Vision of Tarot

  Brother Paul shut up. What these men needed most at the moment was relief from their physical agony—and maybe while they talked he would be able to think of a more persuasive argument to get Jesus out of here.

  "Gladly, Prophet Jesus! I was born in the city of Mecca—you may know of it as Mekkeh or some other variant—570 years after your own birth. That's approximate because of changes and errors in the calendar. My father died before my birth, and my mother passed on six years later, so I was raised by relatives."

  "You had no father?" Jesus inquired.

  "In a manner of speaking," Mahomet agreed. "Allah may be the ultimate sire of us all, but a man requires human paternity too—a man to protect him and show him right from wrong."

  "Yes!" Jesus agreed. "That he may not be mocked."

  "That he may pass from the space of time in the womb when his life is a blank, and be shown how to seek refuge in the God of men, from the mischief of the slinking prompter who whispers in the hearts of men."

  "The mischief of Satan," Jesus agreed. "You speak well, Prophet."

  Mahomet started to shrug, winced as his guts shifted, and aborted the motion. "I speak only to guide men to the straight path, the path Allah favors."

  "Did you—marry? How did you die?"

  "I married as a young man of 25," Mahomet said. "She was a rich widow fifteen years my senior, but a good woman, and she put her commercial affairs in my hands. I was grieved when she died when I was 49."

  "But how could a Prophet share his love of God with a mere woman?" Jesus asked.

  "How could he fail to do so? Was not your blessed mother a woman, beloved of God?"

  Jesus was not wholly satisfied. "What do you know of my mother?" And Brother Paul, who had met the lady in Paradise, wondered also.

  "She left her people and went out east alone," Mahomet said. "God sent his spirit to her in the guise of a handsome man. When she saw him she was alarmed, fearing mischief. 'May the Merciful protect me! If you fear God, leave me alone!' she cried. But he replied 'I am the messenger of your God, and have come to give you a holy son.' And she, still alarmed, asked 'How shall I bear a child when I am a virgin, untouched by man?' But he said—"

  "Uh, I'm not sure—" Brother Paul broke in, remembering the manner Therion had Animated questions of sex before.

  "But he said, 'Such is the will of your God', " Mahomet continued firmly. " 'Your son shall be a sign to mankind, a blessing from Me. This is My decree.' Thereupon she conceived you, and the rest followed. Mary was blessed above all women—and blessed was the man Joseph who married her and gave the child of God a home. I would have had no shame to dwell in the house of Joseph the Carpenter, rather than in the house of an uncle."

  "Yes," Jesus agreed, and it was evident what an impact these kind words from this unexpected source were having on him. "How did you come to serve directly, Prophet?"

  "I was troubled by the iniquities I perceived about me," Mahomet said. "God had revealed His Will to the Jews and the Christians through chosen apostles. But the Jews corrupted the Scriptures, and the Christians perpetrated atrocities in the name of Jesus—"

  "Yes!" Jesus echoed fervently.

  "One day when I was forty, in a vision the Angel Gabriel came to me. 'Recite!' he charged me, and when I did not understand he repeated it three times, and said 'Recite in the name of God, who created man from clots of blood.' Then I understood that I must recite God's words, and so I spoke them and wrote them down and called that book The Recital or the Koran. Actually it was put together from my writings after my time, by idiots who simply arranged the pieces in order from the longest to the shortest, but still it serves."

  "The Bible's organization is little better," Jesus murmured. "Accounts of my life and sayings were written a century after my time and ascribed to my Disciples and called Gospel. The major portion of my life and ministry was omitted. But I know now that matters little, for the people who call themselves Christians do not pay attention even to the fragments that were recorded. They do not love their neighbors." He grimaced. "And so you became a worker of miracles, a Son of God? Were you crucified also?"

  "I never had the power to work miracles, and I was not the Son of God—and indeed I condemn the Christians for worshiping you as the Son of God."

  "But—"

  "I did not say you were not the Son of God. You were and are—"

  "We all are," Brother Paul put in.

  "But God commanded the people to worship Him, and none but Him. When they started worshiping you and all the Saints, they were perverting His directive. Because they had gone astray, the Angel Gabriel came to me and directed me to bring them back to the true religion as preached by Abraham, to absolute submission to His Will."

  "Yes," Jesus agreed a trifle doubtfully. "And yet—"

  "Yet the Christians have confined me in their Hell," Mahomet finished with a grim smile. "Because the true heretics are not those who schismed from the main mass of Christianity in order to worship God more properly. The true heretics are in charge of the Christian Church —and the Jewish Church. And—"

  "And the Moslem Church?" Jesus inquired gently.

  "And the Moslem Church," Mahomet agreed. "Do they think I do not see their hate, their alcoholic drinking, their sins? And those heretics of all churches condemn to Hell all who seek to expose their iniquity. God is merciful; the rulers of these Churches are not."

  "And so you were killed?"

  "No, I died naturally when I was no longer needed on Earth."

  Jesus made a decision. "Prophet, I like your attitude. Your beliefs are not mine in all ways, but I believe you are qualified to settle the differences between Brother Paul and me."

  "I will be happy to try," Mahomet said. "So long as it does not require much physical exertion. Our wounds will not heal until the night—and then each morning we must walk past the demon again. At the moment I cannot do more than talk."

  They turned to Brother Paul. Well, why not? If this were a possible route to the release of his friend from this place... "It is this," Brother Paul said. "I am of mixed descent. I have some, uh, Nubian blood. He feels this damns me, so for the sake of friendship, he endures my punishment. But I feel there is no crime in heredity, except perhaps in Original Sin, which taints all men equally. Is black blood a sin?"

  "There is no crime in heredity," Mahomet said. "Any person who practices right belief and action is welcome to the house of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful. I regret that many who profess to follow my own prophecy do not seem to believe this, but it is so." He turned to Jesus, gesturing toward Brother Paul. "Is this such a man? One who honors God in his heart as well as with his lips?"

  "Yes," Jesus said. "But—"

  "I seek God," Brother Paul said. "I do not claim to have found Him or to be worthy of—"

  "But if he were in some way flawed," Mahomet continued, "I would neither send him to Hell nor go in his place. I would forgive him."

  "Forgive him..." Jesus said, as though this were a phenomenal revelation. "As God forgave man..."

  "Therefore," Brother Paul said quickly, "having done that, there is no need for you to suffer the tortures of Hell. Let's get out of here."

  Jesus almost agreed. But then he balked. "You are forgiven—but who is to forgive me!"

  "You? You are blameless!"

  "Jesus is blameless, except perhaps for a matter of a fig tree. But the one who plays the role—and plays it imperfectly—that is another matter."

  Brother Paul felt a premonition of disaster. He fought it off. "Let's get out of here. Then we can discuss it at leisure."

  "No," Lee said with growing conviction. "I see now that I deceived myself and you. It was for my own crimes I came here. I am a Mormon, and—"

  "What has that to do with it?" Brother Paul demanded desperately. "You have honored your creed."

  "That has not been proven," Lee insisted. "I—"

  "Then let's put it on trial," Mahomet said. "We shall have the proof soon eno
ugh."

  A female demon appeared. In lieu of clothes she wore bright paint: rainbow rings around her breasts and a clown's mouth at her nether bifurcation. Another prime role for Amaranth! "Jesus Christ may leave Hell," she said. "His host may not, for his heritage is tainted."

  "Ah, but is it?" Mahomet demanded. "What do you hold against him or his religion?"

  "I passed through Utah once," the demoness said. "I saw a handsome man. 'Who is that?' I inquired. 'That is Brigham Young, leader of the Mormons,' my companion informed me. 'He has twenty seven wives.' 'Why, he ought to be hung!' I cried. My companion smiled. 'Lady, he is!' he replied." The demoness pointed to Lee. "His Church is polygamous!"

  "But that is no sin," Mahomet protested. "Every man should have four wives, or more, depending on circumstances."

  "Score one for the defense," Brother Paul murmured, hiding a smile. No, the Mohammedans would not condemn polygamy!

  "Well, try this on for size!" the demoness said angrily. She whirled, made an obscene gesture with her bare posterier—and from it a cloud of smoke issued. The cloud developed color and character, and became a picture of a wagon train of the nineteenth century, wending its way through western America. "It is short of supplies," the demoness said from behind the picture. "The local inhabitants, intimidated by the Mormons, refused to see to it. They believed the train carried a shipment of gold, and they wanted that wealth." In the moving picture, Indians attacked. It seemed they would overwhelm the wagon train, but the men, women and children fought back desperately, and finally drove the Indians off.

  The scene shifted. Now the leaders of the wagon train were talking with the Mormons. "The Mormons were on good terms with the Indians," the demoness explained. "They promised to guide the train safely through the hostile territory if the travelers surrendered their weapons so as not to seem to threaten the Indians." The picture showed the turnover of weapons and the resumption of travel.

  "No!" Lee cried in the throes of an agony that seemed worse than that of his wounds.

  "Yes!" the lady demon insisted gleefully. "It was a trap. The guide led the train into an exposed place. Indians attacked it again, and the guide joined the Indians, and this time massacred the defenseless travelers. The attack was led by Mormons, whose leader was John Doyle Lee."

  "My namesake!" Lee said brokenly. "Betrayer and murderer! That name was passed along to me with such pride—"

  Brother Paul winced. No wonder Lee was hurting! "But the fact that your namesake Lee may have been guilty of such a crime does not make the whole Mormon Church guilty," he protested. "Did the Mormons defend Lee's action?"

  "No," Lee admitted. "He was tried and condemned. But—"

  "And you can not be blamed for something that happened long before your birth," Brother Paul continued. "Can he, Mahomet?"

  "I would not accept this version of original sin," Mahomet agreed.

  "I'm not finished!" the lady demon said, reappearing. "This man is a member of a plagiarized faith."

  "Plagiarized faith!" Lee exclaimed. "That's a hellish lie!"

  "Say you so? Watch this," she cried, doing her bit with the smoke again. This time the scene was of a man writing a manuscript. "This is Solomon Spaulding, a Congregationalist minister and would-be author, writing a novel in 1810," she announced. "He wrote several novels, but never had them published. His interest was in the origin of the American Indians—the Amerinds, and he liked to conjecture about their possible connections with the people across the Atlantic Ocean. He died in 1816."

  "That has nothing to do with me or my religion!" Lee protested.

  The scene shifted. Now it was a blanket stretched across a cabin. "This is Joseph Smith, founder of the Mormon Church," the demoness said. "He hides himself so that his amanuensis can not perceive him plagiarizing from Spaulding's novel, and the King James Bible, and other sources to fashion The Book of Mormon."

  "No!" Lee cried. "The Book of Mormon is a divine revelation!"

  "And when it became too cumbersome dictating these divine revelations to the scribe, Smith simply used sheets from Spaulding's original manuscript. 'First Nephi' is an example."

  "No!" But the cry sounded like that of a man with his neck in the guillotine.

  "Then you explain the origin of The Book of Mormon," she challenged.

  "It was written by members of the Nephite Nation, the last of whom was Moroni, who concealed the records at the place later called Cumorah, New York State. There these engraved plates of gold remained from A. D. 400 until A. D. 1827, when the resurrected Moroni gave them to Joseph Smith for translation and publication. This translation is The Book of Mormon."

  "The prosecution rests," the demoness said. "Do you still believe that moronic legend?" And Lee was silent.

  "That is a problem," Mahomet said. "If your entire religion is based on a lie—"

  "No!" Brother Paul cried. "Maybe the origins of the Mormons are suspect, or maybe it is all a great libel. It doesn't matter! What matters is what the religion is today. Many worthy religions have foundered when their adherents forgot their original principles—but here is a religion that became greater than its origin! The Mormons today constitute one of the most powerful forces for good on Earth. Their uprightness stands in stark contrast to the hypocrisy of so many of the more conventional religions. Therefore, there is no crime in this man who has faithfully honored the fine principles of his faith. Let us crucify no more people for being than we are!"

  Lee seemed stunned. The demoness, a look of sheer fury on her pretty face, faded away. Mahomet shook his head thoughtfully. "Yes, Brother, I believe you are correct. We must judge what is, not what was. On that basis—"

  "To hell with what was!" Brother Paul cried. "This man is as much like Jesus Christ as a contemporary man can be. He belongs among the living."

  "What is," Lee repeated. "I have been haunted by what was." Then his face glowed—literally. "We have no further business in Hell," Jesus said. "Hell itself has no business existing. Prophets like Mahomet and good men like Brother Paul—what the Hell are they doing in Hell! I never preached hellfire; I preached forgiveness—for men and for institutions." He stood straight, and his horrible wounds closed and healed in seconds. He gestured to Mahomet—and the Prophet's guts folded back into his body cavity, and the skin sealed smoothly around them. "Come, friends—we must abolish this atrocity." And he strode back toward the rock where the demon was still hacking helpless souls apart. All along the way he gestured at the wounded: "Rise, take up your bodies, and follow me!" And they were restored.

  The demon glanced up as Jesus approached. "What, healed already?" it exclaimed. "I'll split you in two!" And it struck hard.

  The sword bounced off Jesus's flesh and broke into two fragments. The demon stared, then backed away. Then, as Jesus continued advancing, the demon screamed in terror and fled.

  The healed souls gathered around. "We are saved!" they cried joyfully. They closed ranks and marched behind like a swelling army. They sang hymns of victory. Before them all the legions of demons were seized with terror and scrambled out of the way. Hell was in revolt.

  Down they marched into the frozen Ninth Circle—and the ice cracked and shattered as the souls buried within it came to life to join the throng. Even the giants ringing this circle merged with the marchers, and the sheer cliff crumbled to form a gently sloping ramp.

  They came in sight of monstrous Satan Himself. Jesus paused. "O Thou Prince of Destruction," he cried indignantly, "the scorn of God's angels, loathed by all righteous persons! Why didst thou venture without either reason or justice to bring to this region a person innocent and righteous? Suffer now the penalty of—"

  "No, wait!" Brother Paul cried, putting a restraining hand on Jesus' rising arm. "Even Satan has only been doing His job. You must forgive Him also!"

  "Forgive Satan?" Jesus was amazed, and so were Mahomet and all the multitude of regenerate souls.

  "Besides," Brother Paul continued, remembering. "I haven't finished my s
urvey of souls." And he showed his calculator still zipping through the numbers. "It would be false pretenses to start a survey and then incite a riot."

  Jesus paused, glancing at Mahomet. Then, as one, they burst out laughing. Suddenly all Hell was laughing, even the demons. A mad tangle of bodies formed as laughing souls collapsed upon each other. And, overriding it deafeningly, came the laughter of Satan Himself: "HO HO HO HO HO!"

  Hell dissolved into chaos. Like smoke it lifted, leaving them standing in a valley, laughing uncontrollably.

  XI

  Transfer: 19

  There is a story about a man who wished to reward three of his faithful employees. To each he offered the choice between a lump of gold worth a small fortune—and a Bible. The first employee considered both, but he was not a religious man, and so he took the gold. The second employee wrestled with his conscience for some time, but finally, apologetically, explained that he had a family with sick children and many debts and had to take the gold. The third, though obviously tempted by the gold, finally settled on the Bible. When he opened it, bills of high denomination fell out from between the pages. In their aggregate, they amounted to much more than the value of the gold had been.

  The obvious moral of this story is that by seeking faith instead of worldly riches, a person may acquire more riches than he would otherwise have done. The problem is that this justifies the Bible not for itself, but for the profit that may be in it. That is a perversion of the Bible's meaning. When people use the Bible as a means to promote the acquisition of wealth, the moneychangers have surely taken over the Temple, and Christianity has become merely another business.

  In the distance the two outside watchers stood. "This time let's make sure we have the child," Brother Paul said as his laughter subsided.

  But it was all right, for Amaranth and a smaller figure were walking toward them. This time all of them were emerging! "The child!" Mrs. Ellend exclaimed as the parties joined. "You found her!"