An Interview - 7. The meal is the best I've had

Chapter seven: The meal is the best I've had

The meal is the best I've had in a long time. It is relatively simple fare but everything is fresh, delicious and plentiful. The bread is particularly delicious, still warm as if it has only just come out of the oven, with a beautifully crunchy crust and a light, soft interior. I wonder where all the food came from, given the size of the basket that Raphael brought seems barely sufficient to carry half the quantity of food laid out before us.

            Michael and Raphael lift the couch back out of the way to allow the five of us sit on the floor around my coffee table. Gabriel returns from the kitchen and joins us, though she avoids making eye contact with me. It feels strangely homely and intimate, sitting there with these four strangers, eating in silence. It is not uncomfortable like I would normally expect such a situation to be.

            Part-way through the meal, Gabriel takes an interest in one of the book piles that form the table legs. She carefully extracts one of them, replacing it temporarily with her rolled up jacket, so as not to cause the table to unbalance. She scans the cover, then flips it over and reads the blurb. God looks on in silence, glancing back and forth from the book to me, but not commenting.

            Once finished with the back cover, Gabriel looks up at me, her eyes finally free of disdain. 'Did you write this?' she asks.

            'That's what the name on the cover says,' I reply.

            'How long did it take you?'

            'A bit over a year. Probably closer to eighteen months.'

            'So you've gotten it published?'

            'Self-published.'

            'But you haven't been able to sell it properly yet?'

            'No publishers are interested in it.' I can't hide the bitterness in my voice.

            'Have you had anyone read it? Editors I mean?'

            'Only the sample chapters I've sent through to them, assuming they even bothered to read through those. None has deemed it good enough to keep on reading.'

            'I mean, have you paid to have your manuscript assessed?' she clarified. 'Get some professional feedback?'

            'No. I don't have the money nor does it need it. I've re-written it three times already and it is well polished. They wouldn't be able to offer anything new.'

            'Is that right?'' Gabriel asked, raising one of her eyebrows. Her green eyes seem to bore into me, as if in punctuation to her question.

            'Yeah,' I mumble back, but I start to doubt it under her gaze.

            'It's an admirable task, completing a book,' God interrupts, freeing me from Gabriel's stare.

            'Yeah, well, not much good if you can't get it published,' I answer him.

            'Sounds like you've been having a bit of a rough time of it?' God asks gently.

            'You could say that. The publishing industry is totally fucked up, that it doesn't matter how good a writer you are, you've got as much chance of getting published as you have of winning lotto.' Gabriel has been reading my book, but looks up at me in horror at my use of language. Raphael also has a disapproving frown on his face, but Michael looks on expressionless and God nods sympathetically so I continue. 'On top of that my girlfriend left me. She doesn't understand how hard it is dealing with this and trying to stay motivated. Right when I needed her the most, she up and left. Now I'm stuck in this crummy apartment, with rent due and funds dwindling, a whole lot of copies of a book I can't sell, and I'm being forced to write stuff I have no interest in just so I can make a living.'

            My phone, which has been sitting on the coffee table recording the conversation this whole time, suddenly starts to vibrate, buzzing its way across the table. “Mum” flashes on the display, and God sees it.

            'Looks like your Mother is trying to get through to you. Please don't mind us; feel free to answer.'

            'I'll let it go to message,' I reach over and push the button that will stop the phone ringing and send it to message. 'She does this – rings and rings and rings, nagging at me all the time.'

            'Perhaps it's because she is worried about you and is trying to reach out?'

            I feel irritated at this guy coming and questioning me about my life. 'Aren't I meant to be interviewing you? What's with all these questions?'

            'I'm merely taking an interest in your situation. Like you said, you're going through a rough time and sometimes it's nice to have someone to talk to. It seems to me like you are a little isolated here.'

            'Yeah, well I'm fine and I'll get through it all. Can we just get back to the interview?'

            God nods politely, which for some reason causes my irritation to grow even more. Raphael rises from his seat and starts gathering the empty plates and left-over food.

            'Thank you, Raph, that was delicious as always,' God says to Raphael, who just smiles and nods, as he ferries the plates out into the kitchen. God and Michael rise from their position on the floor and sit back on the lounge behind them, while I re-take my perch on the crate stool.

            Gabriel remains on the floor, flicking through my book, something which makes me feel simultaneously anxious and annoyed. I try to rationalize it – I want people to read my book, and who cares what she thinks about it; her view isn't important.

            'So, what do you want to ask me next?' God asks. My annoyed gaze lingers on the oblivious Gabriel for a little longer before finally shifting over to God. I look down at my empty pad and paper and realise I have no idea what to ask him next. I try and think about what I know about God, stories from the bible as a child. Finally I alight on what I feel is a reasonable question.

            'So the old testament paints you as a pretty quick-tempered, demanding kind of God, big on revenge. Take the story of Noah, or Babel as examples. But the new testament is quite different, all about peace and forgiveness. Which one is correct, or if both, what has changed?'

            'Hmmm, good question,' God muses, pausing as if he is searching for the right words. 'Babel was not my finest hour I must say. While they were on the wrong track with trying to build a tower that would reach heaven, there was much to admire about the human culture at the time. The people of Babel were relatively harmonious, working together productively, united by a common cause. By disrupting that, I solved the immediate problem and created a lot of variety which is a great thing. But it has also had much longer lasting consequences, causing much of the conflict, war and hardship that humans have gone through since. It has also created much more work for myself, with so many different versions and images of me created it's been so hard to keep up! Polytheism was particularly trying.'

            'What, because you were competing against other Gods?' I ask.

            'No, there is only one God.'

            'OK, so who was correct. Are you the Catholic version of the one true God. Or are you Allah? Or Buddha? Or Zeus?'

            'No, you've missed the point. I am all of those Gods, and all of those Gods are me.'

            I frown at the answer. 'But how does that work? And why?'

            'As a being, I sit outside of the human experience of life. In order to understand me, humans have painted me in their clothes, coloured my face according to their experiences and needs. To go back to your earlier question, that is a big part of why I have changed from the Old and New Testaments. Those stories of me are more a reflection of human experience, belief and need at the time as opposed to any actual change on my part. So when I created much more variety and culture at Babel, the ideas, images and types of me multiplied dramatically. Some, like the ancient Greeks and Romans saw me as a pantheon of gods presiding over different aspects of life. Some warlike societies saw me as an aggressive warlike being, while others saw me as a peaceful, loving god. It's hard work keeping up with all the different images made of me.'

            My frown deepens. 'If what your saying is true, then all the religious wars, the murders, acts of terrorism and torture performed in the name of one god or another is your fault, because of Babel?'

             God now wears a frown on his face. 'Again, not true. Wars are frequently fought in the name of god, but it is rarely religion that is at their heart. Money, land, greed, fear, survival, revenge, pride. The Protestants did not war against the Catholics over religious ideals, but over the power of a rich land. Xerxes did not attempt to invade Greece because he feared their gods, or because I commanded him to. He craved prestige and the glory of conquering another people and expanding the Persian empire. It pisses me off when people perform acts of atrocities and try to blame them on me.'

            'But if you were the same god for all of them, then you could have sent messages down to all religions forcing them to cease their aggressiveness and work on peaceful solutions. You could have told them that one religion is the same as the others.' My tone is accusatory now, anger and emotion in my voice. Beside God, Michael stirs for the first time since lunch, moving slightly forward in his chair, his hands clenching into fists.

            'I created life but I do not control it,' God answers. 'If that were the case, humans would not be alive but merely my toy soldiers to play with as I please. That is not life any more than the characters on your PlayStation or the pieces on a chess board are alive. At Babel I gave humans the gift of variety, and it has resulted in far more war and hardship. But it is human tendency to treat difference with fear and loathing that is the root cause of the hardship.'

            I am not prepared to let him off just yet, but I reign in my tone a little, glancing warily at Michael who remains expressionless but poised like a crouching tiger about to pounce. 'But as our God, you could advise us, guide us on the way.'

            'And that is what I do, what I have done for thousands of years, and what I will continue to do for...' God pauses now, a troubled look on his face. Beyond him, Raphael is wide-eyed and alarmed, and Gabriel looks up from her reading, a deep frown on her face. Even Michael's eyes leave me for the minutest of moments, glancing sideways at his Lord. 'The problem is, people have never listened to me fully. There are some that will and at times there are many. But recently fewer are listening to me, and more are falling under thrall of the Devil.'

            'The Devil?' I ask, a little surprised. 'I thought you said there wasn't really a hell?'

            'Sorry, old habit. The Devil is not a being, just the name we refer to it.'

            '”It” being?'

            'The human ego. It is at the root of all human trouble, all human conflict, all human hatred and fear. It turns the human view inwards rather than keeping their eyes focused outwards. It fuels the fires of foolish pride, it feeds the hungry beasts that are fear, racism, jealousy and blame. It elevates the concept of “me” and “I”, all the while starving the good things; selflessness, compassion and understanding. The devil isn't a red man with forked tongue and twin horns, he is the human ego.'

            God’s eyes are wet with tears and I find myself moved by the passion on display. All of my previous anger is gone from my speech. 'I can see the behaviours of humanity brings you much pain. What are you least proud of us for?'

            'Besides 80's fashion?' he asks with an attempted smile that does not quite reach his eyes.

            I smile at the joke, but keep my eyes on him, not wanting to give him the opportunity to avoid the question. He sighs audibly and looks suddenly much older, his smile gone and an immeasurable sadness in his eyes.

            'Like I said earlier, it is when people try to justify unconscionable acts by declaring them done in the name of God. I gave humanity free-will, but when they exercise that right and then claim their actions were done in the name of another, it is cowardice at its worse.' He is weeping freely now as he speaks, anguish in his voice as if the thoughts were the metal spikes driven through his wrists and feet as he were nailed to the cross, or the spear thrust into his side. 'They will never have the opportunity to repent, to seek the gift of forgiveness, because they are unwilling to take responsibility for their choices and actions. It leaves me at a complete loss with how to move forward. It makes me feel like turning my back on all of this. I think I need a break, forgive me.'

            Wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve, God rises from the lounge and retreats from the room into my bedroom, shutting the door behind him.