The Triple Goddess

by Ashly Graham

  Bald and clean-shaven, and reeking of whiskey, Old Spice, and Johnson’s Baby Powder, the naturists packed a few essentials and quit their cabins, on the way out tossing a firebrand in the door, walked into town, shopped for designer clothes, and bought toothbrushes. They moved into motels, ordered in extra-large pizzas, turned up the air-conditioning, and tossed their garbage and recyclable materials out of the window. They made down-payments on SUVs and left the engines idling overnight on the street, spent their days picketing chemical and nuclear waste sites and landfills to protest how under-utilized they were, and went on marches calling for greater efforts to use up Earth’s remaining resources before they went to waste.

  Disdaining sun-block, groups of them basked on globally overheated beaches, where in the evenings they barbecued genetically modified meat. The stay-at-homes held bonfire parties in the wilderness, while those with—now only metaphorically—itchy feet signed up for panda-hunting trips in China.

  In a radical doctrinal shift, for religious practices had been forbidden since formation of the Central State, in extremis a proclamation was issued that citizens were now free to believe in the theoretical existence of a superpower other than that of Central.

  That such a determination could be made, permitting a faith-based allegiance, resulted from a Central-sanctioned dispensation granted by a once-lowly individual called J. Arthur Salamander 9999V, whose title was now Chief of Religion and Other Entertainments.

  J. Arthur had been a professional clown, until he was summoned to Central for the purpose of keeping 0001A, the most important man in the world, amused as his Fool.

  Like Ian Fleming’s M, 0001A had no name but 0001A. Although this fearsome and unmentionable character ate other Central officers…0001A was agnostic as to whether they were As, Bs, or Cs…for breakfast several at a time, cooked over easy, because Fool J. Arthur Salamander 9999V was so funny he had no reason to fear being served in place of 0001A’s Yoplait Very Vanilla non-fat yoghurt—his boss preferred Dannon’s Light ’n Fit French Vanilla, but his personal shopper told him that the corner store did not carry it any more, and he suspected that it had been discontinued—and Old Fashioned Quaker Oats porridge.

  Salamander had only to wink, and 0001A, whom nobody had ever seen crack even the most sardonic of smiles, would roll on the floor in fits of laughter.

  Arthur Salamander’s wit was accompanied by a native cunning. When one day 0001A, who was feeling genial and indulgent after consuming a brace of Bs who had offended him by not saying Of course, Sir, and opening their wallets quickly enough—Slick Oliphant 2010B and Lovell Grove 9832B—when he asked them each to spot him some cash until pay day, allowed 9999V to crave a boon of his master, Salamander made his request to be put in charge of State Worship.

  0001A, who had changed his mind about religion, while reading Mad magazine on the toilet that morning, and now regarded it as a harmless diversion that his Fool was well qualified to oversee, was tickled by the idea, and he agreed. Into the bargain he promoted his Fool from 9999V to 0002A, as his Deputy. 0001A had long been unhappy with his existing Number Two, Iago Desmondson, who he knew was scheming against him, and this was the perfect opportunity to have Desmondson turned into chipolatas.

  The first thing that Chief Salamander 0002A did, was to decree that churches, chapels, meeting-houses, temples, synagogues, and mosques could reopen, so long as those attending them were prepared 1) to accept Central-appointed priests, rabbis, muftis, mullahs, imams, and ayatollahs; 2) to render the Collection money unto Caesar; spill their guts to the inquisitors in the confessionals about anything and everything that might be demanded of them; and 3) to pray for 0001A in the Collects.

  The closet religionists agreed enthusiastically, and dusted off their Bibles, Torahs, and Qur’ans. They had many thorny personal issues to resolve in their consciences before the Second Big Bang occurred…for the Day of Judgement was, one presumed, scheduled for Saturday the fourteenth, following Friday 13th April’s Armageddon.

  Soon, long-empty places of worship and adoration were filled, according to each person’s Faith, denomination and sect, with happiness and clappiness, sermons, hymns, prayers, readings, and the moans of the penitent. Rosaries clicked, and porch stands were filled with old inspirational literature lugged up from crypts in cardboard boxes. Newly formed charities for nameless causes attracted millions. Holy men who for years had had nothing to do but cruise public conveniences returned to the altar.

  There was so much work to be done to earn Brownie points in the field of good works, in such a short time, that the elderly and infirm, if they so much as wobbled on the pavement, were caught by watchful Samaritans before they fell, and helped across the street, to the side opposite the one where the doctors’ offices were that they had been Zimmering and sticking and shuffling their way to.

  Repentant expressions, modelled upon those of the saints depicted in mediaeval art, were on every face, as the religionists did their best to convey their self-assurance that they had led the most productive, blameless, and philanthropic of existences; and that, in the restaurant at the Kingdom Come Hotel, the Maître d’ would soon be checking their reservations and fawning over them, while in the kitchen the pastry chef was preparing a Bombe Surprise, a “Just Dessert”, to conclude life’s gourmet meal.

  The religionists were prepared to meet their Maker, they told each other, or would be after the Absolution on the Sunday preceeding the Friday (a Monday would have been better) Armageddon, and were looking forward greatly to enjoying all the privileges of the Platinum Club of the Blessed on which they had accumulated so many bonus points.

  But in their hearts the religionists were less confident about the Hereafter, now that God had in His finite wisdom decided not to renew His Contract with Mankind. Was it possible that Heaven and Hell would not disintegrate along with everything else? One hoped not, because part of the fun of being Heaven-bound was the prospect of viewing one’s pew or mat partners in the other, downstairs, queue.

  In the event that things went wrong side up for oneself, churchgoers asked themselves, what might the Devil be like? Were there times when he was in what, for him, might be considered a “good” mood, and disposed to be more lenient than usual in assigning punishment? It was a pity that the Day of Judgement fell on a Saturday, because he might be resentful at having to work at the weekend.

  Might the Devil be pleased to receive a gift of Turkish Delight? How was he to be addressed when one was presented?

  The religionists were further perplexed about how Heaven could possibly be equipped to process so many entrants at once, and how one might be sure of being recognized at the Pearly Gates, and waved through the Green channel without having to wait for what would seem like the wrong sort of eternity. Such would be the crush, not unlike the pandaemonium that would reign below in the Other Place, that many of the good might be excluded, and the bad admitted, in error.

  So, unlikely as it was that in such a traditional place as Heaven there would be Fast-Trak channels, palm or retina scans, bar-code readers, or voice recognition systems to speed things up, one would be well advised to have some form of ID about one’s person, such as a driver’s licence or passport; or to arrange to get one’s National Insurance or Social Security number tattooed on one’s arm. Instead of cross-stitching hassock covers, the good women of the parishes might usefully turn to printing large-font bold-type name tags, which could be sent off for laminating and punching to hang on neck cords.

  A further concern was that with such a vast number of souls—surely there could not be more than a few hundred thousand, or a million, tops, and only about half of those might have some claim to be admitted—traipsing up to the Pearly Gates at the same time, the Recording Angel’s admission clerks and their supervisors would be overwhelmed. Many temps and part-time staff would doubtless have been taken on, to handle the extra workload, who would be insufficiently trained and experienced in distinguishing between sins, vices, foibles, and peccadil
loes, and felony and misdemeanour crimes.

  Was St Peter still, well, the question had to be asked, compos mentis enough not to get muddled over his own admission criteria, when briefing his underlings beforehand? In the event that someone held their hand up to ask a question, was he hard of hearing?

  Mistakes would arise. Were there computer stations at which one had to answer multiple-choice questions online about one’s life? One’s proficiency at the keyboard had never been that great.

  There were bound to be grey areas. In the event that one was not given the benefit of the doubt—there were surely two other individuals who were under greater suspicion than they, over that business of old Mrs Bentley’s missing cultured pearls, which were wasted on her since she never went out; and even if she had, there was nothing that pearls could do to improve her laidly looks—was there a Light Offender Scheme under which a person Down Under might be allowed a few creature comforts and removed from the worst of the heat?

  Another nagging question was how many vacancies there could be left in Heaven, given that life there was everlasting and so many had gone before. What if one got bumped by some frigging saint who waltzed up, ignoring the line, just as one was nearing the front of the queue; or St Peter put a Full sign on his desk, or took a break to relieve himself, or have a bite of lunch, and never came back, and some callow member of his staff sent one to cool one’s heels in Purgatory, or Limbo, for God knew, or perhaps He did not, how long, with instructions to reapply in a thousand years when the Annexe that He was toying with the idea of creating, when He had a spare moment, if He ever did, was built.

  Did one have a right of appeal to some tribunal or arbitration panel, should one’s application be rejected, before one was sent Down?

  In the event that one did get into Heaven, which was literally a leap of faith, was one allowed to bring a single piece of luggage, of the size that once had fit in the overhead compartment on an airplane or under the seat? Would one be searched, and if so were there any prohibited items? Was one allowed to bring one’s cat or dog or budgerigar? Were there rules on alcohol and smoking, now that they could no longer be injurious to one’s health? Were sexes and ethnicities separated and segregated? What about sex, the having of it?

  Did all clouds have the same view, or could one express a preference; and were they soft- or hard-sprung, and hypo-allergenic? Did one have to do one’s own laundry, or were the white robes disposable? How difficult was it to play the harp, and learn to fly, and were there instructors? What time was breakfast served, was cloud service an option, and what did ambrosia taste like?”

  All these bothersome details gave religionists not just pause for thought but migraines. They were accustomed to viewing things in soft focus, not zoomed-in and sharp, up close and personal, at first remove, and only on Sunday mornings. They were envious of the heathens who were so upbeat by comparison; but then they would be, wouldn’t they?, grumbled the devout, because this was their last chance to make whoopee and say to Hell with the consequences; while the Elect had to spend the time that remained brushing up their résumés, and rehearsing responses to the uncomfortable questions that they might be asked.

  As a short-cut to beatitude, and guarantee of being a shoo-in at the Pearly Gates and earning a free ticket to ride on a nice cushy cumulus cloud, making the ultimate self-sacrifice ahead of Armageddon was an idea that prompted many to advertise their services in the newly created Martyrs section of the Situations Wanted columns. But one would do well to heed the advice of the Agony Aunts, who were cautioning against appearing too eager: a verdict of suicide, once held to be a sin, might be a doozy of a disqualifier for Heaven.

  First impressions were important, and how one dressed for the last time on April the thirteenth was a big decision. A nice tie might count for something, perhaps to the value of one question not asked, as a sign of probity. Should the men grow beards to increase their gravitas, and the women wear scarves on their heads? The effect to strive for, one could be fairly certain, was that of genteel poverty; which meant remembering to get one’s hair cut a week or so before, to beat the rush to the hairdressers; to bathe in the morning, shave, and use a good deodorant. Hair shirts, and sackcloth and ashes, although they might seem a good choice, risked inviting caustic remarks about how hard one was trying.

  Similarly, since Heaven’s nacreous portals were constructed of a semi-precious material rather than plywood or chipboard, it would be advisable to leave the jeans and T-shirt in the closet. Nonetheless, a small string of pearls might not be considered ostentatious against, if it were anything like the New Jerusalem, a backdrop of Twelve Pearly Gates, each one of which, one was led to understand from Revelations 21:21, now that one had read it, was a pearl:

  And the city lieth foursquare, and the length is as large as the breadth…twelve thousand furlongs. The length and the breadth and the height of it are equal. …. And the building of the wall of it was of jasper: and the city was pure gold, like unto clear glass. [Who wrote this, anyway, an estate agent, the promulgator of des. res., and “shy acre”?] And the foundations of the wall of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones. The first foundation was jasper; the second sapphire; the third, a chalcedony; the fourth an emerald; the fifth, sardonyx; the sixth, sardius; the seventh, chrysolite; the eight, beryl; the ninth, a topaz; the tenth, a chrysoprasus; the eleventh a jacinth; the twelth, an amethyst. And the twelve gates were twelve pearls; every several gate was of one pearl: and the street of the city was pure gold, as it were transparent glass [repetition—this guy, understandably carried away, nonetheless needed an editor. So was it gold, or was it glass?]

  [Didn’t matter. One could do worse. It might have been rock crystal. Agate and carnelian weren’t mentioned amongst the other semi-precious materials, but they were varieties of chalcedony, or quartz.]

  After outer appearances came the most difficult part, of how best to convey the requisite penitence and spiritual, rather than sartorial, poverty. What was meant by “poor in spirit”, anyway, and how many varieties of it were there? Could the genuinely humble really be distinguished from the Uriah Heep oily ingratiating sort, and the truly meek from the cowed, broken, henpecked, and pussy-whipped? Probably; all the hypocrisy, inverted snobbery and false modesty, the stuff that served one so well on Earth, would be detectable on the Paradisian Polygraph.

  But when it came to falling in order to rise, that was tough to accomplish in the time remaining, with so much to divest oneself of in so short a time; especially with the auction houses and eBay and charities closing down, and people not being as appreciative of gifts, donations, bequests, and and inheritances as they formerly were. Should one just torch the house and live in a tent between now and then, scupper the boat, and throw away the stock and bond certificates?

  Easier said than done: now that the writing was on the wall, it was difficult not to avert one’s eyes and pretend this was not happening, and stick to the gold standard of greed.

  There was always the possibility that Central might come up with an antidote to annihilation. In which case, could a good lawyer come up with a contract that would hold up in Court, so that if one put everything in escrow, for example, and there turned out to be a 14th April, 2033 after all following the supposedly fateful day, and a Thereafter rather than a Hereafter, might that be one way to ensure that one’s goods and chattels would be returned? If not—things being as they were, the unthinkable had to be thought—one would have nothing to fall back on but an old-age pension, free medical care, free prescriptions, winter fuel allowance, cheap bus pass, concessionary rates at theatre, concert hall, and zoo...and other people’s charity.

  Oh, what an unspeakable relief it would be to see the barrier to Heaven go up before one, to a trumpet fanfare played by virtuoso Maurice André. To have St Peter wave one through with a cheery, “See you at dinner, it’s bangers and mash!”...as opposed to being doomed with a “Smart about-face my less than lovely, and down the stairs with you—d
own, down, all the way down. Don’t even think of getting off at Purgatory, you’d need a pass and I’m not giving you one. Don’t bother looking for a lift or moving staircase. No need to hurry: it’s a long way, but at least it’s down not up. For you, it’s all downhill from here.”

  But if one were fortunate enough to be admitted to Heaven, and ushered into the Presence for a photo opportunity with the Maker, what then? Paradise was understood to be a hierarchy, organized along similar lines to the pyramid structure at whichever Central department one worked at.

  What qualities God deemed more exaltation-worthy than others, and in what concentration, remained a mystery. According to the early fifth century pseudo-Dionysian, or Areopagite, categorization, angels were divided into three triads. In the first were Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones; in the second, Dominations, or Dominions, Principalities, and Powers; and in the third, Virtues, Archangels, and Angels.

  There were Guardian Angels too, were there not?; but that sounded like a junior, honorary, or volunteer position, and there would be no need of them when there was no one left on Earth in need of guarding. If one had not read the fifth century treatise, De Hierarchia Celesti, and one had not, owing to whoever had taken the single copy out of the County Council library, after renewing it twice, the maximum if someone else had a Hold on it, having failed to return it sometime during the reign of Queen Elizabeth II, all one had been able to establish was that the ancient authorities, who may not have read it either, were divided as to whether Principalities, or Virtues, truly belonged in the second category or not. St Paul, in Colossians 1:16, not wishing to get drawn into the dispute, dodged the issue; St Thomas Aquinas had stuck his oar in somewhere.