Dear diary,
Pretty soon after that last event occurred, the sky begins to make a noise like heavy traffic on a six-lane highway with many airplanes passing overhead; and there appears before us the likeness of a glowing green Otter, except instead of creeping on all fours, it stands on two legs like a man. (I myself was sleeping by the Cheddar River when this happened.)
“I am from the snowball Pluto, also known as A Much Better World,” sez the Otter. “I have come here to call all the people who identify either as Jews or as Gentiles. My aim is to gather them together before me, so that I may take them away and then drop them off at our Playground of Ice, where they can happily argue forever.”
“Excuse me,” I address this glowing green Space-Otter, “but why do you say ‘the people who identify as... etc.’ — Why not just say ‘Jews and Gentiles’?”
“Because,” sez the Otter, “I don’t really care about whether people truly ARE this or that (honestly, I don’t even know how such a thing would matter, one way or another); I just want whoever self-identifies with these terms to come with me and inherit the Cool Life on Ice Playground.”
“Ah, I see,” I say. “Thanks for answering.”
“I always answer all my mail,” sez the Otter.
Now it had come to pass that thirteen secretaries (all chimps, incidentally) began to follow Lucy and me between the point when the previous chapter ended and the present chapter began; therefore these secretaries collectively type up an all-points bulletin and send it to the four corners of Eden. And it reads:
“ATTN: All who identify as Jews or Gentiles, please report to Cheddar River. There is a Green Otter who wishes to relocate you. Don’t worry, his credentials all check out; plus he is bonded and insured.”
So all the folks who consider themselves part of this or that group show up on the tarmac holding their luggage, and the Green Otter greets them:
“Good evening, Jews and Gentiles. I will be your messiah for this evening, the king of kings. Here, now I’ll turn around and crouch over: I want you all to climb onto my back, and I will fly to the Supercool Playground that I promised you. Remember the prophecies? Oh, you will love this place, I guarantee it — it is made of pure ice!”
So the Jews and the Gentiles all enjoy being raptured by the same divine messenger. And when they arrive at the Promised Playground, they are satisfied beyond measure. “God really over-delivered on his covenant, this time,” they say; and they immediately begin to discuss with each other whether they all truly share the same deity or not. In no time, this escalates into an argument, which proves euphoric.
§
Back on Eden, I turn to Lucy and remark: “Well, it looks like those folks got all their dreams to come true. I wonder what you and I should do now — it’s still early in the day.”
“Let’s just keep walking,” Lucy replies.
Now it begins to rain, so we open our umbrellas.
“Shall we stop at the upcoming intersection and take the exit ramp to find a cafe and order a couple of hot cocoas?” I ask.
“Yes, I’d like that,” Lucy sez.
So we go and find a café and sit at the counter and order two hot whiskeys instead. (Lucy wisely suggested this revision to my original idea.) “...And keep ’em comin’ — it’s rainin’ cats and dogs out there,” Lucy sez to our server, whose name is Brad, as he takes our order.
“I can see that,” sez Brad.
We sit contentedly on our cushy stools at the cafe’s counter, silently sipping our drinks. Brad stands before us mutely looking out the window at the rainfall.
“It used to be that only a mist would rise from the soil, slowly and constantly, to water the earth and befog the atmosphere,” Brad remarks as if sleep-talking, while still staring fixedly at the landscape; “but now it just rains all the time.”
At this point, accompanied by booming thunder, brilliant jags of lightning strike the bushes in the foreground and ignite them in flames, which the pouring rain cannot quench.
“Does this place have a back exit?” I ask Brad, after finishing my bottomless hot whiskey. (Lucy finished her own about a minute ago, so she’s just humming while she waits.)
“Yes,” sez Brad, “do you see those French sliding doors? They will automatically open if you stand in front of their sensor.”
So Lucy and I leave the café. Oddly, although it was raining when we entered at the front of the building, the sky is merely overcast as we leave out the back — the raging storm has either stopped or is only occurring immediately southeast of us.
“I hope they’re eventually able to put out the fires in those bushes at the front of the café,” I say as we walk.
“When you say ‘they’, do you mean the nonexistent fairies?” asks Lucy. “For it seems that Brad was the only living one there.”
“By ‘they’, I always mean the secret, global government,” I reply; and we both lock eyes and try not to laugh. After a great while, we succeed: neither one of us even blinks.
Now our attention is caught by the sound of a human voice saying “Uh, uh, uh.”
I glance to Lucy and she sez: “Let’s walk toward that big rock over yonder — the sound seems to be coming from that direction.”
So we change our path of travel and follow the noise… Very soon we happen upon the bodies of two angels coupling.
“Oh, sorry,” I say. “We just heard a sound and thought that someone might be in distress.”
“Please don’t stone me,” sez the angel on top; “I know that it’s forbidden to love one’s enemies after slaying them, but we really hit it off when we first clashed, earlier this afternoon, and you only live once.”
“To each his own,” chuckles Lucy; “carry on.”
So we continue back on our northwest path and enjoy the look of many ponds and strange paradisal animals.
“Look at that tall bird eating a frog,” I point to our right.
“Ew,” sez Lucy. “How can they do that?”
“I suppose, for them, slimy creatures taste delicious.”
“Hm, yeah, I guess, now that I think of it, even humans have been known to serve frogs as cuisine — at least bullfrogs and leopard frogs…”
“And, remember, there was a kiosk offering samples of deep fried frog legs at the fair last year.”
The bird finally manages to get the creature down its throat; then it shits and flies off.
“Hey, look,” Lucy sez: “a Christmas tree!”
Sure enough, in the place where the tall bird had just stood, instantaneously an evergreen conifer arises from between the squares of the sidewalk.
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