Dear diary,
So the threesome, now a foursome with the addition of Ishmael, say their goodbyes to the picnickers at Mamre. They then turn and look toward Gomorrah, and begin their journey to the Cities of the Plain.
After trekking for several parasangs, once the house in Mamre has vanished on the horizon behind them, Ishmael grabs Jehovah’s arm and pulls him aside. Observing this, Beelzebub & Moloch halt and appear curious; so Ishmael sez:
“You two continue walking for a stretch without us. There are some details that I’d like to hash out with our partner here, one-on-one. We’ll catch up with you in a moment.”
Moloch smiles, Beelzebub nods, and they leave. “Au revoir!” they shout from afar.
As soon as their travelmates are a safe distance away, Ishmael draws close to his confederate and sez:
“Sir Jehovah, what is your REAL intention, on this trip? The reason I ask is this: You know that I’ve been working on a novel — I know that you know this, or at least I presume that you do; for I suspect that you’ve been rummaging thru my mind, as you’ve been known to do with my mother Sarah — and it happens that the place in my story that I reached, when I was writing today, is the scene where you & your two friends yonder, Beelzebub & Moloch, find yourselves walking among the Cities of the Plain, delighted with the enjoyments of Gomorrah; which to the suburbanites from Abram’s countryside appear utterly unappealing. Now because I myself am from Abram’s land, I can only guess at the blisses offered by Lot’s side of the meridian, thus I charged your own character in the tale with the values that we Abramites own, and therefore — I’m almost ashamed to admit this — I was planning on having your character ultimately DESTROY Reptile Paradise.”
Jehovah gasps: “Egad, son! I would NEVER annihilate such a flashy venue. I am a creator and a perfector, often even a scientific experimenter, but not a destroyer! Only by mistake would I ever destroy any handiwork of mine; yet even then, I’d try everything in my power to redeem and amend the person, place, or thing. As it is written:
“The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,
“The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into a new tongue.
“That’s from Song of Myself (part 21) by Walt Whitman,” Jehovah continues. “Walt is one of the roughs who lives in the ‘American’ sector of the cities where we’re now headed.”
“OK,” sez Ishmael; “but what I’m asking is this. Since my work is purely fictional, would it offend you if I stuck to my original aim? I mean, do you mind if, in my fancy’s re-imagining of this event, I depict your character as flooding the entire countryside with lava, or something of that nature? — something totally evil?”
“Look,” sez Jehovah, “the right place to fight is in the mind: that’s what I’ve been at pains to convey thru all my creations. Keep all violence wholly sublimated; and never cease the mental fight. I’m sorta paraphrasing my other friend William Blake here — he also lives in the Cities of the Plain, in the ‘Albion’ zone. In short, I say: YES, do it! Write a wild work, and take me for your anti-hero. I think I was telling your mother about my favorite epic earlier, Moby-Dick by Herman Melville — well, his Captain Ahab is a hero-villain too, whom I absolutely idolize. Tho he’s a textual creation, I love him more than many flesh-and-blood people! For he’s not nothing — far from it: he’s a manifestation of the mind of Melville. That’s a portion of the Pantheon, right there. So, without doubt, follow your armageddon-impulse, when developing your novel — I like the idea. Just keep in mind another thing my friend William Blake always sez — in his ‘Proverbs of Hell’, he writes: Every thing possible to be believ’d is an image of truth. Consider the implications of this, when composing any poetic work. Also recall that such tales constitute the source from which nations choose their forms of worship.”
“Alright,” sez Ishmael, “so let me get this straight. You don’t have a problem with murdering the holiest saints right along with the wicked?”
“Well the antidote to your so-called wickedness is forgiveness, as we’ve known for eons; and, again I repeat, every thing that lives is holy,” sez the God to his inquisitor. “Plus we’re still talking about a character in a story, right? I mean, your question regards a textual composition?”
“Yes,” sez Ishmael, “that’s correct.”
“Then I have no objection.”
“Yet peradventure I write the thing so that there are only fifty holy saints within Gomorrah. Should I have you destroy the place, then? Or should your character rather spare the whole land (which is filled with wicked sinners) and refrain from smashing the countryside to smithereens, on account of those fifty saints?”
“All this saint-talk is killing me,” laughs Jehovah. “Again, I don’t see the division you’re trying to make, between the ‘holy’ and ‘sinners’ — all is both or neither, else your terms are nonsensical — but you understand my stance. Yeah, I already told you: write whatever you like in your book!”
“But that seems wrong for your character,” sez Ishmael; “because I’m trying to present you as this Valorous Warrior, and also as a Celestial Prosecutor who assesses every matter JUSTLY. Tho to act like this, to slay the righteous with the wicked, and to allow all the saints & pious churchgoers & believers in my Apostle Paul’s savior whose name is Christ Jesus, I say, to torment and murder all these hardworking people who are essentially GOOD right along with the heathen who are EVIL — far from acting in this fashion, this should be something that your highness would not even allow himself to THINK. Shall not the Judge of all Worlds do only what is RIGHT!?”
& Jehovah answers: “Please feel free to embellish, in whatever way that you desire, any tale that you tell. I should bring you to visit the Dark Tower Library in Ur of Shinar — you could really learn a lot. I think you’ve been spending a little too much time in Mr. Abraham’s law firm. But if you insist on me committing to scripture my answer, officially, then I say: If I find in Gomorrah just fifty ‘holy saints’, or even that many in all the cities of the plain, then go ahead & have me spare all the place for their sakes. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
And Ishmael bows low and sez: “My apologies for being so pesky about this; it’s just that I know you’re the Master Author — there’s almost no text that means as much to me as the King James Bible — so I’ve dared to question your tactics, and to seek out your opinions on these matters of characterization. Now, therefore, let me venture just one more query — after this, I will stop bothering you, and we can rejoin Beelzebub and Moloch.”
“Sounds fine. Shoot.”
“Alright, now what if we subtract five from the fifty righteous in the cities of my narrative — what then? Only forty-five holy saints in Gomorrah. Or no: let’s say there’s thirty in Gomorrah, and the rest are in Sodom. What then — destroy the place or save it?”
“Fifteen saints in Sodom, and thirty in Gomorrah, you say?”
“That’s correct,” answers Ishmael.
“If I find there forty-five total saints, I gotta say: Send the countryside to blazes. You’re sorta making me hate these saintly figures, and I don’t even quite understand what they are! Therefore burn the globe down.”
“But the rest of the globe is righteous,” Ishmael argues: “it would be unjust to torch the whole planet for just a few evildoers.”
“Wait; the saints are ‘evildoers’? Now you’re confusing me.”
“I’m speaking in line with the way that you were reacting: since evil, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder, I was allowing your fantasy to impose its values upon me. I’m just trying to learn. So how about if there are only twelve apostles, total, in the cities of my novel? What say you to that?”
“Hmm, a full dozen?” Jehovah ponders. “Is one of them Paul?”
“If by ‘Paul’ you mean the saint from Tarsus, then yes: one is Paul.”
“Nuke it.”
“What! Seriously? Come on, tell the truth — and don’t be angry with me for asking yet again: What if there are only ten who are pure, but it’s that church of Paul in Egypt, and I translocate it to Gomorrah. So Paul is the preacher with a congregation of nine fair damozels. How about that?”
“Well if you make the congregation into damozels, especially fair ones, I’m definitely not gonna tell you to destroy it, even if you keep Paul in the pulpit. You know my weakness.”
“So they’re saved? OK, one last hypothetical—”
“You already said the last seventy-seven were your final question! End of interview!”
But Ishmael grasps Jehovah by his shoulders and looks directly into his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he sez. “Yet behold: I have taken upon myself the task of giving you a shakedown for info — and this is important. My apologies if it feels like a ruthless inquisition... in a certain sense, it is… but the pain is only imaginary, and you said just moments ago that the mental fight was not only permissible but imperative; so don’t be a hypocrite. Now I have one closing question for you. And I really mean it this time: this is my last stab at it. What if only ONE SINGLE DEVIL exists in my TV script, and it’s a remake of Paul’s Passion Play?”
“I would not destroy it for one poor devil’s sake.”
“OK but what if I add a Worldwide Church to battle him, and only a small percent of its priests are not child-molesters?”
Here Jehovah closes his eyes, raises his hands, and leaves off communing with his scribe. The twain do not converse for the remainder of the trip.
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