clear his sight. He was in a smoky bar, busy with people. He blinked again and shook his head. The smoky bar was still there. A jukebox blared out country and western music while red-necked men drank in the low light. Instantly on his guard, the Major assessed in a heartbeat that there was no one in the bar who could physically challenge him. Unsure what to do next, he noticed the barman making eye contact and waving him over. He pushed his way through a sea of denim and checked shirts until he reached the bar. The heavily tattooed barman deposited a beer in front of him. “On the house Major, good to see you buddy.”
Nonplussed, the soldier picked up the drink and nodded thanks. “You know me?”
“Of course. Everyone here knows you. Look around,” the barman urged. Looking slowly around the room the major acknowledged familiar nods from a number of the drinkers.
“There’s someone here who wants to see you,” the barman continued. He indicated a man in a sweaty white vest downing a shot of tequila in the corner. As he replaced his glass on the table, the man lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then poured himself another shot from a bottle on the table. “He looks busy to me right now,” observed the soldier.
The barman laughed, “He’s got things on his mind. Trust me, he asked for you.”
Taking the direct approach, the major pulled up a chair next to the smoker. The man looked up. “Slammer?” he asked.
Ignoring the offer the soldier cut to the chase. “And this is Heaven too? I don’t think so.”
Downing another shot, the man laughed and then coughed uncontrollably on his cigarette smoke. “You’d be surprised,” he said. “I recall that in your younger days you felt that places like these were paradise after some of your little adventures.”
The truth of his words stopped the major in his tracks. “You have me at a disadvantage,” he said carefully.
“I know,” was the reply. “I have everyone at a disadvantage. It goes with the territory. Anyway, welcome.” He held out his hand. The soldier took it and regarded the man. Early fifties he guessed, the unkempt shoulder length hair making it difficult to asses his age. A striking grey handlebar moustache yellowed by nicotine served to make the task even more difficult. Overweight, sweaty and reeking with body odour, the drinker made for an unappealing vision.
“As you’ve been told, there’s a war in Heaven. I’d value your help.” The mans words were delivered slowly and precisely. Not a man normally given to humour, the Major was surprised to find himself laughing for the second time that day. “So I’ve been told, by an angel actually. He called himself Arbatel.”
“Forgive me,” said the man. “You must think me rude. I assumed the barman would have told you. I’m God.”
The major stood up and breathed in deeply. The calmness that had been his companion throughout most of this day evaporated. He felt rage welling up inside him despite his iron will and self control. “Bullshit,” he screamed and brought his fists down violently on the table. “I’ve played this game as asked. I don’t understand what’s happened to me. I don’t understand why I don’t miss my family. I don’t know where I am. I met an angel today for chrissakes. I fought a monster. A real live monster.” He looked up at the ceiling. “What is happening to me?”
“If you’re looking up to Heaven for answers, you don’t need to,” offered the drinker. “You’re already here.” With that the major spun around and grabbed the man roughly out of his seat. Kicking the table over, the soldier pushed the man against the wall. “Answers,” he demanded. “I want them now.” Seemingly unaffected by the chokehold the major had applied the man grinned through his drooping moustache. “I think it would help to have a change of perspective,” he whispered.
The major’s vision distorted. There was an explosion of light so bright he was
Nonplussed, the soldier picked up the drink and nodded thanks. “You know me?”
“Of course. Everyone here knows you. Look around,” the barman urged. Looking slowly around the room the major acknowledged familiar nods from a number of the drinkers.
“There’s someone here who wants to see you,” the barman continued. He indicated a man in a sweaty white vest downing a shot of tequila in the corner. As he replaced his glass on the table, the man lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then poured himself another shot from a bottle on the table. “He looks busy to me right now,” observed the soldier.
The barman laughed, “He’s got things on his mind. Trust me, he asked for you.”
Taking the direct approach, the major pulled up a chair next to the smoker. The man looked up. “Slammer?” he asked.
Ignoring the offer the soldier cut to the chase. “And this is Heaven too? I don’t think so.”
Downing another shot, the man laughed and then coughed uncontrollably on his cigarette smoke. “You’d be surprised,” he said. “I recall that in your younger days you felt that places like these were paradise after some of your little adventures.”
The truth of his words stopped the major in his tracks. “You have me at a disadvantage,” he said carefully.
“I know,” was the reply. “I have everyone at a disadvantage. It goes with the territory. Anyway, welcome.” He held out his hand. The soldier took it and regarded the man. Early fifties he guessed, the unkempt shoulder length hair making it difficult to asses his age. A striking grey handlebar moustache yellowed by nicotine served to make the task even more difficult. Overweight, sweaty and reeking with body odour, the drinker made for an unappealing vision.
“As you’ve been told, there’s a war in Heaven. I’d value your help.” The mans words were delivered slowly and precisely. Not a man normally given to humour, the Major was surprised to find himself laughing for the second time that day. “So I’ve been told, by an angel actually. He called himself Arbatel.”
“Forgive me,” said the man. “You must think me rude. I assumed the barman would have told you. I’m God.”
The major stood up and breathed in deeply. The calmness that had been his companion throughout most of this day evaporated. He felt rage welling up inside him despite his iron will and self control. “Bullshit,” he screamed and brought his fists down violently on the table. “I’ve played this game as asked. I don’t understand what’s happened to me. I don’t understand why I don’t miss my family. I don’t know where I am. I met an angel today for chrissakes. I fought a monster. A real live monster.” He looked up at the ceiling. “What is happening to me?”
“If you’re looking up to Heaven for answers, you don’t need to,” offered the drinker. “You’re already here.” With that the major spun around and grabbed the man roughly out of his seat. Kicking the table over, the soldier pushed the man against the wall. “Answers,” he demanded. “I want them now.” Seemingly unaffected by the chokehold the major had applied the man grinned through his drooping moustache. “I think it would help to have a change of perspective,” he whispered.
The major’s vision distorted. There was an explosion of light so bright he was
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