Читать книгу Travesty - Hayden Bradford - Страница 12

A short time after Roger, my Spirit Guide, who doesn’t guide but does eat hamburgers, had left me standing in the entrance of the tunnel to Heaven, I heard another voice say, ‘Welcome aboard the tunnel to the Kingdom of Heaven. I am the Golden Angel Jacquetta. We will be departing soon. Please sit and fasten your seat belt.’

Out of nowhere, a chair suddenly appeared in front of me. I know, you had to have been there. I looked for the owner of the voice. I couldn’t see anyone.

‘Please sit, we have to leave,’ the same voice said again, more firmly.

I sat in the chair and tightened up the seat belt. The lights outside the tunnel disappeared. There were no lights inside. I was in total darkness and I was none too happy about it. I became aware of other presences floating around me. I felt as though I was in a coma, a conscious coma, if that’s possible. They poked and prodded, and a few touched my sculptured left calf muscle. I tried to respond, but I couldn’t.

Someone said, ‘Will you get a look at the size of that? This boy can’t be human – he’s more beast.’

Someone else commented, ‘Nah he’s wearing a strap-on. Take it off.’

They drew straws to see who would take it off. Once my strap-on had been removed, another presence suggested I wear a strap-on for a reason. They all laughed. They laughed again when it was mentioned my name means disaster.

If this was the flight crew to Heaven then they needed to readjust their manners. Luckily for them I can’t get out of this chair, otherwise I’d give them what for. I won my last fight by 200 metres. As if one switch had turned off and another turned on I suddenly felt calm, relaxed. I was surrounded by beautiful presences in a place where tranquillity, peace and happiness had collided together and engulfed me. The sounds of soft harp music playing in the background soon had me asleep.

I had no idea how long I had slept, but I do remember waking to music from ‘Dancing with the Stars’. The darkness had disappeared, replaced by a faint glow existing throughout the inside of the tunnel. From what I could observe around me, which wasn’t much, I appeared to be the only person travelling. I saw a strange message scribbled on the ceiling of the tunnel. It read, ‘Bring your own linen’.

My body started to change. The flowing locks I had religiously streaked with grey dye each morning were turning black. No longer would women be able to call me the Silver Fox. Come to think of it, they never called me anything; they never called. I had to do the calling. My stomach became trim and taut, I felt muscles, which had long gone to sleep, begin to awaken. Some muscles I had forgotten I owned, emerged from their hiding place. Oddly, there was no change to my sculptured left calf muscle, developed enough, I guess.

I took stock of my situation again. According to Roger, my Spirit Guide, who in the main was useless to me, I was dead and going to Heaven because I was baptised as a Baptist. This is despite the church expelling me many years prior. Throw into the mix I’m a non-believer, and you have to agree, my résumé for getting into Heaven wasn’t strong. But what if Roger was correct in everything he said to me. On the off chance God was real, what did he look like? More to the point, who was God? What was Heaven like? Did it have racetracks? Did it have Agencies? I searched for signs on the tunnel walls to inform that angels really did do it better.

As if by magic, she appeared before me carrying a tray of drinks and food. This was no ordinary flight attendant; this was an angel of magnificent beauty. I knew she was an angel because she’d introduced herself as the Golden Angel Jacquetta. She was stunning, as if a child of God or someone from the Heavens. In another time and place, my wee-wee might have gone all hard. She was hot. On her sheet was embossed the words ‘Golden Angel Jacquetta’.

‘How are you travelling?’ she enquired.

‘I’m travelling pretty well!’ I answered. ‘I must compliment you on your wings; they’re so golden and most spectacular.’

‘Thank you,’ she smiled as she offered me something from the tray.

‘How soon until we arrive in Heaven? That is where we are going, right?’ I asked.

‘It won’t be long, and yes, Heaven is our destination,’ the Golden Angel Jacquetta answered.

‘What’s the go with Heaven? Why is it only Baptists are allowed to enter, or was my Spirit Guide pulling my leg?’ I enquired.

‘No, he wasn’t pulling your leg,’ the Golden Angel Jacquetta smiled.

‘Only the Baptists are granted entry into Heaven because we are the Chosen Ones.’

Baffled, I asked, ‘How’s that work?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ she replied.

‘So I keep getting told.’

Desperate to engage her in conversation, I continued to make small talk. She was mysterious and evasive in her answering, as when I enquired if she was married or dating; she half-smiled and ignored me. I repeated my question. This time she was more forthright in her answer. She told me to mind my business, and with no half-smile. An agency man myself, to be confronted by this hard-to-get attitude was something new. The Golden Angel Jacquetta sat opposite me in a chair, which as per the last one, just appeared. For a fleeting moment, ever so briefly, I thought I might have weakened her rock-solid defences and in doing so, dealt her harsh ‘don’t-mess-with-me attitude’, a lesson. But, it was not to be. Once she had rearranged the food and drinks on the tray, she stood up and, without a word, floated back in the direction she had come.

‘Will I see you again?’ I called out. But, she didn’t hear me, as she didn’t respond.

I was tempted to scream out, ‘Can you take off your top?’ But given she didn’t hear my previous question, I doubt she would have heard this one. Hence I sat, and wondered, imagined if you like, what it would be like. We men are prone to do at times, you know. My wondering only stopped when my thoughts were interrupted by someone instructing me to remove my seat belt and stand upright. I would automatically float out of the tunnel. I did as instructed and bang, I hit a wall with one heck of a thump.

The same voice apologetically said, ‘Bugger! Sorry about that!’

I picked myself up to discover I was standing near a gate, a small, grey gate, which was part of a grey wall. In days long past, the wall and the gate might have been white, but not now. All of it needed a decent scrub. The wall stretched upwards and length-ways. I couldn’t figure out where it finished or even started. No way in this world, or any other, these could be the Pearly Gates. If they were, there was nothing pearly about them.

‘Are you all right?’ enquired the Golden Angel Jacquetta, who reappeared near me. ‘We need to get the tunnel ejection process fixed, and the pilot is new.’

I nodded in agreement.

‘Ring the bell and someone will come and escort you inside,’ she said.

‘Can you escort me inside?’ I asked hopefully.

‘No, I can’t,’ she replied, ever so politely.

‘Any chance of your phone number then?’ I asked, ever so hopefully.

‘No, not really, none,’ she answered, and she floated towards another gateway located under a neon flashing sign that read: ‘Accepted and Approved Residents Only’.

‘Perhaps we can catch up for a drink sometime?’ I asked, being really hopeful now.

‘One day, perhaps,’ replied the Golden Angel Jacquetta, without turning back.

Ahh, hope is restored.

‘Are you serious?’ I hollered after her.

‘Yes, yes, perhaps one day, maybe, who knows, if I’m not busy, I’ll see,’ she answered impatiently over her shoulder.

‘No, not that,’ I yelled. ‘The drinking bit! I can drink up here?’

The Golden Angel Jacquetta turned, gave me a short, piercing stare, didn’t answer me, turned again and floated through her gateway with a shake of her head.

Roger popped up and frightened the living crapper out of me. He was carrying a sign and a hammer. He commenced to bang the sign into the edge of the cloud. The sign faced towards the grey wall and read, ‘Steep Drop ’. Whoa now; I was standing on a cloud! A freaking cloud! You cannot bang anything into a cloud, can you?

‘Rog, old chap, another question if I may. What are we standing on? It looks as if it’s a cloud, but it can’t be, can it?’

Roger replied, ‘Yep, sure is. But fear not, everything belonging to Heaven has a silver lining, otherwise Heaven and those who live up here would fall right through the clouds.’

I agreed – it made sense.

‘The tunnel will disappear soon; stay away from the edge; it’s one heck of a drop.’

Roger reminded me to ring the bell on the gate as he bid me farewell. He then disappeared through the same entrance as the Golden Angel Jacquetta. Again, I was alone. Why is it when you die, you keep finding yourself alone? Given nothing was happening on the outskirts of Heaven, I went to seek out the inskirts. I found the button on the gate and pushed the bell whilst reading the sign beside it: ‘At times, it can be busy up here. Therefore, on thy busiest days, please ringeth the belleth and waiteth thou turneth.’

Fuck that, I thought as I rang the bell again. It’s not busy.

A voice on the other side answered my summoning bell. ‘Who is it? Who is the impatient one?’

What a stupid question to ask. I’ve been killed by my parents, left hanging and scared witless in a place called the Waiting Zone, sent up a tunnel by a hamburger-loving Spirit Guide, ignored by a Golden Angel, spat out into a wall and now some knob on the other side of the wall wanted to know who I was!

I replied, ‘You should know who I am. You’re God!’

The voice replied, ‘Idiot. No wonder you’re dead! I’m not God, I’m John the Baptist.’

I noticed a spy hole in the gate, at chest height. I bent down and squinted though it. I couldn’t identify an eye belonging to the voice on the other side, yet I could hear him talking to others.

‘Where are you?’ I asked.

‘Right here,’ John the Baptist answered.

‘Where, I can’t see you through this thing. Stand up straight, will you?’

The dirty grey gates opened inwards and allowed the sound of laughter to escape. A person wearing Ray Bans and a sheet similar to mine approached me. The dude was short, seriously short; he had a potbelly and his wild crop of hair looked as if it was trying to escape from his head. Behind him stood two huge angels dressed in spooky black sheets and helmets. Dead set, these blokes must have seen lots of milk, popping whatever and pumping all sorts of heavy weights to get to their size. They nodded at me and I returned the nod, noting nodding must be the universal form of greeting. Beyond them was a long cloud, going on forever by the looks. Its colour was the same as the wall and the gate.

One of the big lumps commented, ‘Top joke that – about standing up. He was!’

The other lump said, ‘Yeh, John Boy’s so short, for exercise he crawls underneath snake’s bellies.’

‘Enough!’ interrupted John the Baptist angrily.

He motioned to me to enter with a wave of his hand. The moment I took a step to walk through the opened gates, I was stopped; not stopped by the short one or the big boys, but by an invisible force. I could not move a fibre, let alone a muscle. Motionless, locked in place, unable to move, I heard a long beep.

‘You can move now,’ said John the Baptist.

The angels nodded at me again, said goodbye to John the Baptist, spread their enormous wings and flew off. Those two big boys were Guardian Angels; part of God’s Police Force. Had I not been baptised in a Baptist church, an alarm would have sounded – a series of short beeps, instead of one long beep. Look out if that happens. The Steroid Heads will immediately grab you, take you back out the gates and throw you over the edge of the cloud with the silver lining. A straight free-fall to Hell. This is one of a number of security checks to ensure whoever comes through the gates is the real deal, a verified Baptist. It is also a check on the Spirit Guides to make sure they get things right in the Waiting Zone with the checklist.

John the Baptist approached me with a wine cask under one arm and two glasses in his hands. Embossed on his sheet were the words, ‘John the Gate Keeper’. Later I learned most people have the word ‘Heavenite’ embossed on their sheets. This means they had successfully contributed to the ‘Betterment of Heaven’. The exceptions to this rule were people who have a specific job. Everyone else, including me, had ‘Newbie’ embossed on their sheets.

‘Congratulations on getting through the tunnel and the gates,’ he mumbled in a way that implied he had seen it too many times to be interested anymore. ‘As you’ve gathered, John the Baptist is my name; starting the Baptist religion is my fame. By the way your aura is gone. No longer required, just in case you’re worried. I know you bleeding heart Earth people are so precious with auras and the titles on your business cards.’

He suggested I call him John Boy, as everyone else did. I went to introduce myself but John Boy waved me away and said, ‘I know who you are; you’re on the manifesto. I have Roger’s paperwork.’

‘Who the Hell gives their child a name which means disaster?’ he asked.

Before I could answer, he looked behind me and further asked, ‘Did you bring your own linen?’

‘No, I didn’t realise I had to until I saw the sign,’ I answered.

John Boy shook his head and muttered how things were so much easier in the old days.

‘In the old days everyone travelled with a change of underwear and fresh linen. They listened to their grandparents.’

‘You serious?’ I remarked.

‘No, not at all,’ responded John Boy laughing. ‘The sign is a joke. It’s a good one, isn’t it?’ He poured me a glass of red and said, ‘Follow me.’

Looking at how short John Boy was, and not to be outdone by his attempt at humour, I enquired of him, ‘I’m guessing your Baptisms were done in shallow water, huh?’

‘They were at that. How did you know?’ he answered.

‘Merely an observation,’ I replied.

The mode of transport in Heaven is floating, as in you float. The further you lean forward, the faster you are propelled forward. The further you lean backwards the slower you go. Standing upright causes you to stop, to float in the one place.

‘If this is Heaven, mate, it’s a tad disappointing,’ I said. ‘There’s not a lot here except a long cloud; there has to be more. Where did the Guardian Angels fly to? Where are we going? Will I get to meet God and his lad, and why do only Baptists get into Heaven?’

John Boy told me to be patient as he waved away my questions. He put the headphones of his iPod into his ears and signalled for me to follow him. I followed, drink in hand. Every so often, I caught sight of Guardian Angels flying above us, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in groups of four. They were patrolling the skies, making sure the perimeter was secure and no one from any other religion, apart from Baptist, had discovered a way to breach the tunnel, the wall or the gates. We continued floating. John Boy was more interested in listening to his iPod than talking to me.

Eventually we ascended and I bore witness to a most incredible sight. Compared to what I was now seeing, John Boy and I had been travelling on a dry and dusty road through a parched barren countryside. The oasis of the Pearly Gates stood before us. No mistake, the real ones: huge, shiny and totally spectacular. A waterfall of shimmering gold ran down all twelve gates. Each gate was made from one large pearl. Underneath the gold waterfall was the glitter of precious stones.

The family crest of ‘God the Almighty’ adorned the top of the gates. It was a simple crest: God sitting on his throne, looking very much the benevolent ruler, and the motto, ‘We’re no fools – the Baptists Rule’, was inscribed underneath.

As we approached, trumpets pierced the air, the Pearly Gates opened and in front of me lay Heaven in all of its splendour and glory. For a man who never believed, I have to tell you, I was beginning to have a change of mind. The evidence before me was compelling.

‘What a marvel, a phenomenon, a paradise, a Godadise,’ I hollered to John Boy.

Angels on either side of the gates blew trumpets and played harps to herald our arrival.

John Boy pointed to his ears as if to say, ‘Now you know why I wear headphones.’

A single angel broke into song:

Hark, the Herald angel sings

Glory to him

It’s grand he’s one of us

And not one of those religious other things

Otherwise, I wouldn’t get the chance

To have a sing

As we floated through the enormous gates, I immediately noticed the streets were made of gold. Yet no one used them as everyone floated. I saw a sign saying, ‘Welcome to Kingdom Come’. I wondered why they never finished the sentence. It doesn’t sound right, does it? Kingdom Come. But from whence does it come?

The aroma of herbs, mixed with the scent of fruits like oranges, apples, lemons and mangoes, struck me. There was also a plethora of other smells, new to my senses. Together, they gave off a wonderful perfume fragrance. White fluffy clouds, big and small, square and rectangular, were everywhere. Happiness resonated; people were floating, playing games and relaxing. The sound of crashing waves on a beach was audible. In the distance, I could make out the bluish tinge of mountain ranges.

Around me and below me, there were lakes and streams, with water cascading over more precious stones. Some waterfalls generated their own splendid rainbows in colours I had never seen. The grass beneath me looked lush and deep green and there were lots of trees, shrubs, and colourful flowers spreading out as far as I could see. The sky above and in between the clouds was deep blue. I remember thinking if this was the Kingdom of Heaven, don’t change the decor; I love it just the way it is!

The further we travelled inside Heaven, the duller became the sounds of the trumpets, harps and singing from the Pearly Gates. John Boy took out his iPod headphones and explained to me that people lived in some clouds and socialised in others. Other clouds were set aside for Heaven administration. John Boy informed me we couldn’t hang around too long as I was booked in to see God. The surprise must have shown all over my face as he added quickly it was no biggie, meeting God. God met every new arrival. John Boy made it sound rather boring.

‘Always bloody God this, bloody God that! I got so fed up with all the crap I became an atheist,’ uttered John Boy despairingly.

‘Whoa now, Captain of Baptisms,’ I uttered, alarmed. ‘Atheist? Not possible! You’re here with God and his boy and angels and clouds and the Pearly Gates and stuff. You can’t be an atheist; it doesn’t fit the business model for Heaven.’

‘It’s a complicated story,’ he replied.

John Boy, the short one, the atheist, proceeded to tell me he was an atheist because he felt as if he had not received enough special acknowledgement for being the first ever Baptist.

‘Jesus was not a Baptist until I bloody well messed with him in the water.’

Valid point, I thought. John the Baptist did baptise Jesus in the Jordan River. This by rights has to make him, John Boy, the first Baptist, and Jesus the second one.

‘Mr Fancy Sandals Jesus gets the credit all the time for everything because he’s the son of God,’ said John Boy sarcastically. ‘Me, I am just a lonely gate keeper who threw the King of the Jews into the water and baptised him. To appease me they named a religion after me. Apart from that, I hardly rate a mention; no holidays named in my honour, no prayers prayed to me, no hymns sung about me. Jesus gets everything. King of the Jews, my arse. When he came out of the water he was spluttering, crying and carrying on, as does a little child who can’t get its own way. He’s a self-proclaimed King! I gave him everything, I made him, and I never even received a thank-you. You’ll become famous, I was told. Famous, my arse; all I got out of the religion deal was a piddling disciple appointment, which I had to beg to get. A job for life he told me, and what a job it is, being a freaking gate keeper for his old man!’

I had to agree with John Boy again. The points he raised appeared fair and valid.

‘I should have been the person in charge of the Baptist religion. I should have been the superstar with my name in lights and people singing their praises to me.’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ I said. ‘Look at it this way; you have to be the first atheist to exist in Heaven! That’s no small feat. Kudos to you for pulling it off, mate.’

John Boy stopped. ‘You’re right!’ he said excitedly. ‘I am at that! I am the first atheist in Heaven – way to go!’

Many people passed and greeted us with the friendliness Heaven is renowned for. They all appeared to be quite young, even John Boy himself looked young. Short, yes, in need of weight control measures, yes, but young looking all the same.

I asked him, ‘Why is it so?’

‘In Heaven, everyone is thirty,’ John Boy answered. ‘In the tunnel your body is rejuvenated back to when you were aged thirty. The cloth you’re wearing helps. If you die younger than thirty your body is aged to thirty. The process is completed once you enter through the grey gates.’

‘What, me as well? I’m thirty again?’ I asked.

‘Yes, you are,’ replied John Boy.

John Boy floated downwards and I followed him. We stopped above a pond and I saw my reflection. Bloody Hell, I looked so young.

‘How is it so?’ I asked.

‘It is so, because it is the way of Heaven.’