“So you forgot about your son?” I asked, sounding incredulous.
“I know, I know, I know. It looks awful, I agree, but it was so quick. The whole thing was rushed. I was in a hurry, and like I say, my so-called staff is not the best, I assure you. I am not passing blame or shifting responsibility, but I rely on these people, you know? Anyway, the long and short of it is that the Universe is a big place. This planet is not my only venture. There is a lot of undeveloped real estate out there, and it takes time and planning to build a civilization. There are certain conditions that have to be met, and honestly; I can’t trust anyone up there to help me with that. That is my responsibility. I do not delegate creation. Anyway, this place I was ‘prospecting,’ in your terms, is five hundred million light years away, which even for me is a hike, so you can imagine I was not readily available to come back at a moment’s notice. I had it all planned, booked, and organized. I really couldn’t cancel. Anyway, I had people watching you. I asked Saint Peter to watch over you, and apparently he didn’t get my memo, and blah, blah, blah, you get the picture; a total mess. A cock-up from start to finish.”
“Anyway,” God continued. “No real harm done. Well, nothing we can’t sort out between us. All you need to do now is to listen and learn. You’re a bright man; I am sure you will pick it up as we go. I am sorry for my tardiness, but I am here now, and I have never been one to dwell in the past or to pass blame, so I am happy to proceed and move forward. Even I can’t change the past. I have been a bad father, and I can understand any resentment, but you need to get over that. You have done well without me; I read your file, and though you’re obviously not there yet—far from it— we have something to play with. Something to mold. My boy, I’ll make a Messiah out of you yet! Never fear! Now, there were a few things I needed to mention straight away, and I am sorry to do this, but please believe me when I tell you time is at the premium. Hold on, let me think; that’s right, you’re masturbating a little too much I’m afraid. You’ll have to watch that. It’s a bit more than the committee would like. It’s draining your energy apparently, and there is no need for the excessive amount of time you waste. Just an observation, but the committee felt it important that we get that one nailed down immediately.”
First of all, I feel I need to point out that I do not consider myself an excessive masturbator. Whilst I am unaware of any guidance notes or recommended daily dosages, I am pretty confident that my personal habits are not outside the norm. Where God was getting his information from, I did not know, but I would have liked to have taken a peek at my file. I was naturally horrified to learn that “the committee” felt it necessary to make this their first priority in their dealings with me. Furthermore, it was inconceivable to me that my natural father, who had been had been away for thirty-two years and had practically abandoned me, critiqued me almost immediately! He had a file on me! A file! I felt the need to vent some of my views on this whole subject.
“Hold on a minute. Walter, Dad, God, or whatever I am meant to call you.”
“‘God’ is fine; ‘Dad’ is okay too, though I prefer ‘Dad’ or ‘Father,’ even.”
“Ok, ‘Dad,’ I have a question.” I wasn’t sure if he caught the sarcasm.
“Shoot,” said God.
“Did you really tell my father to sleep with Marla?” It was playing on my mind. I felt he needed to answer that one. I realized I had the opportunity to ask God any question I liked, but the masturbating thing had gotten my hackles up. I felt I needed to make a point that he also had some traits that were, should I say, a little questionable.
“I’m your Father,” said God. He was stalling; he knew what I meant.
“Ely,” I said.
“Ah, well, that, erm, well, I may have implied it was probably an option. Look, I felt sorry for the man. You know how your mother is once she gets an idea in her head. Listen, I did him a favor. I can’t believe you’ve even brought that up. Why have you? Has he said something?” God sounded annoyed.
“He has mentioned it,” I replied.
“Well, he was a willing participant; you can’t put it all on me. Ely is his own man. I hope he wasn’t complaining. I am sure he wasn’t complaining at the time. He didn’t need to tell you. I told him he was safe.” God was becoming defensive. “I am a bit disappointed Ely said that.” Not wishing to incur God’s wrath onto Ely, I dropped it. What was done was done; however it gave me an inclination into what I could be dealing with. I felt I had had made my point. The man had abandoned not only his son, me but by his own admission, he had abandoned the rest of mankind for the last thirty years as well. On top of it all, he had at best aided and abetted my father in an affair, or at worst, organized and orchestrated the whole thing! I pondered for a few seconds.
“Ok, I’m letting that one go. I am not happy about it, but I am letting it go. I won’t mention it again.” However, I did have another question that ate at me. “Why us? Why me? Why Ely and Irma? I really don’t get it. Why a Jewish couple? Why not Christians? Surely Christians would have been better.”
“Good questions,” said God. Hopefully, I would get a good answer.
“And?” I prompted God for a reply.
“You have to remember, things up here were not as organized as I would have liked them to have been. We have a large turnover of administrative and support staff, and sometimes things get left to the last minute. I assure you that things have improved lately. I am sure I mentioned new innovations, and it is definitely not as bad as it was. But back then? Wow, those were chaotic times! It was a bit rushed; sometimes you mean to do something but keep putting it off and putting it off until the next thing you know, a deadline is looming. To be honest, we all got our years mixed up. I thought we had another year to plan this, but it was Saint Eligius who pointed it out; ironic, really as he is the patron saint of clock makers. Anyway, it was Eligius who made us aware we were out a year. So, as you can see, we were rather rushed to get you consummated.” I didn’t see. But I didn’t interrupt.
“Eventually, we found ourselves in a bit of a pickle,” continued God.
“A pickle?” I asked.
“A jam,” said God.
“A jam?” I asked. Why God felt the need to refer to food stuff I was not sure. I knew what he meant, I was merely trying to point out that “jam” and “pickle” were not really the terms I would have used when describing the most significant event of the last two thousand years. I wasn’t sure if he got it.
“You know what I mean; we ran out of time: double-booked, diaries crossed, missed communication, mistaken timings. The truth is I had this great couple from Wisconsin lined up. Great couple, absolutely fantastic couple, they were ideal, would have been wonderful. Christians, one hundred percent devout, total believers, honest, hard workers, full of faith. They were perfect, absolutely perfect.” God sounded teary-eyed as he reminisced about the couple from Wisconsin. I took a good look at Walter, who remained sitting on his haunches. I checked, but I could see no tears coming from Walters oval-shaped peepers.
“What happened to them?” I asked, somewhat intrigued as to why such perfect candidates didn’t get the job and why my parents appeared to be the on-field substitutes.
“What happened? What happened?” replied God, sounding perplexed. “Clerical and administrative error, that’s what happened. You’ve guessed it. Lost memo. Some idiot messed up the paperwork. Once again, it boils down to bad and shoddy admin,” God tutted. I wasn’t surprised; it seemed there was a big problem involving paperwork wherever God was based, which I presumed was Heaven, but I was learning that assumption, when dealing with God, was not a wise pastime. God continued: “Anyway, I missed it; I know for definite that Saint Peter missed it, and obviously Gabriel and the other on-watch angels missed it.”
“Missed what?” I asked.
“Missed the fact that she wasn’t actually a virgin,” replied God “Textbook error, really. Bad research and bad background work. It transpired that Dave—Dave was the hus
band,” God clarified for my behalf, “well, Dave had indeed already consummated the relationship, and it seemed that Samantha, the wife, failed to mention this. I don’t blame her; they were delighted to get the job. Gabriel initially did the background check, and it was some of his team who I put on ‘sex watch.’”
“Sex watch?” I asked.
“Sex watch is where I have angels on a twenty-four-hour watch ensuring that virginity stays intact. It seems there was a novice angel on watch who missed the ‘dirty deed.’ I had been grooming this couple for years. It was a disaster, I assure you. Gabriel took full responsibility and did offer his resignation. Of course, I did not accept, but it left me with a major problem. I needed to find a virgin couple quickly. So I got my best man on to the job of finding one.”
Believe it or not, I was still listening.
“Your best man?” I asked, intrigued as to who that would be.
“Ah yes, at first he was a bit reluctant. He felt I was going about it the wrong way, and he did voice his concerns. You see, he wanted to come back. He felt, as he had done such an excellent job the first time, he should be the one down there. He pointed out that a lot of people ‘down there’ believed he would be the one returning and not some newcomer. I was surprised that he agreed to get involved, but I think when he saw what a mess we were in, he decided to help. It was Jesus, your sort of half-brother, who found Irma and Ely.”
“Jesus?”
“Yes, Jesus. I know I was surprised he even agreed to help, but he came through in the end. He spent hours researching Ely and Irma and then a couple of months on ‘sex watch.’ We really needed to avoid a ‘Code Dave,’ what we had named a virginity snatch, and if I couldn’t rely and trust my own son, who could I trust?” asked God. The question was rhetorical, and in any case, I had no answer.
“But they’re Jewish. They don’t even believe in the whole ‘Christ the Son of God’ story,” I pointed out.
“That is a good point,” said God. “But so were Mary and Joseph, the original virgin couple. Both were Jews, good Jews, so it didn’t seem to me that it would be a problem. Turns out, it really wasn’t.”
I nodded my head, indicating I understood that what he told me actually made sense. It didn’t, and neither did I understand. I just felt the explanation sufficed. I was sure there would have been better and more suitable candidates than my parents, but I decided not to force the issue. What was done was done.
“Well, I suppose you do move in mysterious ways,” I said, half-joking.
“No, son, that’s actually a limp. There’s nothing mysterious about it at all,” replied God.
CHAPTER
10
I FEEL I SHOULD TAKE this opportunity to explain what was occurring in certain places around the world at the exact same moment as I was talking to God. God, it would seem, had decided to coincide his call to me with “setting the wheels in the motion” (his words, not mine.) As we spoke, he introduced the world to the new Messiah using old and trusted methods. Unfortunately, this didn’t go as well as he would have liked.
These “old and trusted methods” included an image of my face miraculously appearing on a slice of toast in Sydney, Australia. Unfortunately, the recipient of this miracle toast, “Little” Timmy Grayson, aged seven, told his mom that, “there was a scary face of the Frankenstein monster on his toast” and that, “it freaked him out and he hated it.” Without even looking up from the morning television show she was watching, his mother had told young Timmy to, “just eat it and shut up, you whining little git, it’s the way the bread was made, just eat it,” which young Timmy duly did.
Similarly, an apple cut open that morning in Johannesburg, South Africa by a Margaret Deveraux while she prepared ingredients for an apple strudel she had promised to bake her sister, Dorothy, had somehow ripened inside to produce a startlingly realistic image of my face. This apple was subsequently tossed into a bin for being “funny looking” and mistakenly presumed to be rotten. Jasper, the Deveraux’s German shepherd then proceeded to rummage through the trash and devoured the Holy Apple.
Other attempts at these image miracles had also failed miserably. The one that I heard of later that most offended me was the image that manifested itself inside a recently felled tree in Sweden. Apparently the cut of the tree had revealed the face of “Oliver Hardy—but without the mustache” on the stump that remained. Crowds flocked to see the image of the “chubby and rotund comic” from all over Europe and indeed, the Sons of the Desert, the global Laurel and Hardy fan club, had declared that this occurrence was proof that God himself was a fan of the black and white movie greats. Especially the fat one. Actually, God did find their antics amusing but had never considered them worthy enough of an image miracle.
Like all first meetings between children and previously absentee fathers, after thirty years or so of abandonment and neglect, there was bound to be a bit of negativity and animosity on my behalf. However, I believe I handled it well, and I tried to be as understanding as was possible despite the circumstances surrounding the events of my birth and subsequent lack of preparation for the role I had to fulfill. It wasn’t as if God and I would have been able to have spent quality time together anyway; I am sure he wasn’t the sort of father who would have taken me to little league, taught me to ride a bike, spent time taking me on fishing trips, or even attended Parents’ Evening at school. Ely had been an ideal stand-in, so I had no reason to feel animosity toward him for that.
Please don’t assume that I did not like the guy. Granted, he talked to me through a cat, which was slightly off-putting and a little bit strange. However, he had annoyed me, and his attitude continued to annoy me. I was annoyed primarily because I found it arrogant on his behalf that he felt he could walk straight back into my life as if nothing had happened. I was annoyed that he seemed to blame others for my lack of training and lack of preparation. It seemed to me that God thought he had a divine right to walk back into my life and presume I would welcome him with open arms and agree to be the Messiah. He didn’t seem to fathom or even consider for one minute that maybe I was not interested in being the Messiah. Granted, I was pissed, angry beyond belief, but the truth was that it wasn’t just his pompous attitude and his unwillingness to accept responsibility that annoyed me; it was the fact that I was quite happy with my life as it was, and to be perfectly honest, the whole God and Messiah business was his business, and thanks, but no thanks. I didn’t want it. I had got on for thirty-two years just fine, thank you. Thanks for calling, but unfortunately, I was not interested in what he was selling. That was how I felt, and that was when my conversation with God that morning turned a little nasty.
Walter had curled up into a ball, and it appeared he was planning on going to sleep.
“Ignore this,” said God. “I am still here, I am still listening, it’s just that Walter is taking a probably well-deserved catnap,” explained God. Walter was now talking in this sleep, and though his eyes were closed, his mouth still twitched open and close whenever God spoke. It was a most unnerving sight. I decided now would be a good time to thank God for his visit, but to let him know I was not interested in being the Messiah or second coming of Christ.
“So, God, Dad, it has been great meeting you and everything,” I said politely and pleasantly, “but what is it you actually want from me?” I asked, still unsure of God’s plan.
“Want from you?” asked God, sounding a little surprised that I did not already know.
“Yes, want, need, require. There must be a reason you picked today to call? It’s not like you were in the neighborhood passing through, or you are on your deathbed and wanted to make peace with those who you did wrong, trying to amend for the years you forgot about me.” I paused. “You’re not on your deathbed, are you?” I asked, suddenly concerned with the implications if God suddenly died.
“No, I am fine, never felt better, actually. I do not possess a deathbed, nor any other type of bed, come to think of it,” God reassured me. That
was a relief. The implication of no God was worse than a forgetful, pompous, responsibility shirking, and absent God.
“Well, then,” I continued, “what is it that brought you here? Why now? Why today? I am a little confused as to the urgency of all this.” Walter’s ear twitched involuntarily as he slept. It often did this, and I used to mistake it as a sign that he had fleas. Many were the times I would transport Walter to the vet’s office for unnecessary de-flea treatments and tick removal. The fact that Walter, to my best knowledge, had never ventured outdoors unless to visit the vet’s office for these flea treatments made the whole flea issue a non-issue, but it was best to be safe rather than sorry.
“Armageddon,” said God.
“Come again?” I asked, trying not to be overly distracted by the twitching ear and the fact that Walter appeared to be sleeping. It wasn’t that I hadn’t heard what God had said; I felt the need to hear it again, for clarification.
“Armageddon, the Apocalypse, the end of days, Revolution chapter whatever, you know, end of the world, the battle for souls, the final conflict, fire and brimstone, good versus evil, and all that,” said God as if describing nothing of real significance. I felt the need to find out more. Actually, I felt it imperative and highly necessary that I gleaned some more information from my nonchalant father.
“What about it? What about Armageddon? How does that affect me, exactly?” I asked. I hoped the underlying tone of panic that accompanied my voice was not overly apparent.
“Well, it’s time, you know, as foretold in the Bible, chapter whatever, verse something or other, book of Revolution. Surely you’ve heard of it?”
I scratched my head as Walter’s ear continued to flick. For some inexplicable reason, I had a sudden urge to swipe Walter. It wasn’t that his ear flickered and moved manically as he snoozed; it was something else. Ah, yes, it was my frustration at God. I had the feeling this Armageddon thing was a big issue, and if I hadn’t asked, I wondered when he was going to bring up the subject. I had the underlying and sinking feeling that God seemed to think I would be playing an important part in this “Armageddon” scenario.
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