Dear diary,
Around this time, a traveling salesman came into the world. I wanna say “He was sent by the gods, and he also WAS the gods,” kinda like how John the Gospelist sez “the Word was with God, and the Word was God”; but the truth is that my salesman was not ALL the gods; he was only some of the gods. Mostly Hermes and Prometheus, with a dash of Venus.
So this salesman travels into the city where we are living, and he goes from door to door, vending people his version of the Gospel. The moment an unsuspecting resident opens their door, he dives right into his sales pitch; and it’s a very hard sell. Let’s say that our salesman shows up at the house of our friend Crispus. This is how it would go:
“Hi there! My name’s TershyRad — that’s all one word, with no space between the why and the are; but please think of it as my first and last name — anyway, I’ve got my own Gospel here which I’d like you to pay me to hear about. You may have heard of the Gospel of Paul; and the Gospel of Apollos; also the Gospel of Cephas; and, of course, the Gospel of Jesus. Well this here Gospel According to Tertius Radnitsky — that’s the long form of TershyRad, sorta like how we call Count Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy by the shortened form...”
“I already know the Count’s nickname,” interrupts Crispus. “Cut to the chase.”
“Alright, alright,” sez the traveling salesman TershyRad; “put a little ice on that swollen red temper of yours. All I was trying to say is that I got this new Gospel that I’d like you to exchange your fortune for. Look at this thing — it’s a Pearl of Great Price!”
There is a long pause while Crispus stares incredulously. Then he sez: “What you’re holding there is just a regular vacuum.”
Now elbowing open the door that Crispus is attempting to close, TershyRad sez: “Hey, don’t shut me out! — whatever happened to ‘Knock, and the plexiglass panels shall slide aside of their own accord’? C’mon, let me into your house so that I can show you how intensely this new Gospel of mine does suck.”
Crispus rolls his eyes and exhales, “Fine, but only for the sake of this skit.”
So TershyRad smilingly begins his presentation, “I’m just gonna plug my Gospel into this here electrical outlet, so that I can demonstrate for you its miraculous powers...”
“Before you waste too much energy trying to make a sale,” Crispus interjects, “I just want you to know that I’m flat broke anyway — I don’t have any money — so you’re only baptising into the wind.”
TershyRad raises his index finger and smirks: “Ah, you misconstrue my shrewdness. Did you not think that I would immediately lock eyes and fall in love with that pile of caesar coins that you have heaped in the corner of your king-sized fishbowl over there?”
Crispus blushes scarlet. (He would make a bad politician, since he has the capacity to feel shame.)
“In fact,” sez TershyRad, now pacing toward the treasure, “I should walk over here and snatch up a handful of these sparkling caesars, just as a penalty fee, to recompense myself for the damages that your lie inflicted upon my hope for humanity.” He reaches over the side of the fishbowl and wets his sleeve while grabbing one coin from the top of the pile. Then, while dropping this coin into his toga’s marsupium, “But I won’t,” he sez.
Crispus now takes a seat in the nearest chair. He realizes that this is one of those pains that only increases the more that one fights it — there’s nothing to do but wait for the ordeal to end.
“Now, where should we start?” sez the salesman TershyRad, returning to his vacuum. “I’ve got my Gospel plugged in and charged up — what would you like to see it grant salvation to?”
“What do you mean?” sez Crispus, frowning.
“I mean: choose an object in the room that you’d like to see me save, by way of this Gospel,” TershyRad gives the handle of the vacuum a little shake. “It’ll save anything that exists.”
“Um…” Crispus looks around the room dispassionately, “how about that houseplant there,” he points.
“What houseplant — this one?” TershyRad kicks the briefcase that is sitting next to the houseplant. Crispus begins to shake his head, but, before he can correct the salesman, TershyRad declares, “OK: behold!” He flips the appliance’s power-switch to “ON” and its motor roars to life…
As soon as the intake port makes contact with its fine black leather, the briefcase vanishes. — Presumably the thing gets sucked into the appliance’s belly, but this happens so fast that it’s hard to tell. All we see now is the houseplant and a vacant space next to it, which was, an instant ago, occupied by the briefcase.
“Voila!” the salesman TershyRad gives a short pat to the vacuum’s rod, after switching off its motor; “the case is saved.”
Crispus makes a sour expression: “I indicated the houseplant, not the briefcase!! — And you call that saving? My poor case is now abolished!”
“It was granted salvation,” TershyRad argues with good cheer; “it’s safe and sound now, thanks to my Gospel. Say it with me: Hallelujah!”
“Wait, wait: if you’re correct — that is, if the briefcase has truly been saved — then we should be able to access it again.” Crispus is desperate. “That case was filled with priceless radioactive gems, which is why it emitted an amber glow when opened. Can I please get it back now?”
“My friend, one should not crucify Christ all over again, after he’s already been sacrificed — would you really want to call him back up out of Hell for a twofold perishing, so that he can go back down to Hell for a duplicate visit and then re-shoot up into Heaven, and ultimately rapture back earthward for a Third or Fourth Coming? That’s absurd! Only a Second Coming is sane, believable and regular. What you’re requesting would be like if God were literally to steal back his own Christmas gift that he gave to mankind. No, one cannot lose one’s salvation: for God’s grace is eternal; and, like I said: your case has been saved (just like the Law of Moses: it has not been abolished by the exploit of Christ but rather fortified),” TershyRad explains. “Now, what items from your abode would you like to see saved next?” He looks around the room, aiming the intake port at various objects within the décor, itching to flip the power-switch.
“No, no more of this!” Crispus rises to his feet; “I’ve had enough. Please leave.”
“How about this large-screen television?” TershyRad sez, tapping the intake port against the wall-mounted device — he uses a bit too much force and cracks the screen. “Whoops,” he sez; “see: you should’ve let me use my Gospel on this device; then its plasma display would not have been damaged. Look at that—” he presses against the screen again and again, causing the cracks to enlarge.
“Stop!” cries Crispus, now physically grabbing the salesman’s arm to restrain him.
TershyRad jabs Crispus in the mouth with his left fist. Crispus falls to the floor. The salesman TershyRad now kicks him. Crispus groans and rolls over, reaching beneath the sofa and grabbing a tire iron.
“Wait,” sez TershyRad, holding out his hands, “stop, sir. I did not realize that you had a tire iron under your sofa. Why do you keep that there?”
“Precisely for situations like this,” sneers Crispus.
TershyRad cocks his head, “This type of situation happens to you a lot?”
“No,” replies Crispus, “but I’m generally paranoid, so I always assume that it will.”
While keeping an eye on his foe, TershyRad darts quick glances around the room. “You wouldn’t happen to have any other weapons hidden in here, would you?”
Pointing at the vacuum, Crispus quips: “Why don’t you see if your Gospel can save itself!” Then he lifts his arm and slams the tire iron down on the appliance, causing its casing to break open. Immediately, brilliant radioactive gems begin to spray from the punctured vacuum like a fountain.
TershyRad’s eyes widen. At first, he is hypnotized by the sight of this glowing geyser; but soon he comes to his senses and attempts to position himself beneath this cascade of gems that continues spewing from the newly ruptured appliance, while attempting to catch them by holding open his toga’s marsupium.
Crispus tosses the tire iron at the salesman, but TershyRad dodges in slow-motion at just the right moment, so the projectile flies straight past him and lodges into a lamp. Shards of glass explode like a firework from the damaged light fixture, and bolts of lighting flash forth into the immediate atmosphere, setting the drapery on fire. Crispus growls in disappointment at his failed attempt to rid himself of this salesman; then he leaps forth and wraps his arms around Tershyrad’s ankles and bites with his mouth the leg that is closest.
“Ow!” TershyRad doubles over in pain, thus spilling out onto the carpet most of the gems that he captured. “I wish that I had worn my steel shin-guards,” he exclaims; then he begins repeatedly jutting his leg that Crispus is biting, in an attempt to shake him off. Eventually Crispus relinquishes his grip and is sent flying across the room by an extra-hard thrust.
The airborne body of Crispus whams against the far wall, causing the enormous painting that was hanging there to tilt. This painting, by the way, depicts a landscape of rolling green hills with flocks of goats grazing.
[To be continued...]
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