sent an expedition to the South American jungle, where there are terrible insects – killer bees – which might endanger members of the expedition. You would be the man who would be smeared with honey so that the bees attack you, leaving the other members of the party to gather rare plants or animals, or whatever it is they’re there to collect.’
‘So I’d be stung to death?’
‘Not necessarily. You could be detoxified afterwards. They wouldn’t sacrifice you to that extent. But you would have to undergo a lot of pain in the furtherance of knowledge. That’s what we’re asking you to do now. To volunteer for this expedition in the role of sacrificial anode. I’m told you’re a very brave man. You served in the army, didn’t you? In the recent wars? As a lieutenant? Earned a few medals, I’m informed. Saved a few lives? That’s what we’re asking here.’
Nearly got my head blown off, more like, but I didn’t say it.
‘I’m more interested in the pay. My shrink said you would pay me well. He’s a friend of yours isn’t he? Doctor Franks?’
‘Yes, he is. You will be amply rewarded.’
The bishop named a figure which sounded good. Despite all the medals I’d got in the Middle East, I was still a poor man. The army only pay you your wages, they don’t give bonuses for knocking out enemy strongholds while caught in crossfire. That’s just part of the job. You do if for the honour of the regiment and salute the colours proudly when they give you this shiny coin on the end of a piece of ribbon and expect you to be satisfied. I was proud of myself at the time, but now I needed folding green, or brown, or whatever colour the notes.
‘Why me,’ I asked, as I leaned back in the chair, ‘apart from the fact that I’m a hero and I’m very suspicious of clowns?’
The bishop cleared his throat, before speaking.
‘Apparently you fit the bill, James. Your doctor tells us you have an absorbent personality, spiritually that is. I understand you’ve been through – that’s a horrible expression but I will use it – through several religions. You find one, you absorb it, then you move on to the next?’
‘I can’t quite make up my mind which is best for me.’
‘Understandable, from one whose well of spirituality seems bottomless. Ahem, the fact is, the person we need for this expedition – as the sacrificial anode – needs to be just that – an absorbent personality. Someone who can soak up passion like a sponge. You see James, we’ve found a way to enter Heaven.’
I stared at him. ‘You’re kidding me?’
‘No,’ he said carefully, now spreading those plump white hands on the desktop, palms down, as if imprinting them, ‘not at all. We have discovered a way in, a way to visit while still enjoying this life. Unfortunately, those who went on the first expedition returned in a highly-intoxicated state, permanently drunk on joy . We can get no real sense out of them. Their emotional state is critical. They will never recover. You, on the other hand, we can expect to be stunned for a while, but your doctor assures us you will stand every chance of returning to full emotional stability after a period of readjustment. It seems you have a resilient soul.’
After my meeting with the bishop I was sent back to my psycho-analyst. This doctor was a genius: he often said so himself. By the time I left him again I felt very odd. It was as if within me I had a black hole which had collapsed below a critical value, to the point where it was impossible for any other feelings to escape. Just as light was unable to escape the gravitational pull from a black hole in space, so my soul could only suck emotions into itself and add to its own critical mass, containing them inside the equivalent of an event horizon. I knew I was a walking magnet for any feelings which might be loose in the ether.
Once back in the bishop’s clutches I found I was forbidden any further visitors. I was allowed see no one
‘So I’d be stung to death?’
‘Not necessarily. You could be detoxified afterwards. They wouldn’t sacrifice you to that extent. But you would have to undergo a lot of pain in the furtherance of knowledge. That’s what we’re asking you to do now. To volunteer for this expedition in the role of sacrificial anode. I’m told you’re a very brave man. You served in the army, didn’t you? In the recent wars? As a lieutenant? Earned a few medals, I’m informed. Saved a few lives? That’s what we’re asking here.’
Nearly got my head blown off, more like, but I didn’t say it.
‘I’m more interested in the pay. My shrink said you would pay me well. He’s a friend of yours isn’t he? Doctor Franks?’
‘Yes, he is. You will be amply rewarded.’
The bishop named a figure which sounded good. Despite all the medals I’d got in the Middle East, I was still a poor man. The army only pay you your wages, they don’t give bonuses for knocking out enemy strongholds while caught in crossfire. That’s just part of the job. You do if for the honour of the regiment and salute the colours proudly when they give you this shiny coin on the end of a piece of ribbon and expect you to be satisfied. I was proud of myself at the time, but now I needed folding green, or brown, or whatever colour the notes.
‘Why me,’ I asked, as I leaned back in the chair, ‘apart from the fact that I’m a hero and I’m very suspicious of clowns?’
The bishop cleared his throat, before speaking.
‘Apparently you fit the bill, James. Your doctor tells us you have an absorbent personality, spiritually that is. I understand you’ve been through – that’s a horrible expression but I will use it – through several religions. You find one, you absorb it, then you move on to the next?’
‘I can’t quite make up my mind which is best for me.’
‘Understandable, from one whose well of spirituality seems bottomless. Ahem, the fact is, the person we need for this expedition – as the sacrificial anode – needs to be just that – an absorbent personality. Someone who can soak up passion like a sponge. You see James, we’ve found a way to enter Heaven.’
I stared at him. ‘You’re kidding me?’
‘No,’ he said carefully, now spreading those plump white hands on the desktop, palms down, as if imprinting them, ‘not at all. We have discovered a way in, a way to visit while still enjoying this life. Unfortunately, those who went on the first expedition returned in a highly-intoxicated state, permanently drunk on joy . We can get no real sense out of them. Their emotional state is critical. They will never recover. You, on the other hand, we can expect to be stunned for a while, but your doctor assures us you will stand every chance of returning to full emotional stability after a period of readjustment. It seems you have a resilient soul.’
After my meeting with the bishop I was sent back to my psycho-analyst. This doctor was a genius: he often said so himself. By the time I left him again I felt very odd. It was as if within me I had a black hole which had collapsed below a critical value, to the point where it was impossible for any other feelings to escape. Just as light was unable to escape the gravitational pull from a black hole in space, so my soul could only suck emotions into itself and add to its own critical mass, containing them inside the equivalent of an event horizon. I knew I was a walking magnet for any feelings which might be loose in the ether.
Once back in the bishop’s clutches I found I was forbidden any further visitors. I was allowed see no one
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