Some petitioner was knocking on the door by the time I finished it. It was not a good time for me to be petitioned. My father was a crazy old fart, all right, but after all these years he could still make me blow my top with rage. I crumpled the letter up and tossed it toward the fireplace, and then I opened the door.
It was that greatest of all shitheads, Danny Kirsten. “First Intermediary,” he said, ducking his head and smiling up at me, “I just want to say how much I hate that idiot, Willett. And I’m sorry to have wasted your time. But what I wanted to ask is, what do you think, could I appear at your side next time you talk to the people? And would you be willing to wear vestments?”
I wouldn’t have thought anything could make me madder, but he did it. “God damn you, Danny,” I said—I guess, shouted, “the answer is fucking no. To that. To anything else you might ask, and to anyone else who might come by this evening to ask for anything at all.” And because I didn’t want to actually kill him I turned around and left the room, and I slammed the door behind me.
The Elevated Daniel Kirsten, Who Was Prophesied
If You are indeed there, O God, let me make these facts known to You.
As to the conversion of former churches and other temples: 30 percent of them deteriorated so severely during the interregnum that they can only be pulled down. Another 45 percent are still in the process of restoration, but the remaining 15 percent are completely renewed and reconsecrated, with all old icons and symbols wholly effaced.
As to Divine Science: nearly every old telescope with an aperture greater than 1.5 meters has been refurbished when necessary and set to the continuous exploration of Your infinite universe.
As to Doctrine: a new catechism for senior citizens is now being completed, to add to those already established for adults, teenagers and younger children. The Reproval measures for senior citizens who fail in this subject are the same as for younger children, namely withholding of one or more, but not more than three, meals, and sleep deprivation for not more than twenty-four hours.
As to the Giver of the Word and His Son: they are both resting in the Place of Meditation. Their physical condition is as good as is feasible; the Giver still retains the ability to swallow and stand up. At holidays, Giver de Blount appears on all video channels, fully robed and smiling. That’s just His physical image, naturally. His message is spoken by a carefully chosen and morally sound actor, and it is hoped that before long some more sophisticated method of stimulating the appropriate areas of the brain will not only allow us to cause Him to smile but even to lipsync His holiday messages. His Son, of course, is never publicly displayed. It upsets Him. He says troublesome things and becomes unhappy.
Finally, O (I presume) God, when I picked from the fireplace that sacred Letter from the Giver of the Word I supposed it to be a sign from You. I do hope I was right. The thing is, (I hope) God, I don’t doubt but I have recently ordered some new measures, including the True Believer Faith Brainscan for every citizen above the age of six, with compulsory reindoctrination for those who fail the test. So, You see, I would hate to think that this, or any of the other measures we’ve taken, is wrong, because it’s getting to be a good deal too late to take them back.
Copyright © 2005 by Frederik Pohl.