Robert Heinlein - JOB - A Comedy of Justice

'Your Majesty, You have read my memoir; You know what I want.'

'Eh? Name it.'

'You know. My beloved. Margrethe Svensdatter Gunderson.'

He looked surprised. 'Didn't I send you a memo about that? She's not in Hell.'

I felt like a patient who has kept his chin up right up to the minute the biopsy comes back... and then can't accept the bad news. 'Are You sure?'

'Of course I am. Who do you think is in charge around here?'

(Prince of Liars, Prince of Lies!) 'How can You be sure? The way I hear it, nobody keeps track. A person could be in Hell for years and You would never know, one way or the other.'

'If that's the way you heard it, you heard wrong. Look, if you accept My offer, you'll be able to afford the best agents in history, from Sherlock Holmes to J. Edgar Hoover, to search all over Hell for you. But you'd be wasting your money; she is not in My jurisdiction. I'm telling you officially.'

I hesitated. Hell is a big place; I could search it* by myself throughout eternity and I might not find Marga. But plenty of money (how well I knew it!) made hard things easy and impossible things merely difficult.

However - Some of the things I had done as executive deputy of C.U.D. may have been a touch shoddy (meeting a budget isn't easy), but as an ordained minister I had never hired out to the Foe. Our Ancient Adversary. How can a minister of Christ be chaplain to Satan? Marga darling, I can't.

`No.´

'I can't hear you. Let Me sweeten the deal. Accept and I assign My prize female agent Sister Mary Patricia to you permanently. She'll be your slave - with the minor reservation that you must not sell her. However, you can rent her out, if you wish. How say you now.

'No.'

'Oh, come, come! You ask for one female; I offer you a better one. You can't pretend not to be satisfied with Pat; you've been shacked up with her for weeks. Shall I play back some of the sighs and moans?'

'You unspeakable cad!'

'Tut, tut, don't be rude to Me in My own house. You know and I know and we all know that there isn't any great difference between one female and another - save possibly in their cooking. I'm offering you one slightly, better in place of the one you mislaid. A year from now you'll thank Me. Two years from now you'll wonder why you ever fussed. Better accept, Saint Alexander; it is the best offer you can hope for, because, I tell you solemnly, that Danish zombie you ask for is not in Hell. Well?'

`No.´

Satan drummed on the arm of his throne and looked vexed. 'That's your last word?'

'Yes.'

`Suppose I offered you the chaplain job with your ice maiden thrown in?'

'You said she wasn't in Hell!'

'I did not say that I did not know where she is.'

'You can get her?'

'Answer My question. Will you accept service as My chaplain if the contract includes returning her to you?'

(Marga, Marga!) 'No.'

Satan said briskly, 'Sergeant General, dismiss the guard. You come with me.'

'Leftanright!... Hace! For´d!... Harp!'

Satan got down from His throne, went around behind it without further word to me. I had to hurry to catch up with His giant strides. Back of the throne was a long dark tunnel; I broke into a run when it seemed that He was getting away from me. His silhouette shrank rapidly against a dim light at the far end of the tunnel.

Then I almost stepped on His heels. He had not been receding as fast as I had thought; He had been changing in size. Or I had been. He and I were now much the same height. I skidded to a halt close behind Him as He reached doorway at the end of the tunnel. It was barely lighted by a red glow.

Satan touched something at the door; a white fan light came on above the door. He opened it and turned toward me. 'Come in, Alec.'

My heart skipped and I gasped for breath. Jerry! Jerry Farnsworth!'

For in much wisdom is much grief; and he that

increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.

Ecclesiastes 1:18

And Job spake, and said, Let the day

perish wherein I was born, and the night

in which it was said, There is a man

child conceived.

Job 3:2-3

MY EYES dimmed, my head started to spin, my knees went rubbery. Jerry said sharply, 'Hey, none of that!' - grabbed me around the waist, dragged me inside, slammed the door.

He kept me from falling, then shook me and slapped my face. I shook my head and caught my breath. I heard Katie's voice: 'Let's get him in where he can lie down.'

My eyes focused. 'I'm okay. I was just taken all over queer for a second.' I looked around. We were in the foyer of the Farnsworth house.

'You went into syncope, that's What you did. Not surprising, you had a shock. Come into the family room.'

'All right. Hi, Katie. Gosh, it's good to see you.'

"You, too, dear.' She came closer, put her arm around me, and kissed me A learned again that, while Marga was my be-all, Katie was my kind of woman, too. And Pat. Marga, I wish you could have met Pat. (Marga!)

The family room seemed bare - unfinished furniture, no windows, no fireplace. Jerry said, `Katie, give us Remington number two', will you, please? I'm going to punch drinks.'

'Yes, dear.'

While they were busy, Sybil came tearing in, threw her arms around me (almost knocking me off my feet; the child is solid) and kissed me, a quick buss unlike Katie's benison. 'Mr Graham! You were terrific! I watched all of it. With Sister Pat. She thinks you're terrific, too.'

The left wall changed into a picture window looking out at mountains; the opposite wall now had a field-stone fireplace with a brisk fire that looked the same as the last time I saw it. The ceiling now was low; furniture and floor and fixtures were all as I recalled. 'Remington number two.' Katie turned away from the controls. 'Sybil, let him be, dear. Alec, off your feet. Rest.'

'All right.' I sat down. 'Uh... is this Texas? Or is it Hell?'

'Matter of opinion,' Jerry said.

'Is there a difference?' asked Sybil.

'Hard to tell,' said Katie. 'Don't worry about it now, Alec. I watched you, too, and I agree with the girls. I was proud of 'you.'

'He's a tough case,' Jerry put in. 'I didn't get a mite of change off him. Alec, you stubborn squarehead, I lost three bets on you.' Drinks appeared at our places. Jerry raised his glass. 'So here's to you.'

'To Alec!'

'Right!'

'Here's to me,' I agreed and took a big slug of Jack Daniel's. 'Jerry? You're not really -'

He grinned at me. The tailored ranch clothes faded; the western boots gave way to cloven hooves, horns stuck up through His hair, His skin glowed ruddy red and oily over heavy muscles; in His lap a preposterously huge phallus thrust rampantly skyward.

Katie said gently, 'I think You've convinced him, dear, and it's not one of Your prettier guises.'

Quickly the conventional Devil-faded and the equally convenntional Texas millionaire returned. 'That's better,' said Sybil. 'Daddy, why do You use that corny one?'

'It's an emphatic symbol. But what I'm wearing now is appropriate here. And you should be in Texas clothes, too.'

'Must I? I think Patty has Mr Graham used to skin by now.'

'Her skin, not your skin. Do it before I fry you for lunch.'

'Daddy, You're a fraud.' Sybil grew blue jeans and a halter without moving out of her chair. 'And I'm tired of being a teenager and see no reason to continue the charade. Saint Alec knows he was hoaxed.'

'Sybil, you talk too much.'

Dear One, she may be right,' Katie put in quietly.

Jerry shook His head. I sighed and said what I had to say. 'Yes, Jerry, I know I've been hoaxed. By those who I thought were my friends. And Marga's friends, too. You have been behind it all? Then who am I? Job?'

'Yes and no.'

`What does that mean... Your Majesty?'