Limbo 56 - Mike Morris (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📗

were issued cheap radios and television sets that churned out inferior entertainment, and they wailed against their punishment far more than their ancestors in the gloomy earlier Limbo had.

The thin man looked around the pub disapprovingly. It was relatively clean, bright, and almost empty. The barmaid, he noted approvingly, was trying to talk and pick her nose at the same time. The other pubs in limbo were on a level or – ugh – better than this one, and yet the Eternal Powers were, just lately, never satisfied, and his intake shrank year by year to almost zero. Combine that with the steady streams of former inhabitants who soared off to Heaven or plummeted to hell, and his place was rapidly emptying.

“Dammit,” he muttered, “it’s not fair. These people are better off here than I ever was in life, and they’re still not satisfied.” He sniffed. “They probably complain about Heaven, – those that get there.” He had never really considered his transition. As time passed, he grew, if not happy, at least resigned to his fate. True, there were certain disadvantages to being dead; not much sex, no sense of touch, taste, or smell. Still, with practice, he could conjure up a ghostly remembrance of bitter beer when he drank from the dusty glasses served up in his local drinking house.

He tried to remember his last real taste of anything. Not since he ran a successful black market trade with the real world, helped by a Criminal, a Politician, and an Accountant, all since gone to their just deserts, had he tasted real food, or drunk real beer. Gladys had managed, occasionally, to coax a little flavour, a little taste into the cardboard and vinegar meals, but one day she had grown restless, and disappeared as mysteriously as she had arrived. For almost a hundred years he had done his lonely best here, uncomplaining, since the Eternal Powers had judged him too sinful for Heaven, too innocent for Hell, and possessed of a non-existent talent (which only they saw) for running things. He had not thought of that august assembly for almost two centuries.

Suddenly, he was in a cavernous room, on a hard wooden chair, staring at the massed assembly of the Eternal Powers. “Or at least,” he thought, “those that bothered to turn up.” The room was almost empty, and a mixed bunch of six scowling Devils, and six frowning Angels stared down at him from comfortable thrones. He looked at the Angels with dawning hope. Were his efforts on behalf of Limbo finally going to be recognized?

“Well, let’s get on with it,” the well-padded chairman, who Arthur was relieved to see was an Angel, grunted. “This committee will consider the evidence, and we will deliberate on your...” He stopped, irritated, as a rather dapper devil at his side whispered something. “Harrumph,” he continued. “This committee is here to gather evidence in the case of Powers vs. Mossop and to pass judgment regarding numerous recent complaints about your failure to maintain the standards, set up by this committee, and amended periodically, in the maintenance and facilitation of Limbo56, as laid out…” He went on like this for what seemed like several hours while his fellow Angels nodded portentously, adding their own obscure remarks and the Devils fidgeted and whispered dirty jokes to each other.

Finally, a second Devil interrupted. “Can we get on with this matter? This poor sinner has no idea what you’re blathering about, and can hardly defend himself unless you get down to the specifics of what he is charged with.”

Arthur was beginning to change his mind about the committee. He appeared to be headed, despite his best efforts, not for the sublime comforts of Heaven, but rather for the extreme torments of Hell. The angels were all portly, humorless snobs, with no idea of how difficult it was for an honest working man to run an operation like Limbo, without any training, learning on the fly. In fact, they reminded him of his old foundry bosses, who sometimes swept by in their fine carriages completely oblivious to their weary mud-spattered, trudging workers.

The Devils on the other hand, probably because of their break from their more strenuous working conditions, appeared quite spruce and cheerful. A couple of them smiled at him encouragingly, and he couldn’t help feeling that they appreciated his difficulties far more than the Angel bureaucrats. He began to wish that the head Devil were chairing the proceedings.

“Well, what do you say to your sentence,” the Head Angel demanded, interrupting his reverie and spraying him with saliva. His mind raced as he tried to recall what had been the verdict just handed down.

One of the Devils came to his rescue. Winking at Arthur he said. “You have probably realized that this hearing has not gone too well for you. Despite what you may have heard, we Devils are not vindictive, neither are we,” he glanced at the Angels “so set in our ways that we are unable to take into account extenuating circumstances, such as your lack of decent training, and the constant upgrades you have been forced to make, by a majority Angel vote, I have to say.” He paused. “We Devils consider you innocent (he grimaced at the word), and have reminded our colleagues that you have made numerous requests for an assistant, all of which have been ignored. We believe that you have tried your best, and we have urged our honorable colleagues to show mercy on your eternal soul. Forever is a long time.”

“But,” Arthur said, spirits rising. “That’s six to six. Surely we will need another hearing and I can take some time to prepare my case.”

“Unfortunately,” the Devil answered, and for a moment his eyes lit up blood red and a couple of suspicious looking bumps appeared on his forehead. “Unfortunately, we are currently members of the minority party here, and have no way of overturning the verdict.” He paused again.

He smiled a rather shark-like smile at Arthur. “Excuse me,” he said and cupped his hand to whisper words into the meaty ear of the Chairman, words that Arthur could hear perfectly clearly. “Listen,” he hissed. “The defendant could release himself into our custody, for purely voluntary service. At some time we will review his progress and pass on our impressions to this committee. Surely,” he said, half to Arthur, half to the Angels, “his volunteering will be taken into account.”

“I don’t know,” the head Angel said dubiously. “Right now, he can get time off for good behavior, he can appeal. Why, within a millennium or so, he could get a retrial and ascend to the Heavenly hosts. But, if he’s a volunteer, none of that applies.”

“And, we could release him for a hearing within a year,” the Devil said smoothly. He smiled at Arthur. “Which will it be, Arthur, a year or a millennium?”

Arthur had heard the phrase, ‘the Devil’s own charm.’ If he had not seen the red eyes and budding horns, he would have been tempted. Still, it wasn’t worth declaring boldly, “Get thee behind me Satan,” since he was about to be thrown into the pit, anyway, by the angels, and heaven forbid that he should make Satan really angry at him. “Can I get a written contract,” he said to the head Devil.

“Of course,” the devil said to him immediately. “I’ll draw one up as soon as we get down there. I have the forms in my office.”

Arthur knew that he was trapped. Despite his best efforts in Limbo, he was descending to Hell, whether he took the Devil’s offer or not. There was no way out. Desperately, he looked around the empty room, then back at the twelve wise men facing him. The last few years in Limbo had not been so bad, better in fact than his life in the long-vanished world of low wages and long hours into which he had been born. He was a simple man who had done his best. For almost a hundred years, he had run his Limbo, painfully learning new ways, studying the new outside world that unfolded ever more rapidly. Suddenly, he remembered an obscure fact from an obscure lawyer who had passed through Limbo56 years before.

“Quorum,” he said loudly. “This hearing is illegal. You don’t have a quorum of the Eternal Hosts currently sitting.” He had no idea whether the quorum rules applied to this body, but he was determined to clutch at the frailest straw.

Immediately there was uproar. The devils all hissed and spat sparks, growing horns as large as elephant tusks, and the angels spat rivers of saliva, roaring in righteous indignation, calling down eternal damnation. “Ridiculous,” the head angel declared. We have thousands of Limbos under our jurisdiction, not to mention – up there. He raised his hand as if to smite Arthur, then cocked his head. It was obvious that someone or something was communication with him. He swallowed a couple of times, breathing heavily.

“Home office – that is the Boss,” informs me that, while all this is highly irregular, you do have a point.” He huffed self-importantly. “Naturally, He is the all-knowing, all-seeing, but I don’t think that, in his ivory tower, He has any idea…” He listened again. “He says to tell you good luck at your next hearing. The twelve stood up, and the head Angel muttered, “which, with our busy schedule will be in about 25 centuries.”

The head Devil leapt from the platform, to stand, gnashing his teeth in front of Arthur. “We will fry you and eat you, and vomit you up, and do it again for all eternity,” He screamed, breathing fire and singeing Arthur’s’ eyebrows. He stopped abruptly, looked down, and swallowed. “My boss says that it seems like my suggestion is more punishment for the punisher than it is for the victim.” He gave a sheepish smile. “My boss also says good luck, and don’t try anything like this again...”

Arthur sighed.

Chapter 31 – Days of Beer and Roses
He should have known that the end was near. Had the council promised to review his case within the year, he could have confidently expected several centuries to pass without hearing from them. They had promised to review his case after twenty-five centuries, and a year to the day after his last hearing, he was drinking vinegar beer in a dark corner of his usual pub, when he was once more whisked in front of the council.

He was again in a cavernous room, on a hard wooden chair, staring at the massed assembly of the Eternal Powers while his beer slopped embarrassingly on his trousers. The room was almost empty, he saw with a surge of hope as he gazed at six scowling Devils, and six frowning Angels on their comfortable thrones. His hope was dashed when the Chairman, looking distastefully at his beer mug, remarked, “we have considered the evidence…”

“Wait a minute,” he cried. “Don’t I get to present my case?”

“Oh, this is not a hearing,” the Chairman said with a cunning smile. “This is simply a judgment, levied upon you in absentia, pertaining to your conduct as Governor of Limbo56 over the last century.” Arthur opened his mouth. “I think you’ll find,” the Chairman continued, that the Tribuneral has every right to do so under our laws. “I cite the precedent established in the case of ‘Three Wise Men vs. Pharisees’, section eight, sub-section…” and he continued in this vein for several minutes. When he had finished, a cherub presented Arthur with an extremely dusty law-book. Bent under its weight, and sneezing uncontrollably, he