Dear diary,
Now, after the above festivities, Sarah & Hagar are reclining in long chairs outside of their abode in Mamre. You’ll recall that Mamre is situated almost directly upon the Meridian Line, so that, when you sit facing away from the house’s grand foyer (as Sarah & Hagar are doing right now), you can turn to your right and behold all the land that belongs to Abram; while, to your left, as far as your eye can see, is the land that belongs to Lot. (You’ll also recall that Lot owns the Railroad Monopoly, Union Planetary Tunnel-Runner.)
So, like I said, Sarah & Hagar are luxuriating in chaises longues outside their abode. When they gaze over one shoulder, everything appears nondescript: no strange beings are slouching toward them from the horizon. BUT when they look in the opposite direction, lo: there appears a humanoid form hulking up from the far countryside. As it draws nearer, the gait and physique seem more and more male-ish. It proves to be a tall, handsome, strong, confident businessman, approximately in his mid 40s, perhaps early 50s. And two associates are accompanying him, close-walking on either side: so it turns out that there is actually a total of three businesspeople; and the one in the middle, because of his height and the way that he carries himself, seems to be their Chief Executive. When this trinity comes within a stone’s throw of the damsels, Sarah & Hagar remark at once:
“O my God, it’s Jehovah!”
“I can’t believe it took us so long to recognize him,” sez Sarah; “it must be because the sun is so low in the sky, at the moment: it’s almost directly at his back, so he’s practically silhouetted.”
“Greetings, Hagar & Sarah-El,” shouts Jehovah. “Beautiful day, is it not? Allow me to introduce my compatriots, Beelzebub and Moloch.”
“Greetings, welcome!” Sarah sez. “Moloch, Beelzebub, my name is Sarah-El, and this is my playmate Hagar-El. We’re just lazing about and lolling, enjoying the whatness.”
“We’ve heard so much about you,” sez Beelzebub; and Moloch nods earnestly with his hand held over his heart.
“Pleased to meet you,” sez Hagar. “Are you all on some sort of business trip?”
“Oh no,” sez Jehovah, “never business. Strictly pleasure, for us.”
“Well then you came to the right place,” sez Hagar. “Would you boys care for some spiced white rum? We were just about to read some poetry.”
“Thank you, yes!” cries Moloch.
So they all recline beneath the shade of the palm tree, in front of the damsels’ abode in Mamre.
After a spell, they snack on breadsticks with oil. And they also enjoy a certain type of rice — I forgot what it’s called, but it is delicious.
Then, later in the afternoon, some of the herdwomen who are letting their goats graze in Abram’s side of the country approach the picnickers and ask if they might offer them a gift. So they take butter, and milk, and the goat which they have dressed, and they set it before the group; and they join them under the palm tree, and they all dine.
Now, during a lull in the conversation, Jehovah rises to his feet and remarks: “Is everyone here aware that I have promised this festival’s hostesses, Hagar and Sarah-El, a second seed to match our first?” Then, turning toward Sarah, “Where is Ishmael, by the way?”
Sarah answers: “He’s in the house, writing his novel.”
And Jehovah sez, “I’m not kidding: I will make an exact replica of the lad; then cause him to be born from the selfsame womb, so that the resultant soul is identical to its original. And tho they will age at similar rates, I will offset their start-dates. This present prophecy is an experiment that I’m conducting, to see how things will turn out. In sum, Hagar & Sarah shall bear yet another child together.”
Now Ishmael, the teenage firstborn of Sarah & Hagar, while sitting at the writer’s desk in the vestibule, overhears Jehovah’s speech thru the drapes of the entryway. Ishmael is not interested in his parents’ get-together, for he is trying to concentrate on the line of text he’s composing; but when these words from Jehovah reach his ear, he laughs within his own mind, and slightly smiles, and thinks to himself: “Is that businessman serious? Shall I truly be born again as my own worst enemy?”
At that instant, Jehovah reddens and begins to quake, as tho poised to fight. He resembles a volcano that is on the verge of erupting. Then he shouts:
“Why did Ishmael just laugh at me? Does he doubt that I am able to produce a seed who is as subtle as he himself? Might some things be impossible even for God? No, I swear on my own firstborn that I will activate this plan. We SHALL re-conceive!”
Then, Ishmael, hearing this outburst from inside the house at his writer’s desk, cranes his neck toward the window & offers a denial, saying: “This is the ‘initial draft’ speaking — sorry, sir, but I did not laugh out loud.”
And Jehovah declares: “Yet I felt it: You did SO!”
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