The Book of Joby (60 page)

Raphael stood, balanced in perfect stillness atop the minaret’s highest needle, gazing down at the still waking city of Damascus. As the first rays of dawn touched his perch, the angel assumed corporeal form just long enough to feel the sunlight burnish his gleaming ebony face with luminous highlights of violet and indigo darker and richer than the city’s fleeing shadows. This was his favorite time of day, the moment of trembling, sunlit silence just before the muezzins began their hauntingly beautiful call to prayer throughout the city spread beneath him. He smiled gravely, imagining what someone looking up just then might think to see him balanced on the head of this great pin. It was doubtful anyone would lift their eyes so high. Nonetheless, he released his momentary body and faded from sight again.

“Raphael.”

The voice, more felt than heard, broadened the smile on Raphael’s vanished face. “Master?” he whispered in a bass voice softer than the morning breeze.

“Attend Me.”

“Your command is joy to me, My Lord.”

An instant later, the minaret’s needle was as empty as it seemed.

Raphael found his Master sitting alone among the stars, looking pensive and improbably melancholy.

“What do You require, Master?” Raphael asked, eyes cast down, despite the joy his Lord’s presence brought him.

“Company,” the Creator replied.

“I am here, My Lord. But . . . where has my brother, Gabriel, gone?”

“Gabe is off on business of his own,” the Creator sighed.

“Forgive me, Master,” the angel asked in graceful astonishment, “but since when have angels business of their own?”

“An excellent question,” the Creator mused. “Let’s go for a walk, Rafe. I’ve a thirst for conversation.”

They stepped together into the bright purity of Mt. Chomolungma in Tibet, and started out across the glittering slope, heedless of the shearing wind and drifting snow.

After a time, the Creator asked, “So, My friend, what shall we talk about?”

Raphael looked over in surprise. “Whatever You wished to discuss, My Lord.”

“I was rather hoping you’d think of something,” the Creator answered.

Puzzled, Raphael searched himself for some worthy subject, and finally said, “Where I am, there is little more than rumor of Your latest wager with Lucifer. How does it proceed?”

“Ah,” the Creator said. “An interesting choice.”

As the Creator filled him in, Raphael’s inner smile grew increasingly grave. “It does seem to me at times, Lord,” Raphael said deferentially, “that Lucifer could not manipulate mortal kind as he does if they were more obedient to You. May it not displease You, Master, but I have wondered why You allow humanity such free rein.”

The Creator nodded, seeming to approve of the question, much to Raphael’s relief. “Have I ever told you how I created the world, Rafe?”

Raphael had heard the story too many times to count, of course, and witnessed some of it himself. But he never tired of hearing it again, for his Master told it differently each time. So Raphael smiled, and said, “It would please me greatly to listen, Lord.”

“Well, Rafe,” the Creator began, “believe it or not, I wasn’t always perfect.”

Raphael looked doubtful.

“No. It’s true,” his Master said. “Not only was I lonely once, I didn’t even
know that’s what it was. I thought I was just bored. It was just Me and My shadow then, you know, in this big empty void.” He shrugged. “A shadow’s pretty poor company, Rafe—especially in a void.

“Anyhow, thinking I just needed a hobby, I took up pretty much every craft there was back then, and put together this fairly sophisticated performance piece where I juggled a lot of clay spheres on long curvilinear continuums in front of this humungous astronomical mural I’d painted, but with no audience to impress, except my shadow, it was kind of like TV. You know? Just a lot of motion without any real meaning.”

Raphael shrugged politely, as they stopped to watch a snow leopard wander the icy waste ahead of them.

“It wasn’t just motion I wanted, Rafe. It was
conversation
: honest-to-God debate, witty repartee, juicy gossip! But with whom?” The Creator shrugged. “My shadow never had anything to say I hadn’t already thought of on my own. I needed something more than just a better sock puppet. I needed real company! This had never been done before, of course. I had to start totally from scratch. My first breakthrough was single-celled organisms, but they were a total bust as company—like talking with your lava lamp.” The Creator shook His head. “More television, really. And scale was a problem. Developed some serious eyestrain issues trying to see what I was doing for such long periods. That’s why I made dinosaurs, really, so I could step back a little and still see the game.”

The Creator’s story was interrupted again as a great slab of ice and snow crashed down into the vast gorge ahead of them. Avalanches are majestic things, especially at a distance, and they were both silent in appreciation until the last drifts had settled.

“But you know, Rafe, it still wasn’t scratching that itch. None of it.” The Creator paused thoughtfully, then asked, “Ever been to Disneyland all by yourself, Rafe?”

“I must confess to having missed that pleasure,” Raphael replied respectfully.

“Must you?” the Creator asked.

“Well . . . yes, My Lord,” Raphael answered in surprise. “I’ve never done it. Would I lie to You? Why even try?”

“Yes,” the Creator sighed wistfully. “Why even try?”

“My Lord?” Raphael asked, worried that he’d said something wrong.

“It’s nothing, Rafe. Anyway, you haven’t missed much. I’ve tried it, actually.”

Raphael looked up, startled.

“Oh. Not lying.” The Creator smiled. “The Disneyland thing. Went in while it was closed one night and turned on all the rides, set off some fire-works, made Myself dinner at the best restaurant—you know, the one above New Orleans Square that only VIPs ever get to see? But the whole night was a crashing bore. ‘Oooooh!’ you say when the fireworks explode, and nobody says,
‘Yeah! Look at that!’
‘Isn’t this salad superb!’ you say, and nobody says, ‘God! It’s delicious!’ It’s just not that much fun waving your arms around and screaming on a roller coaster all by yourself, Rafe.”

Raphael was completely nonplussed, but one look at the forlorn expression on his Master’s face kept him silent.

“It was like that with My creation too,” the Creator said. “Every day I saw interesting courtship rituals, combat, storms, earthquakes, floods, volcanoes. Like summer at the movies. But when you say,
‘Look at that volcanic sunset, will you?’
to an animal, the most you’re likely to get is a brief look up from chewing cud or licking scales. Nothing was ever special or surprising to them because it never occurred to them—
couldn’t
occur to them—that things might be any other way.

“I began to get seriously depressed, Rafe. Why be Supreme Being if I couldn’t make anything that wasn’t just more of
Me
? I started talking to my shadow again, each conversation darker than the last, until . . .” The Creator became pensive again, then asked, “Do you know why teenagers get roaring drunk, and zoom around wrecking cars, and bungee jump off bridges, Rafe?”

“I must confess to having wondered on occasion why they don’t behave more wisely,” Raphael replied politely.

“There it is again,” the Creator said, looking vexed. “Raphael, I wish you’d stop using that phrase.”

“My Lord, I’m sorry. What phrase?”

“
‘I must confess.’
. . . I’d rather not hear that again.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Raphael said without rancor. “I shall do as You ask.”

“Yes. . . . I know,” his Master answered wearily. “Well, I’ll tell you why they do it, Rafe. It’s because they’re so terribly thirsty for some shred of proof that they matter—that they even really exist.” The Creator looked away and shook His head. “I did My own share of roaring around wrecking things, I suppose. Just got wilder and wilder in My desperation to be ‘real,’ until, finally, I pulled that stunt with the comet.” The Creator scowled at the memory. “Pouf!” He sighed. “No more dinosaurs. There wasn’t even anyone to apologize to. You can’t imagine what it felt like to be that lonely.

“In a fit of desperation, I took all the best things about myself; creativity, intelligence—though you’d never have known it from that comet stunt—beauty, immortality, consciousness, everything I could think of including free will, and I made you, Raphael, and all your brothers and sisters, including Lucifer. Then I stood back and said, ‘Surprise Me! I dare you!’ ” Raphael’s Master stopped walking, and gave him a sympathetic look.
“I must confess,
My friend, that Lucifer was the only one who did.

“Don’t get Me wrong, Rafe. You make My heart swell with pride and affection every day. But you all did exactly what I wanted you to, all the time, except for Lucifer. He’d hardly opened his eyes before he started looking around and making
‘suggestions.’
This tree was crooked. That sky was a jarring color. Those creatures were as ugly as sin, though I had no idea what
that
was then.” The Creator smiled ruefully. “It bugged the hell out of Me, at first. But it was also fun to have someone I could finally really argue with.” The Creator’s smile faded. “I think it bothered him terribly that no one ever took his side. The rest of you were always thanking Me, and telling Me what a
wonderful
job I was doing. Maybe that’s what finally drove him to try making company of his own.”

Raphael hoped his Master didn’t expect him to feel sympathy for Lucifer. He’d convinced plenty of angels to take his side in the end, and look what it had cost them all.

“He couldn’t create things out of nothing, of course,” the Creator continued. “Even in My most reckless adolescent moments, I’d known enough to leave certain fail-safes in place. So he found a pair of foraging apes, happily minding their own business, and gave them half the things I’d given him, including his contrary nature. Not enough to make them his equals, of course, just enough to make them conscious of his own superiority, and articulate enough to tell him he was right.”

This Raphael remembered all too well. What a storm there had been in Heaven when his Master had found out!

“Remember how miserable the poor creatures were?” the Creator said sadly. “Reason? Consciousness? What did they want with all that? Eve suddenly convinced she had a weight problem? Adam looking at the elephant’s penis, and the boar’s, then down at his own? What a mess.

“If Lucifer had just stepped up and owned his mistake, I suspect we’d have patched things up. But his pride would not allow it. To err is one thing, but to go down there and tell the poor creatures it was
their
fault! Well, you’ll remember how I hit the fan then, I’m sure. The rest . . . is history, I suppose.

“You know how much time I spent down here trying to fix the massive neurosis Lucifer had inflicted on those sad innocents. But they were too convinced I was angry at them to trust Me. I tried reassuring them. I tried jokes. I even tried punishing them, hoping they’d feel expiated and leave it behind. But nothing worked. . . . And that’s when it hit Me, Rafe.”

Raphael saw his Master’s face grow radiant with excitement. The wind picked up speed, and he heard the mountain groan and rumble at its roots.

“I remember standing on a hill one day, watching them burn down each other’s little villages, all trying to shove their own shame onto others’ shoulders, just as Lucifer had done to them, and suddenly thinking, ‘Oh my God! They really are totally out of control! Even
Mine
!’ Raphael, as awful as I felt about what they were
doing,
I could not have been happier about what they
were
! I swear, Rafe, if Lucifer could just have stopped trying to eradicate his shame by getting rid of them all, I might have invited him back with open arms and a hero’s welcome!”

This assertion made Raphael quite uncomfortable, but his was not to question.

“Of course, this hardly excused Me from addressing all the damage My own angel had inflicted. So I hung around, trying to shove them back on course: forcing them to apologize when they’d maimed someone, thwarting their little wars, telling them over and over that they couldn’t be God no matter how angry they were, scaring the crap out of them when it was necessary. Let’s face it, Rafe, I was a world-class party pooper, and yet the most amazing thing happened! A few of the little buggers began to get what I was after, and, Rafe, they liked Me!”

Raphael’s Master smiled a childlike, almost silly smile that, for a moment, tempted Raphael to jealousy of poor mortal humanity. The wind died suddenly away, as if the very mountain held its breath. The Creator’s eyes were suddenly agleam with unshed tears. “Love. My greatest creation took Me completely by surprise.”

“But . . . I do not mean to contradict You, Master,” Raphael said, hesitant after his earlier “I must confess,” gaffe, “but, how could Your own creation take You by surprise?”

“Oh, I created the things that created love,” his Lord replied. “But, while I was more than able to make them
obey
Me, nobody
made
them
like
Me, not even Me! This wasn’t just an empty imitation. It was the real thing! Don’t you see? They
chose,
Rafe!

“Well, I saw right off that the whole thing had to stay free, or none of it
would be real. You can’t control the bad stuff and pretend the rest is spontaneous. So I backed off. I still do what I can, of course. I’m not one to leave the building before the fire’s out, especially when I helped set it. But even knowing too certainly that I exist would kill the whole thing. Like what you said earlier, why would you lie to Me? Why would you try? You wouldn’t, even though you could. And I don’t really want you lying to Me, Rafe. But, in another way, you’ll never love Me the way they do—the ones that do love Me, at least.”