Dear diary,
We continue walking peacefully thru the landscape of Eden. We pass trees that look appealing because their leaves have eye-catching colors that cause the beholder’s mind to experience various splendors. We pluck and eat the fruit from each branch as we pass. Some of the trees produce more than one type of offering. One of the trees bears fifteen different wonders on its branches, and we enjoy them all. (I’m providing a condensed summary of our acts, so, in case it sounds to you like we’re indulging in a great binge, I should stress that in truth we’re proceeding very leisurely: all this taste-testing takes place over several generations.) Each style of fruit instills us with a separate, unique virtue; and these acquisitions never fade but remain permanent powers. We even inflict our offspring with these virtues.
Now, as we wander at a moderate pace, enjoying the Edenic luxuries, every so often, out of the bushes that grow sparsely along the roadside, angels of Jehovah leap out and attack us. But Lucy and I remain ready and alert, so we always defend ourselves by hand-chopping the angels in the neck, and this kills them instantly, due to a defect in their manufacture (one of the most important veins in the angelic body wraps around their vocal cords, like the serpent of a caduceus, and if it gets pinched for even an instant, the whole being loses its immortality). Incidentally, as opposed to the LORD’s angels, none of the angels of Lucifer ever ambush us this way, most likely because they only use violence as a last resort; and, even when physical combat seems necessary, they never strike first.
I want to emphasize, however, that we still love the angels of Jehovah. We do not blame them for attacking us on the road. They probably don’t know that we are just peaceful travelers. So we forgive them in advance and pray that they get reborn as herbivorous animals.
Also you may have heard that I got a job as a custodial engineer in a public school, and that I used to work as a janitor. This is true; although very quickly I found a better career as a magus, and my assistant Tara and I traveled all around the world performing for alms, and we got rich; and eventually we met the gardener La Man and his statue, who exist in the highest heaven. But currently I’m strolling with Lucy thru the original Eden — the one painted by da Vinci as the background of his Mona Lisa portrait.
“Are your glass slippers hurting you?” I ask my walking companion, noting a slightly less-than-blissful expression on her face.
“No, I’m just thinking about the fate of all these misguided angels of Jehovah,” Lucy replies. “It doesn’t seem right that they should all be endeavoring to merge with vacuity. Moreover, they seem to be genuinely passionate about this employment.”
“We’re on the same page,” I say. “Everything proper is suspect.”
Then we come to a small house that looks inviting, so we step inside. We say “Hello, is anybody home?” a few times, even tho we can see plainly that the single room comprising the house’s interior is entirely vacant. Of course, nobody answers. Looking around, we note that the decorations are warm and tasteful. I really like the statue that is next to the microwave...
Suddenly there is a great pounding on the front door:
“Open up!” yells a voice from outside.
“Who is it?” I shout, and Lucy holds my hand for comfort.
“Open up! The angels are going to kill me!” (Whoever is bellowing these lines continues to pound on the door so hard that I am afraid the entire frame shall burst apart.)
Then this same voice screams sickeningly, and an eerie silence follows.
Once it seems safe to do so, I open the front door. I must push rather hard, because a corpse is now heaped before it. We look down at the ground and behold the dead body riddled with stab-wounds. The angels got him.
I turn to Lucy and ask: “Where should we bury this stiff?”
“Out back,” she sez.
So I take the cadaver by its boots and drag it behind the house; then grab a shovel and commence digging.
“This earth is hard clay,” I complain.
When the grave is complete — which is to say, when it’s filled back in with the corpse and the dirt, leaving a mound on the earth — Lucy and I stop by a local diner and chain-smoke cigarettes for a while. What we have just undergone proves traumatic enough to stanch our customarily bubbly brook of chitchat. We simply sit here and stare at the clock, wondering at the depravity of our species.
“I hate time,” sez Lucy.
“So do I.” Tossing away my cigarette, I light a cigarillo; then I draw a second cigarillo from the front pocket of my white collared shirt, light it on the embers of the first, and offer it to my partner — Lucy takes it and puffs it after likewise tossing away her cigarette.
We then go to the zoo and free all the animals.
Then we walk thru Eden for a few more days until we arrive at a Law Firm. We enter and make small talk with the paralegals, who eventually introduce us to their superiors. This results in us befriending all these lawyers and their underlings. Having gained their trust, we now convert them to a form of religion that requires them to transform their Law Firm into a vacation resort that spans the entire distance from Zealand to New Zealand, where wealthy entrepreneurs can go to win at bingo.
§
The last deed that I do on this day (I alone am responsible for this, that’s why I do not write “we” on this occasion) is that I invent a new type of mammal, which everyone finds disturbingly cute; but mercy leads me to neglect crafting a companion for this creature to mate with, and mercy also moves me to deny this being the ability to reproduce itself asexually; so the thing lives alone and dies alone, after about fifteen minutes of being half-ignored by the local riffraff.
So we throw a party. It’s the only thing that is able to lift our mood. We invite all the stuffed animals and all the real animals. Then my mom shows up and starts voicing passive-aggressive complaints; so we tiptoe away.
“That party was fun until your mom showed up,” sez Lucy.
“I know,” I say.
§
Finally we come to a village of naked people. They welcome us, even tho we remain stylishly clothed. We strike up a conversation, and they talk about what stocks are up and what stocks are down. They give us insider info, and we scribble reminders on our pocket-notepads about what we should invest in, as soon as we get close enough to a tower that offers wireless internet connectivity.
These naked villagers then show us their new car — it is candy-apple red and very shiny. (The entire village shares this single vehicle.)
“Would you like some sustenance?” they ask. “Sure,” we say. Then they distribute cobs of corn to all, and we dine. “This is wonderful,” I say; “it’s like no corn I’ve ever tasted — so naturally sweet and juicy!” And Lucy nods in agreement: she is speechless with admiration for its quality.
“We use fish for fertilizer,” the villagers explain.
“Ah,” I say, jotting this tip down upon my detective’s notepad.
After feasting, we all sit in a circle before the campfire and pass a tobacco pipe around. When this pipe reaches me, I take a few puffs; then I work up the courage to ask a question that’s been on my mind since we arrived:
“Why do you people decline to wear any clothing?”
And one of the elders answers me, question for question: “Why do you yourself insist upon sporting that fine Italian suit with the jet-black cape that never stops flapping? You even sleep in this attire!” Then he shows me photographs, proving this. “Now who’s crazy!?” (Everyone laughs.)
I answer: “Fair point — I can’t give a decent excuse; I guess my tendency to remain always dressed to the nines is just a bad habit, which is impossible to break, even if you have the Most High God on your side providing the violent winds that keep your cape a-flutter.”
The elder sits for a long time in silence, contemplating what I said. Ultimately he replies: “Hm. Well, at least you’re honest.”
We both smile and laugh.
Now Lucy stands up and sez: “Bryan and I should walk away from you now. We have miles to go before we sleep. Plus we need to feed the rhinoceroses.”
The elder is taken aback by this abrupt announcement: “But we only just met!”
“That’s how it is with nomadic adventurers,” I interject, standing and draping my arm around my travelmate; “we always vanish at the most maddening moment, right when you begin to enjoy our company. But we have no choice in this matter: it’s not our fault that we were born with the responsibility of feeding all the distinguished beasts of this world.”
“But what can you offer any rhinoceros that it could not find on its own?” the elder is incredulous.
“Oh, rhinos love leaves. So that’s what we feed them,” I reply. “Rare leaves of a very special type.”
The elder frowns and stares at the fire. All the other villagers wait in silence to see what their representative will say next. But Lucy and I walk away before this parting scene becomes mawkish.
We then catch a flight to London and find work as a photography duo that deals exclusively with fashion models. We learned a lot from our time that we spent with the naked villagers; so now our layouts look both eye-catching and mouth-watering.
We end up making enough money to buy two tickets back to paradise; so we catch a return flight to Eden and continue our stroll.
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