The Country of the Blind, and Other Stories Part 32

"There's Darwin," he said, going off at a tangent. "_He'll_ catch it!

And there--you see?--that tall, important-looking man trying to catch the eye of the Lord G.o.d, that's the Duke. But there's a lot of people one doesn't know.

"Oh! there's Priggles, the publisher. I have always wondered about printers' overs. Priggles was a clever man ... But we shall know now--even about him.

"I shall hear all that. I shall get most of the fun before ... _My_ letter's S."

He drew the air in between his teeth.

"Historical characters, too. See? That's Henry the Eighth. There'll be a good bit of evidence. Oh, d.a.m.n! He's Tudor."

He lowered his voice. "Notice this chap, just in front of us, all covered with hair. Paleolithic, you know. And there again--"

But I did not heed him, because I was looking at the Lord G.o.d.

IV.

"Is this _all_?" asked the Lord G.o.d.

The angel at the book--it was one of countless volumes, like the British Museum Reading-room Catalogue, glanced at us and seemed to count us in the instant.

"That's all," he said, and added: "It was, O G.o.d, a very little planet."

The eyes of G.o.d surveyed us.

"Let us begin," said the Lord G.o.d.

V.

The angel opened the book and read a name. It was a name full of A's, and the echoes of it came back out of the uttermost parts of s.p.a.ce. I did not catch it clearly, because the little man beside me said, in a sharp jerk, "_What's_ that?" It sounded like "Ahab" to me; but it could not have been the Ahab of Scripture.

Instantly a small black figure was lifted up to a puffy cloud at the very feet of G.o.d. It was a stiff little figure, dressed in rich outlandish robes and crowned, and it folded its arms and scowled.

"Well?" said G.o.d, looking down at him.

We were privileged to hear the reply, and indeed the acoustic properties of the place were marvellous.

"I plead guilty," said the little figure.

"Tell them what you have done," said the Lord G.o.d.

"I was a king," said the little figure, "a great king, and I was l.u.s.tful and proud and cruel. I made wars, I devastated countries, I built palaces, and the mortar was the blood of men. Hear, O G.o.d, the witnesses against me, calling to you for vengeance. Hundreds and thousands of witnesses." He waved his hands towards us. "And worse! I took a prophet--one of your prophets----"

"One of my prophets," said the Lord G.o.d.

"And because he would not bow to me, I tortured him for four days and nights, and in the end he died. I did more, O G.o.d, I blasphemed. I robbed you of your honours----"

"Robbed me of my honours," said the Lord G.o.d.

"I caused myself to be worshipped in your stead. No evil was there but I practised it; no cruelty wherewith I did not stain my soul. And at last you smote me, O G.o.d!"

G.o.d raised his eyebrows slightly.

"And I was slain in battle. And so I stand before you, meet for your nethermost h.e.l.l! Out of your greatness daring no lies, daring no pleas, but telling the truth of my iniquities before all mankind."

He ceased. His face I saw distinctly, and it seemed to me white and terrible and proud and strangely n.o.ble. I thought of Milton's Satan.

"Most of that is from the Obelisk," said the Recording Angel, finger on page.

"It is," said the Tyrannous Man, with a faint touch of surprise.

Then suddenly G.o.d bent forward and took this man in his hand, and held him up on his palm as if to see him better. He was just a little dark stroke in the middle of G.o.d's palm.

"_Did_ he do all this?" said the Lord G.o.d.

The Recording Angel flattened his book with his hand.

"In a way," said the Recording Angel, carelessly. Now when I looked again at the little man his face had changed in a very curious manner. He was looking at the Recording Angel with a strange apprehension in his eyes, and one hand fluttered to his mouth. Just the movement of a muscle or so, and all that dignity of defiance was gone.

"Read," said the Lord G.o.d.

And the angel read, explaining very carefully and fully all the wickedness of the Wicked Man. It was quite an intellectual treat.--A little "daring"

in places, I thought, but of course Heaven has its privileges...

VI.

Everybody was laughing. Even the prophet of the Lord whom the Wicked Man had tortured had a smile on his face. The Wicked Man was really such a preposterous little fellow.

"And then," read the Recording Angel, with a smile that set us all agog, "one day, when he was a little irascible from over-eating, he--"

"Oh, not _that_," cried the Wicked Man, "n.o.body knew of _that_.

"It didn't happen," screamed the Wicked Man. "I was bad--I was really bad.

Frequently bad, but there was nothing so silly--so absolutely silly--"

The angel went on reading.

"O G.o.d!" cried the Wicked Man. "Don't let them know that! I'll repent!

I'll apologise..."

The Wicked Man on G.o.d's hand began to dance and weep. Suddenly shame overcame him. He made a wild rush to jump off the ball of G.o.d's little finger, but G.o.d stopped him by a dexterous turn of the wrist. Then he made a rush for the gap between hand and thumb, but the thumb closed. And all the while the angel went on reading--reading. The Wicked Man rushed to and fro across G.o.d's palm, and then suddenly turned about and fled up the sleeve of G.o.d.

I expected G.o.d would turn him out, but the mercy of G.o.d is infinite.

The Recording Angel paused.