Dear diary,
After these things, the presence of Jehovah appears again to Sarah in a dream, saying: “Have no fear, my love: I am your bodyguard. I will also cause your offspring to DOMINATE UTTERLY this galaxy, and eventually the entire universe.”
And Sarah sez to her vision: “But, Mister Jehovah, how can this be? For I do not even have one single seed, let alone offsprings plural. Am I to grow big with child? I’m not even sure that I’d want that, seeing as I have the perfect figure; for I’ve heard that pregnancy may cause one’s paps to swell, which would ruin my proportions. Are you trying to tell me that, just when I’ve learned to love my natural body-shape, I am to change my perspective yet again, and figure out how to regard a rounded, fertilized belly as desirable? Plus, who is to father this supposedly endless breed of children that you keep presuming I’ll bear? You know my travelmate Abram strictly shoots blanks. And the only other human of patriarchal aspect in our firm’s employ is that fellow who heads the accounting department — I think his name’s Eliezer. Yes, now that I consider it, there IS a rule in our nation stating that any child born to one’s employee becomes one’s own child, because the boss of an enterprise is like a miniature king, and all goods that are produced under his leadership, on the company clock, belong to him; even a human infant that is begotten, say, in the break room — that child is legally the boss’s heir; and, since Abram has granted me the power of attorney over his legacy, I would then, by default, have become the MOTHER OF ALL LIFE (assuming you’re correct in your prediction that this kid will be the best of all babes ever born). So maybe you’re trying to tell me to pay Priscilla, the firm’s personnel manager, whom I guarantee would do it gladly, to bed Eliezer so as to conceive and thereby deed to me this ‘promised scion’ who shall begin my ancestral mega-line. Is that the proper interpretation of your thinly veiled threat?—that I should play matchmaker at the law firm?”
And Jehovah answers Sarah within her dream, and sez: “No, what you just said is totally not my intention. Eliezer and Priscilla would make a cute couple, I agree; but these things need to happen on their own, in a manner that is unforced and natural. If someone in the scheduling sector of the human-resources department would just allow those two to take their smoke breaks at the same time, they’d probably end up on the floor together, of their own accord. For the employee handbook states that a smoke break equals fifteen minutes — that’s an ample amount of time. But no, in the present case, I mean that an heir will come from your very own bowels.”
“My bowels?”
“Your loins. You know what I mean. Here, come with me into the starfield of outer space.” Now Jehovah carries Sarah up thru the air, past the exosphere, and gently sets her down, amid the heavenly lights. Then he continues: “Look now, behold all this dazzle. Exactly as this sight makes you feel, that’s how I want you to feel when I prophesy to you.”
“This sight,” sez Sarah, “is cold & scant & lonely.” And she begins to doubt Jehovah. Now Jehovah smiles inwardly and notes that Sarah is growing wiser.
Then Jehovah shouts, in the dream: “Am I not the God who descended from the Dark Tower and followed you and your friends, when you decided to leave Ur!? And didn’t I promise to you alone, my dear, the possession of ALL the land that both Lot and Abram divvied between them, despite the fact that you didn’t ask for it!? You probably don’t even know what you’d do with all that land, if you inherited it... or when you inherit it, rather — cuz it WILL happen: I never renege on promises (lo, I even permit my words to be recorded in books, which live on for ages; and people can read what I once said, and reference this or that promise that I voiced so long ago; then all the readers and listeners who pay close attention to these faithfully recorded stories can ponder the meaning of such vows and oaths and covenants, and they can say within their own mind: ‘I wonder if God truly intended to keep this promise that he made but then just got sidetracked; or, on the other hand, maybe the commitment was never accomplished for a reason that would strike us as more or less terrifying — only one thing is certain: to this day, the promise remains unfulfilled’).”
And Sarah wakes up in her dream and sez (slightly embarrassed and hoping Jehovah didn’t notice her dozing off): “I’m trying to believe you; I really WANT to believe you. But, already, you’ve slapped your guarantee on a lot of stuff that hasn’t yet come to pass. So how should I know that this prediction you’re currently making is any more trustworthy than the rest of your claims? No offense, of course — I mean, I really like your style: I’d rather talk to an exuberant liar than a boring, straight attorney who shoots blanks. But if I walk out onto either side of the meridian, down on Planet Earth, at present, then, within seconds, either Lot’s or Abram’s minions will accost me and demand to see my paperwork (they do this to everyone) — yet you’re telling me that I myself am to inherit both countrysides!? How can I be sure of this? It seems like a joke. I think you’re just yanking my chain, trying to get me to spend another night in your bedroom.”
Now Jehovah reddens in the dream-vision & sez: “Go fetch a Land Ownership document from your travelmate’s file cabinets.”
So Sarah swims down to the storage room of Abram’s office, in her dream, and takes a legal form out of one of the drawers. Then she swims back up to heaven, places the parchment on the desk of Jehovah, and waits.
Now an angelic secretary enters the office, as Sarah is waiting for Jehovah to return to this room inside of her dream to sign the paperwork. She offers Sarah a beverage, which Sarah accepts.
Then, when the digital clock in the room reads “SUNDOWN”, Sarah passes out again: a deep sleep falls upon her, and she remains comatose for a while, even within her own dream-vision.
Jehovah now enters the room and skims over the legal document. “I am going to let an addendum be made,” sez Jehovah God, “to this form, stating that your offspring shall suffer under the bondage of my nemesis Paul (remember the Apostle from Tarsus?) for a preordained spell. I’m contractually obliged to let him test you with his various theological contrivances. Don’t worry; your descendants will come out fine: it’s not hard to see thru his tactics. But I can’t truly perfect the world without giving my accuser a chance to break the masterpiece. Thus his religion shall plague the earth for a number of years.”
“Years!? How many exactly?”
“Well, to be honest...” Jehovah takes a breath, “roughly two, maybe three thousand years or more, depending on how conclusive the results are. Sorry, I can’t help it — the Pantheon has voted, and I must give them what they decree. It turns out that this Apostle is a persuasive trickster.”
“That’s OK,” sez Sarah. “I respect that.”
“Alright,” continues Jehovah, within the office room of the dream-vision, “So, by signing this, you will agree to be subject to the…”
“I understand,” sez Sarah, “now, please, let’s just get this over with.”
So Jehovah, in Sarah’s dream, nods gravely and adds his signature to the document. His name appears in blood, outlined in flickering flames.
On the morrow, Sarah wakes from her nightmare and steps outside of her ranch house in Mamre. See sees Jehovah approaching from the distance, over the hillside. When in earshot, he shouts:
“Well, we did it. All this land will soon be yours. From the dotted meridian line, to the wall of Egypt; all the way to the border formed by the river Euphrates.”
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