Something Magic This Way Comes (23 page)

Ham headed south and traveled through the length and breadth of Africa. That took a bit of time, especially because he had to invent the microscope in order to examine all the continent’s protozoa to determine how many separate species there were that needed to be saved. The most time-consuming part was examining their nonexistent sex organs to find out which of the asexual critters were male and which were female. In the end, giving up, he just faked it by grabbing two of each kind at random and hoped God wouldn’t ask any hard questions.

At the Cape of Good Hope, assisted only by chimps, he built a boat of reeds in order to travel to Australia and the Americas. The voyage across the Atlantic was rough. Not because of high seas, but because the reed boat was much bigger than an aircraft carrier—how else could he have carried two of each animal in Africa?—and the animals weren’t any help at all when it came to reefing sails and all that nautical business.

But he made it, eventually. He ordered the animals to stay put (which they did, naturally) while he traveled the length and breadth of North and South America collecting all the animals that lived on the millions of square miles of surface of those two great continents.

He met with setbacks, of course. Some of the animals refused to accept his invitation. The mammoths and mastodons told him he was an idiot. The giant ground sloths said they were too lazy to go along. The saber-tooth tigers got downright nasty.

“It’s your funeral,” Ham told them.

Eventually, he made it back to South America with all the new animals he’d collected. Then, of course, he had to build a much bigger boat. Fortunately, there’s a lot of timber in the Amazon basin, so he was able to build a raft the size of Manhattan Island. He sailed around South America on the raft. Things got tough beating around the Horn, but he had a lot of help from all the jillions of monkeys he’d picked up in the rain forest.

Across the Pacific now, making a quick stop at the Galapagos Islands to pick up some tortoises and finches he had on his list. Australia and New Zealand turned out to be pretty easy, once he got the kangaroos to settle down. The real snag came in Tasmania, where the local top predator proved to be recalcitrant.

But, eventually, covered with bites and scratches, Ham dragged a couple of the monsters on board. (That’s where the Tasmanian Devil got its name, by the way.)

Asia, next, after a more or less quick detour through Polynesia, Melanesia, the Philippines, and the Indonesian islands. Up Malaya, through South-East Asia, China and all of Siberia, back down through Central Asia and into the Indian subcontinent. The tropical animals complained loudly, crossing the Himalayas. It wasn’t the cold so much as it was the insults hurled their way by the local yeti. (That’s how the Abominable Snowmen got their name, by the way.)

India was a piece of cake. Across Persia and the rest of the Middle East, and then—home at last.

“You forgot Europe, dummy,” snapped Noah.

Sighing, Ham set off again. But after everything else, Europe was a milk run. Except for the Irish elk, who said their antlers would get all scuffed up, crowded in the ark like that.

By the time Ham was finished, the ark was ready.

Ham took one look at it and shook his head.

“It’s like I said, Pop. We’re never going to fit ’em all inside.”

But the faithless youth proved wrong. The Lord did, of course, provide. God changed the dimensions of the ark into cubits measured by
His
forearm, and there was room to spare.

Y
OU
’
D BETTER DISCIPLINE THAT LITTLE SNOT
,
said God to Noah.
O
R ONE OF THESE DAYS
,
YOU
’
LL GET DRUNK AND HE
’
LL LOOK AT YOUR NAKED BODY
.

So, Noah set sail. But because his lazy son Ham had loafed on the job, Noah was running a little behind schedule. He was in such a big hurry that he forgot one of the species.

Fortunately, the archangel Michael called him back.

“Noah! Noah! You forgot the
Anopheles
mosquitoes!”

So Noah turned back and picked up the mosquitoes.

“If Mark Twain finds out about this, there’ll be hell to pay,” muttered Michael, as he handed over the deadly little insects.

The rest of the story, of course, is well known. The dove and all that. About the only thing worth noting that happened while they were at sea was that, once again, Ham got himself in trouble. As usual, questioning the Lord.

“Hey, Pop,” he said, leaning over the rail, “I’m puzzled about something.”

“What is that, impious youth?”

Ham pointed to a school of sharks, rending flesh.

“How come they don’t get drowned?”

The sharks themselves provided the answer. A moment later, the great killers were lined up at the rail, glaring.

“We are blessed in the eyes of the Lord,” snarled a great white.

“Pious, the lot of us!” proclaimed a hammerhead.

“Not like those vicious land animals.”

And, indeed, it was so. That very moment, as the sharks resumed their feeding frenzy, the smell of incense wafted over the sea. A chorus of angels burst into songs of praise.

And Ham got another mark next to his name, in God’s Little Black Book.

(Which is, actually, not so little.)

* * *

When it was all done, God was feeling mighty pleased with Himself. He even re-organized one of the very distant constellations to read:
N
EVER GIVE SUCKER AN EVEN BREAK
.

Astronomers haven’t seen it, because the light from the constellation hasn’t reached the Earth yet. It’s scheduled to arrive in the year 2222 AD at 12:01
AM
on April Fool’s Day. God enjoys His little jokes.

* * *

But as the reports started coming in, in the late innings, He stopped being so pleased.

W
HO
?

“Cuvier, Sir,” replied the archangel. “Georges Leopold Chretien—”

I
KNOW WHO HE IS
! I
MADE HIM
,
DIDN
’
T
I? O
F ALL THE ROTTEN INGRATITUDE
.”

After a moment:
W
HEN HE DIES
,
FRY HIM
.

But it wasn’t just Cuvier. Soon, there was a whole flood of sinners. (If you’ll pardon the pun.)

Darwin.

F
RY HIM
.

Wallace.

F
RY HIM
.

Huxley.

F
RY HIM
.

God was especially ticked off at Mendel.

H
E
’
S A
MONK! W
HAT
’
S A MONK DOING PLAYING AROUND WITH SMUTTY-MINDED LITTLE PEAS
?

Inevitably:
F
RY HIM
.

In fact, the whole nineteenth century was pretty much of a big disappointment for the Lord. Queen Victoria was a bright spot, of course. And God was delighted with Richard Wagner. He loved the music (although He only listened to the orchestral excerpts, like everybody else except George Bernard Shaw), but he was absolutely ecstatic over the great composer’s writings. He even made
The Jew In Music
mandatory reading for all the residents of Heaven.

(That would have been a little tough on the Jews, but there aren’t any in Heaven. They have their own retirement plan, much to God’s disgruntlement. After reading Wagner, He’d been really looking forward to damning Mendelssohn.)

Satan, of course, was cackling with glee. Not only was he going to win his bet with God, but he was reaping a whole harvest of sinners. Much better class than he normally got, too.

Yes, sad to say, the theory of evolution was all the rage. All that faked evidence God had strewn around had completely turned the heads of mortal man, born in sin.

Of course, not everyone was swept up in the Devil’s scheme. From the very beginning, there were those who stood by God’s Word, starting with Bishop Wilberforce.

By the time the late twentieth century rolled around, they had organized themselves into a movement called “creationism” or “intelligent design.” It was an uphill battle all the way, but the creationists were a devout and plucky bunch.

Whenever creationists died, of course, they went straight to Heaven. Sat at the side of the Lord, they did, on account of they were God’s favorites.

Still and all, it looked like the Devil had a sure winner.

* * *

But Satan was always a dummy.

Baalzebub tried to warn him:
You can’t beat house
odds.

Because what happened, naturally, was that God changed the rules. Since the theory of evolution was sweeping the boards, God just went back in history and made evolution for real. Simple as that.

N
OAH
.

“Yes, Sir!”

W
E’RE DOING ANOTHER TAKE
.

“Uh, excuse me, sir?”

Y
OU DEAF
? W
E
’
RE DOING THE FLOOD OVER
.

Noah wasn’t happy about having to go through all that hard work again. But he kept his mouth shut and did as he was told. He was a holy man, after all, and holy men know that arguing with God is a bad career move.

The scenario was a little different, of course. Since God had made evolution real, the earth was now covered with all sorts of dinosaurs and other uncouth beasts. Ham really had his job cut out for him, this time, what with all the tyrannosaurs and such that he had to round up. He probably couldn’t have done it at all except that God had also made plate tectonics, so the continents were scrunched up together. No need to build giant reed boats and rafts this time.

Then, all of Ham’s hard work turned out to be wasted. Because, following the Lord’s instructions, Noah set sail just before the dinosaurs could make it aboard.

It was kind of pitiful, really. All those big burly dinosaurs, blubbering like babies.

“Don’t leave us! Don’t leave us!”

Noah kept a straight face. But all the little nocturnal mammals leaned over the rail and blew raspberries.

“Nyah, nyah! Nyah, nyah! You’re extinct, you’re extinct!”

They shouldn’t have done it, though. The jibes made the dinosaurs really mad, and things got a little hairy when Noah had to turn back.

Once again, he’d forgotten the
Anopheles
mosquitoes.

* * *

So that’s how it all worked out. Satan lost the bet, big time. Of course, the Lord of Flies complained bitterly. Accused God of being a cheat and a swindler. But God is pretty much impervious to that kind of accusation, for two reasons:

First, Satan’s not a friend of His, so He really doesn’t care what the Devil thinks.

Second, He’s God. So He really doesn’t care what
anybody
thinks. Disapprove of Him?
FRY.

* * *

Still, it wasn’t all peaches and cream. There were a couple of flies in the ointment, from God’s point of view.

First, He had to transfer all the creationists down to Hell, since the blasphemers had denied His handiwork.

Broke His heart, that did, on account of He was really quite fond of them. But sacrilege is sacrilege, and that’s that. Mortal sin.
F
RY
.

The Devil was tickled pink. He’s always happy to get a big new crop of sinners, of course. But he was especially happy to see all the creationists arrive because he was suffering from a shortage of low-level goons and stooges, and the creationists really worked out quite nicely, once they stopped whining and got with the program.

The other problem proved to be a lot trickier.

Because, naturally, Mark Twain
did
find out about the
Anopheles
mosquitoes. They might have slid it by him if they’d only screwed up once. But
twice
? Not a chance. And, naturally, he made a big stink about it.

After God read
Letters From The Earth
, He positively blew His stack. (That’s what caused all the Seyfert galaxies.)

T
WAIN
’
S TOAST
.

You’d think the Devil would have been glad to see Mark Twain arrive. And he was, at first. But Twain turned out to be a real pain in the ass.

First of all, he had an attitude problem.

Even worse, he escaped.

It’s true. The only escape from the Pit of Damnation in the historical record. Twain built a raft made out of petrified wood and set off down a great river of lava, accompanied by a runaway slave named Ham.

As soon as he learned of Twain’s escape, Satan sent one of his chief devils in hot pursuit. A few days later the devil sent back a message. Helmuth announced that the fugitive Twain was in sight and that he had the situation totally under control.

Lucifer was delighted at the news. But not all of his top advisers shared his enthusiasm.

“He’s made that claim before,” sneered Gharlane.

“And you know how that worked out.”

Sure enough, Helmuth blew it again, and Twain made good his escape. But that’s another story.

S
O I’m sitting there in Joey Chicago’s 3-Star Tavern, nursing an Old Peculier and doping out the odds if Belmont comes up muddy after the rain we’re expecting, when an annoying high-pitched voice says, “Gimme a bourbon martini and make it snappy!”

“Ain’t no such animal,” says Joey. There’s a pause, and then he says, “Ain’t no such animal as you, neither.”

“Watch your mouth, Mac,” says the voice, “or I just might put my fist in it.”

I look up, and what should I see but an ugly little creature, maybe fifteen inches high, standing on the bar, paws on hips, glaring at Joey.

“Harry,” says Joey to me, “where the hell has Big-Hearted Milton gone to?”

“He’s in the john,” I say. “He’s hexing a rasslin’ match. He says he thinks better in there.”

“Well, you tell him if he wants me to keep paying him for protection, he’d better get his ass out here.”