eyes to be watched by, and finally the footpath widened a bit, and suddenly I was facing a mighty impressive stone building which sure didn’t resemble no other building I’d ever seen. Of course, the 200 naked warriors, each of ’em with a spear and an expression that would have meant their shorts were too tight if any of ’em had been wearing shorts, might have had a little something to do with it.
Finally they stood aside, and a kind of short, pudgy white man moseyed out of the building while they all bowed down as he passed by. He was wearing a loincloth, which meant he was dressed a lot better than any of his friends and neighbors, and he had a half-smoked cigar in his mouth. He was kind of bald, and a little bit cock-eyed, and he had such a thick unkempt beard that it instantly said to all and sundry that he wasn’t on speaking terms with his barber, and his bare feet were pretty caked with all the stuff I’d been doing my best to avoid, but outside all that I suppose he was as presentable as most people, and certainly more presentable than some I’d run into lately.
He walked up to me, stopped about four feet away, put his hands on his hips, jutted out his chin, and said, “Who the hell are you?”
“You speak English,” I said, surprised.
“I speak English a hell of a lot better than you answer questions,” he said. “Now, who are you?”
“The Right Reverend Honorable Doctor Lucifer Jones at your service,” I said. “Weddings and baptisms done cheap, with a group rate for funerals. And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“Rakovekin, Lord of the Outer Realm, Messenger of the Almighty, Spokesman for the Elder Deities, and Commander of the Legions of the Dead.”
“That’s quite a mouthful, Brother,” I noted.
“Yeah, it can get tedious,” he admitted. “Especially at parties when I have to meet a lot of new people. You can call me Henry.”
“Forgive me for pointing it out, but Henry don’t sound like no South American name.”
“And the other one I gave you did?” he asked.
“Now as I come to think on it, no, I suppose it didn’t neither,” I answered.
“Henry’s what they used to call me before I stumbled onto this place.”
“I could tell right off you weren’t no native,” I said.
“Only place I’m native to is Hackensack, New Jersey,” said Henry.
“What’s a Hackensack boy doing thousands of miles from home on this here lost continent?” I asked.
“Being a god,” he said.
“Pleasant work?” I asked.
“Most of the time,” he said.
“Maybe I’ll take a stab at it and join you, since I spend so much time consulting with the Lord anyway,” I offered. “What’s the job pay?”
“We only got room for one god around here, and I’m it,” he said. “Now, you’re welcome to stick around a day or two until you’re rested up, and you can even grab some grub to take with you on your long and arduous journey to anywhere else in the world, but you can’t stay here on no permanent basis.”
“How did you find this here lost continent, Brother Henry?” I asked him.
“Didn’t know it was no continent, and it sure as hell ain’t as lost as it used to be,” he grumbled. “You’re the fourth white man to wander in here in less than ten years.”
“What happened to the other three?”
“I sent two of ’em packing.”
“And the third,” I said. “Is he still here?”
“Parts of him are.”
Which made me think that there were maybe worse ideas than sticking around just a day or two and then hitting the road.
“But to answer your question, Reverend Jones,” he continued, “I came down to this part of the world to hunt elephants.”
“I don’t want to put no damper on your enthusiasm, Brother H
enry,” I said, “but there ain’t no elephants within a couple of thousand miles of here, except them what’s on display at zoos.”
“Well, if push had come to shove I’d have settled for ’em,” said Henry. “They don’t run so fast nor so far when they’re in a cage, and they sure can’t find much natural cover there.”
I could see right off that he was a natural-born sportsman who was put off his feed at the thought of littering the landscape with escaped animals what had been gutshot or worse, and I figgered if I could befriend him over the next couple of days I could maybe send him off to a zoo in Argentina or Brazil and try my hand at the god business myself.
“Anyway,” said Henry, “I was wandering the landscape looking for elephants without no success when I stumbled onto this place. I couldn’t see no one around, so I just followed the path right up to the temple, and I was so danged tired that I walked into it to get out of the sun and kind of catch my wind, and that stone altar in the middle of the place looked so inviting that I doffed most of my duds and lay down on it to take a little nap.” He shook his head in wonderment. “Next thing I knew there were twenty naked men kneeling down in front of me. At first I thought they were shooting craps, which is what’s usually going on when a bunch of Hackensack men get down on their knees, but then they saw I was awake and they began bowing and chanting. After awhile I asked one of ’em what it all meant, and he told me that I was clearly the god of prophecy that had been sent down to lead them to their former glory, and he started giving me my name and my titles. I know you thought I’d guv you a tongue twister when I introduced myself, but actually I got 38 more titles to go with the ones you heard. At first I thought reciting ’em all would charm the ladies, but the truth of the matter is that most of ’em fall asleep before I hit Number 20.”
“Speaking of the womenfolk, Brother Henry, just where are they all hiding?” I asked him.
“Oh, they’re off tilling fields and fetching water and toting firewood and other womanly duties like that,” he said. “All except for the priestesses, anyway.”
“And what about the men?”
“Mostly they’re worshipping me in private, and getting ready to go to war.”
“War?” I repeated. “You planning to attack two hundred thousand head of cattle?”
“No, we’re after the gauchos that herd the cattle,” he said. “Then I figure once we’ve won that little skirmish, we’ll drive the cattle all the way to Buenos Aires so we’ll have a little something to nibble on while we’re carrying out our war of conquest.”
“I like a man who thinks ahead,” I said. “I can tell we’re going to be great friends, Brother Henry.”
“Well, as long as you’re here, Reverend,” he said, his expres-sion softening a bit, “I might as well show you around my earthly kingdom.” He lowered his voice confidentially. “Truth of the matter is that I ain’t yet figured out where they’re hiding my heavenly kingdom.”
He headed off to the interior of the building, leaving all the menfolk behind, and I fell into step behind him.
“This here’s the Great Temple of Rakovekin,” he said. “I keep trying to get ’em to call it the Great Temple of Henry, but they’re a stubborn lot.”
I saw a bunch of half-naked women puttering around lighting candles and such, and I shot the closest of ’em a great big smile. “Them’s my Heavenly Handmaidens,” said Henry. “Each and every one of ’em a virgin.”
“Yeah?” I said.
“Well, except for them what ain’t,” he replied with a shrug.
I kind of winked at another of ’em, and she giggled and blushed, and I pretty much decided then and there that since food grew on trees and bushes and Heavenly Handmaidens only seemed to grow in Moo, I’d take a couple of ’em with me when I left and trust to the Lord that I could find food along the way.
“Over here,” said Henry, pointing to a big stone slab, “is the altar I fell asleep on that first day.”
I looked closer. It had a lot of bloodstains on it.
“I see you don’t believe in sacrificing turnips,” I noted, and he threw back his head and laughed.
“Rev,” he said, “I had a feeling the second I saw you that we was going to become friends.” He patted the stains lovingly. “No, these come from men who thought they could lay hands on the High Priestess.”
“You got a High Priest, too?”
“We did,” he said. He pointed to one of the stains. “I believe that’s what’s left of him.”
“She’s inviolate, huh?” I said.
“No,” he answered. “Last time I saw her she was in gold, such minimal duds as she was wearing. Mostly a crown, a couple of armbands, and some sandals, as I recall.”
“Sounds like she was dressed for mighty warm weather,” I said, “which I must admit we got a lot of in this here neck of the woods.”
“Just between you and me, it’s more like an armpit of the woods,” said Henry confidentially, “which is why I plan to pillage and plunder my way to Bahia.”
“I thunk you were making war on Buenos Aires,” I said.
“As long as it begins with a B and it’s got electricity and running water, makes no difference to me,” answered Henry.
“Getting back to your High Priestess, has she got a name?”
“Of course she has a name,” he said. “Why?”
“Truth to tell, Brother Henry, I got an affinity for gorgeous half-naked High Priestesses,” I said. “Some people like Ford roadsters, some people like fine Waterford crystal, but me, I like—”
“I get the point,” he said. “I may introduce you to her, but you have to understand up front that she belongs to me. If you touch her or make a play for her, it’ll bring all my heavenly wrath down on your head. That altar’s always got room for another bloodstain.”
“I don’t rightly hold with one human being owning another, Brother Henry,” I said severely. Personally, I figured taking out a short-term lease on the High Priestess was a different matter altogether, but I decided not to discuss the finer points of it with him at that particular moment.
“I fully agree, Reverend Jones,” he said.
“You do?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “No human being should ever own another.” Then he smiled and added, “Damned lucky for me that I’m a god and not a human being, ain’t it?”
I had to admit that I didn’t have no logical answer to that. In fact, I was just about to change the subject and maybe get him talking about the Brooklyn Dodgers or Equipoise or some other subject that was near and dear to folks what grew up near Hackensack, when my attention and my breath was both took by the most beautiful High Priestess anyone ever laid eyes on, and one look was enough to convince any red-blooded man or god that eyes were the very least of all the things he wanted to lay on her.
“Close your mouth, Reverend,” said Henry. “You never know what’ll fly into it in these here parts.”
She kept approaching me until she was just a couple of feet away, than stopped and smiled at me.
“Hello,” she said, extending a delicate hand. “My name is Valeria.”
“Miss Valeria, ma’am,” I said, “I just want to state for the record that in a lifetime of admiring half-naked High Priestesses and other delicate morsels of femininity, I ain’t never seen nothing to compare to your beauty, and if you’re ever in the need of a little nocturnal spiritual comfort, all you got to do is say the word and I’ll be there with bells on.”
She giggled. “Why would you wear bells?”
“You prefer feathers, just say the word,” I told her.
“That’s enough, Reverend,” said Henry. “Let’s not forget who’s the god and who’s the mortal here.”
“So you ain’t told her?” I said.
“Told her what?” he demanded.
“That any mortal what sleeps with a god will die of a hideously disfiguring disease,” I said as Valeria kind of gasped and took a couple of quick steps backward. “I thunk ever
yone knew that.”
“Valeria, honey, he’s just making that up!” said Henry.
I pulled my bible out of my pocket. “It’s all right here in the Book of Salome, Chapter 7, Verse 3.” (Actually, the Book of Salome ain’t got no Chapter 7 or Verse 3, but I had a soft spot for them because those were the numbers of the last Daily Double I hit at Saratoga just before I was gently requested to leave the country by a handful of gendarmes and politicians and other select authorities that didn’t have no sense of humor or proportion.)
“Let me see that!” said Henry, reaching for my bible.
I pulled it back, and shot Valeria a triumphant smile. “Think about it,” I said. “Would a real god have to look at the bible to remind himself of what it said?”
“But it didn’t say that at all!” shouted Henry.
“And now I suppose you’re gonna deny that you ever touched the last 200 women what died in these here parts,” I said.
“Valeria, baby, you ain’t going to listen to this intruder, are you?” said Henry, reaching out to her.
She jumped back out of reach. “Don’t touch me!” she cried.
“But Valeria, sweetie!” he said. Probably he was going to say more, but she turned and ran away before he could get the words out.
“You’re going to feel the brunt of my godly wrath for that, Lucifer Jones!” he vowed.
“Come on, Brother Henry,” I said. “I got you by two or three inches, maybe 20 pounds, and at least ten years. Let’s bury the hatchet, admit we both stumbled onto a happy situation here, and split the spoils. You can have everything to the left of the path that led up here, I’ll take everything to the right, you can have Valeria on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays (if you can convince her that she’ll survive being touched by you), I’ll take her to my side of the path on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and we’ll toss a coin for Sundays, provided you got any coins hidden in your loincloth.”
