Heinlein, Robert A Job A Comedy of Justice

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'Not part of my M.0.S. Ask at the information booth. In the meantime use your singles apartment in
Gideon Barracks.'
'But -�
He (she?) sighed. 'Do you realize how many thousands of hours I have been sitting here? Can you guess
how complex it is to provide for millions of creatures at once, some alive and never dead, others newly
incarnate? This is the first time we have had to install plumbing for the use of fleshly creatures - do you
even suspect how inconvenient that is? I say that, when you install plumbing, you are bound to get
creatures who need plumbing - and there goes the neighborhood! But did they listen to me? Hunh! Pick
up your papers, go through that door, draw a robe and a halo - harps are optional. Follow the green line
to Gideon Barracks.'
'No!'
I saw his (her) lips move; she (he) may have been praying. 'Do you think it is proper to run around
Heaven, looking the way you do? You are quite untidy. We aren't used to living-flesh creatures. Uh...
Elijah is the last I recall, and I must say that you look almost as disreputable as he did. In addition to
discarding those rags and putting on a decent white robe, if I were you I would do something about that
dandruff.'
'Look,' I said tensely. 'Nobody knows the trouble I've Seen, nobody knows but Jesus. While you've
been sitting around in a clean white robe and a halo in an immaculate City with streets of gold, I've been
struggling with Satan himself. I know I don't look very neat but I didn't choose to come here looking this
way. Uh - Where can I pick up some razor blades?'
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'Some what?'
'Razor blades. Gillette double-edged blades, or that type. For this.' I took out my razor, showed it to
her/him. 'Preferably stainless steel.'
'Here everything is stainless. But what in Heaven is that?'
'A safety razor. To take this untidy beard off my face.'
'Really? If the Lord in His wisdom had intended His male creations not to have hair on their faces, He
would have created them with smooth features. Here, let me dispose of that.' He-she reached for my
razor.
I snatched it back. 'Oh, no, you don't! Where's that information booth?'
'To your left. Six hundred and sixty miles. ' She-he sniffed.
I turned away, fuming. Bureaucrats. Even in Heaven. I didn't ask any more questions there because I
spotted a veiled meaning. Six hundred and sixty miles is a figure I recalled from our sightseeing tour: the
exact distance from a center gate (such as Asher Gate, where I was) to the center of Heaven, i.e., the
Great White Throne of the Lord God Jehovah, God the Father. He (she) was telling me, none too gently,
that if I did not like the way I was being treated, I could take my complaints to the Boss - i.e., 'Get lost!'
I picked up my papers and backed away, looked around for someone else in authority.
The one who organized this gymkhana, Gabriel or Michael or whoever, had anticipated that there would
be lots of creatures milling around, each with problems that didn't quite fit the system. So scattered
through the crowd were cherubs. Don't think of Michelangelo or Luca della Robbia; these were not
bambinos with dimpled knees; these were people a foot and a half taller than we newcomers were like
angels but with little cherub wings and each with a badge reading 'STAFF'.
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Or maybe they were indeed angels; I never have been sure about the distinction between angels and
cherubim and seraphim and such; the Book seems to take it for granted that you know such things
without being told. The papists list nine different classes of angels! By whose authority? It's not in the
Book!
I found only two distinct classes in Heaven: angels and humans. Angels consider themselves superior and
do not hesitate to let you know it. And they are indeed superior in position and power and privilege.
Saved souls are second-class citizens - The notion, one that runs all through Protestant Christianity and
maybe among papists as well, that, a saved soul will practically sit in the lap of God well, it ain't so! So
you're saved and you go to Heaven you find at once that you are the new boy on the block, junior to
everybody else.
A saved soul in Heaven occupies much the position of a blackamoor in Arkansas. And it's the angels
who really rub your nose in it.
I never met an angel I liked.
And this derives from how they feel about us. Let�s look at it from the angelic viewpoint. According to
Daniel there are a hundred million angels in Heaven. Before the Resurrection and the Rapture, Heaven
must have been uncrowded, a nice place to live and offering a good career - some messenger work,
some choral work, an occasional ritual. Fm sure the angels liked it.
Along comes a great swarm of immigrants, many millions (billions?), and some of them aren't even
house-broken. All of them require nursemaiding. After untold eons of beatific living, suddenly the angels
find themselves working overtime, running what amounts to an enormous orphan asylum. It's not
surprising that they don't like us.
Still... I don't like them, either. Snobs!
I found a cherub (angel?) with a STAFF badge and asked the location of the nearest information booth.
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. 'Straight down the boulevard Six thousand furlongs. It's by the
River that flows from the Throne.'
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I stared down the boulevard. At that distance God the Father on His Throne looked like a rising sun. I
said, 'Six thousand furlongs is over six hundred miles. Isn't there one in this neighborhood?'
'Creature, it was done that way on purpose. If we had placed a booth on each corner, every one of
them would have crowds around it, asking silly questions. This way, a creature won't make the effort
unless it has a truly important question to ask.'
Logical. And infuriating. I found that I was again possessed by unheavenly thoughts. I had always [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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