Hey folks,

I was hunting around for some answers to part 2 of that tough intelligence Test posted a few days ago when I came across this short story.

I enjoyed it and since it was in a few parts and the page it was on put it last part first, I thought I would just publish it here.

The site I got it from was:
The Eye Blog

Written by:
Hmmm... Not really sure

Well Enjoy!


A Day in Heaven

(Because some of us will get only a day)


He was wondering where he was. The sky was blue yet strange somehow. The blue was dense and the same – no nuances, as if some amateur painter didn’t have another color on his disposal and with no shades or perspective had created it. The grass was green; same color, same height, as if some perfect mower had cut it precisely three inches from the ground for miles and miles around him. The ground was flat as a marble floor in an expensive hotel. A tall creature, dressed entirely in white, was standing next to him. The man was sure it came from nowhere. His surprises ended his observations.
“Buongiorno,” the creature said. No response. “Bonjour,” it tried. The man looked at it as if it were crazy. “Bonan tagon. Goeiendag. 今日は. Dobrý den. ‏يوم جميل.. Góðan daginn” The creature stopped to take a breath. “Good morning,” it said without hope.
“Morning,” the man said.
“Oh you see they told me you were Italian because of the name - Carlo Mancini.”
“Well, I’m from Italian descent if that counts.”
“Anyway, I apologize for the confusion. Now my name is Nakh’ara and I’m your instructing angel.”
“You’re what! Oh I see - I’m dreaming, right?”
“On the contrary, my friend, you’ve never seen something more real. Your mind is no longer restrained by the physical limitations of your body.”
The man touched his head with his right hand very slowly. “That is some kind of hallucination, I presume.”
“Oh no. Nothing like that, I assure you. You are just, well, as you would incorrectly put it, dead.
“What?”
“You’re dead,” the angel said simply.
“Impossible.”
“Oh, they told me that could be a problem.”
“What problem? Who are they?”
“They – CIN.”
“CIN?”
“The Commission for Instruction of Newcomers. CIN. You see, you are my first client and everything.”
“And I’m dead,” the man said, absolutely confident that he was dreaming.
“Yes, you are,” the angel screamed with joy, proud that it had managed to convince the man.
“But I think.”
“Well, that could hardly be noticed but…”
“What?”
“Oh nothing, just some angel joke. You think, all right.”
“If I think, I should exist, as a consequence, you know.”
“Well, you exist.”
“Then I cannot be dead. I exist, you see. I’m alive.”
“Oh no, we are back where we started. How I wish to scream: ‘Oh God why did you send me to instruct this idiot.’”
“Well, why don’t you?” the man asked, having fun in his dream.
“Because it was not God who sent me; it was Gabriel’s secretary.”
“Gabriel’s secretary sent you?”
“Yes, she did.”
“Archangel Gabriel?” the man asked, convinced that he had some serious problems if he had dreams like that.
“Oh Clarice, why did you send me to instruct this idiot,” the creature screamed.
“Who’s Clar…”
“Gabriel’s secretary.”
“Ah, the secretary. And I’m dead?”
“Yes,” the angel said with some hope that his client would not start from the beginning again.
“And you’re gonna instruct me on how to have a better life as a dead person.”
“Well, if it makes it easier for you to look at things that way.”
“Ok.” The man shook his shoulders. ”Then you can start with the instruction.”
“All right,” the angel shouted, excited. The angel was smiling so broadly that the man was sure that the ends of its lips were out of its face with at least two feet in either direction. “Welcome to Heaven. You will definitely enjoy your time here!” The angel was still smiling as if there were at least a thousand drums and a million people cheering him.
The man was waiting; he could’ve sworn he almost heard the drums. “And what else?”
“What else?” The angel was caught by surprise.
“The instructions – you can continue.”
“Oh, there’s nothing else.”
“You mean that’s it. Welcome to Heaven and that’s it?”
“Oh no, there is a lot more.”
“Like what?”
“And you will definitely enjoy your time here,” the angel enunciated every syllable proudly.
“Oh, I’m in Hell,” the man concluded.
“Actually, in Heaven – and you’ll like it.”
“Oh, - - - - ! - - - - ! Why can’t I say - - - - or - - - -?”
“That’s part of the new censor… I mean the new speech etiquette, designed for the betterment of all inhabitants. First, it was just advised not to pronounce any of these words but then the Council decided it would be easier if everybody was just unable to say them.”
“The Council? Isn’t God supposed to make the decisions here?”
“Oh, he is above such mundane matters. Of course, the Council does everything in his name,” the creature said proudly.
“You mean….” He froze in the middle of the sentence; the angel had disappeared. The man decided he had nothing better to do than to find for himself what a nice place Heaven was. He couldn’t move, however. He looked at his body and decided it would’ve been good if he were no longer frozen. In the next moment, he wasn’t. In Heaven body meant nothing, but that was the most difficult lesson for a person to learn.

The man looked around. The whole scenery had changed. He thought it looked like van Gogh’s Starry Night. The man loved van Gogh, as probably every other art professor did.
He didn’t actually know where he was going mainly because he didn’t know anything about Heaven, except that he would definitely enjoy his time there. He needed a purpose and a destination; so he decided to fulfill his dream. He was going to find Van Gogh and talk to him in person.
He walked for some time. He didn’t actually know how long: it could have been hours, days, even eternity. Time in heaven is immeasurable because it doesn’t move in one direction with constant speed, as it does on Earth. The man realized that the landscape had not changed at all. For a second he wanted it to change; he wanted it to be like Monet’s water lilies. And it did change and became like the “Water lilies.” He looked at the lily under his feet and thought that he was too heavy for the lily to support him on the surface; so he fell in the pond.
He jumped out of the water in a second, dry as a metal roof in a hot summer day. An old man was fishing in the calm waters.
“What are you doing here?” the art professor asked.
“Fishing. Why?”
“Did you catch anything?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Oh, you haven’t been here long enough, probably.” The old man turned his head; his eyes were sad as if he had been doomed to stay on the bank of the pond for eternity. “Oh my God, how long have you been here?”
“I don’t know,” the fisherman replied simply.
“Have you ever caught fish?”
“I don’t want to catch any fish.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m fishing. Why?” The art professor was convinced he was conversing with a lunatic. “I caught a gigantic marlin in the sea once,” the man started, “but before I reached the shore the sharks ate it all. Now I don’t fish to catch anything; it’s pointless anyway.”
“Do you have a name old man?”
“I have a name but why do you call me that?”
“Call you what?”
“Old man?”
“Because you looked like you have lived for many years,” the art professor remarked.
“Oh, I haven’t noticed that. Anyway, my name is Santiago.”
“Santiago! That all sounds strangely familiar. Tell me, Santiago have you seen, by any chance, Vincent van Gogh here in Heaven?”
“No.”
“Could I stay and fish with you for a while?” the art professor asked, desperate.
“But of course,” the old man said and passed the fishing rod to his companion. The man who was searching for the one they called van Gogh immediately caught a fish.
“Why did I catch a fish?” he asked bewildered.
“Because you wanted to,” the old man said simply.” It is that simple. In Heaven if you want to catch a fish, you catch a fish. If you don’t want to catch a fish you don’t catch a fish.”
The art professor looked at the pond and thought about Heaven and as he was thinking the landscape changed, resembling a Salvador Dali from his surreal years. He forgot about the old man for a second and when he turned around the old man was gone.

-------

A Day in Heaven - Part 2

30th January 2006

This is the second part of the ”Day in Heaven” story. If this is your first visit here, please start with the first installment. I’m looking forward to your comments.
“I should have relatives here,” he said. “My old father, the parish priest, should be here. I should find him, maybe.”
He was on a farm. There was a man sitting on a chair on the porch of an old wooden house. He was smoking a pipe.
“What are you doing here boy?” he asked.
“Father, it’s me – Carlo.”
“I can see it’s you but what are you doing here in Heaven. You have no work here.”
“I, I died.”
“I can see you died but you don’t belong in Heaven. You didn’t live righteously. Hippies that only smoked marihuana and went whoring do not belong in Heaven. And that’s what you were before I died.”
“But father, I changed. I went to college; I worked sixty hours a week so I could pay my tuition. I started going to church every Sunday. I got married and became a respected professor in a university.”
“Is that the truth?”
“Yes. Can’t you see what happens on Earth from here?”
“Oh, yes, we can but we don’t bother much. You see, what happens on Earth, stays on Earth.”
“And you don’t know that your parish church burned in a fire the year after you death?”
“No. Did it really?” A shadow passed over the father’s face.
“Then there is a chance that van Gogh doesn’t know he became famous after his death.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry but I have to go. I have to find van Gogh.” He started walking towards the door in the old wooden fence.
“You don’t have to walk to find somebody in Heaven?”
“I don’t?”
“Well, how did you find me?”
“I just thought about you.”
“Well, that’s how you go to somebody here – you just think about him. Thought is faster than everything, even than light.”
“What about the landscapes. Do I go to places just by thinking about them?”
“No, places do not exist. Only things that possess souls do. Everything else is your own creation; it’s only in your mind.”
The professor closed his eyes and thought about meeting van Gogh. He opened his eyes and found himself in an endless field of sunflowers. But the painter was not there.
“Why?” the man asked. “Why can’t I find him? Why can’t I find van Gogh?” He heard no answer. “Isn’t there anyone who could help me? Someone like Gabriel’s secretary.” He tried to remember the name. “Clarice!”
He was in an office. Behind a big desk of red mahogany there was a woman, talking on a phone.
“Just a moment,” she said to the art professor. ”I’ll be with you in a second.” He waited for an eternity, while she was talking to hundreds of the Heaven’s inhabitants: instructing some angels, scolding others for not doing their job properly. She never forgot to tell the art professor every two minutes. “Thank you for waiting. I’ll be with you in a second.” Finally she hung up and said with a voice sweeter than honey, “My name is Clarice, as you probably know, now that you are here. What can I do for you?”
“I need to find van Gogh.”
“Is he from Earth?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then you should not have any problems speaking to him if he is here.”
“But I can’t.”
“Are you sure he is in Heaven?”
“He should be. I mean he is, definitely. He is van Gogh, you know,” the art professor said.
“Yes, I know, you already said his name. Well, he could be temporarily in the Purgatory for some reason. You will be able to contact him when he is allowed back in. Ok, I have a lot of work”
“Is there anyone that knows where he is for sure?”
“Well, of course, we have a department that deals with that. We have departments for everything. The system functions perfectly.”
“Which is the department?”
“Well, I’m not exactly sure. There are too many departments and they all have their acronyms. You cannot expect me to know all the acronyms.”
“Oh my God.”
“You’re absolutely right, God will definitely know.”
“May I talk to him?” the man asked, afraid of the answer.
“Of course, everybody could. You just have to wait for sometime until the department responsible for that processes your request.”
“And that will be which department.”
“You cannot expect me to know all the departments. All right, I’m glad I could help you but now I have a lot of work to do.”
“Where does God live?”
“In the Palace of course. Have a good day.” The man wanted to be anywhere but in the office. So he was not.
He was in a very strange place, actually. A place that resisted any physical description - the art professor’s mental projection of what “anywhere” meant. It was a compound of all the places he had ever been in his life at the same time garnished by most of the thoughts of places he had had. It was simply “anywhere.” The experience almost made his head explode. He tried to think himself in the Palace of God and he couldn’t.
“Isn’t there anyone who could help me,” he shouted. He looked around and saw a man standing no more than fifteen feet away from him in the middle of “anywhere.”
“Carlo,” the art professor said, stretching his hand towards the stranger.
“Johann Wolfgang.” The man shook his hand.
“I am trying to find God. Could you help me!”
“Do you think God could help you?”
“Well, he created life. He should be able to help me accomplish this goal of mine.”
“Oh, yes – the Creator. What do you think he was trying to do when he created life?”
“I don’t know. He was trying to make life I guess.”
“Do you think he was successful? Do you think he did it well?”
“Well if you take Earth, not really. I mean life is not really perfect, is it?”
“Do you think it was worth doing in first place?”
“What, life?”
“Yes, life,” Johann Wolfgang said.
“I don’t know… Listen do you know how I can reach the Palace of God or not?”
“You are right.”
“About what?”
“You said you didn’t know. That was clever, I don’t think I could have figured it out for myself. ‘I don’t know.’ How clever really!” Johann Wolfgang said. “Things we know best are the things we know nothing about. We experience life all the time yet what do we know about it? Do we know how it started? Do we know how it’s going to end? Do we know its meaning?”
“I guess not. Are you a writer or something?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Are all writers here in Heaven?”
“No, many of them aren’t. Actually most of them aren’t here. But I was better known as a critic, not as a writer. And all critics belong in Heaven.” He started nodding. “Yes,” he said to himself, “we are all here.”
“Do you know how to find the Palace of God? Why can’t I think myself there?”
“Because God is there and you cannot just think yourself in front of God. Clear your mind, close your eyes, sacrifice all you are, and start walking without thinking of where you will end. If God wants you to find his Palace, you will be there.”
He followed the advice and he finally reached the Palace of God. The guards had instructions to let him in because God, of course knew about his wanderings. God had always been fascinated by the race of man. They were short-lived in their natural surrounding on the planet of Earth; yet they lived with such a passion and determination like no other creature in the Universe and beyond. They gave up life with such difficulty and pain that God sometimes wanted to give them eternal life. God knew better than to do so, of course, because men would then lose their purpose and desire to live. And God was always right in his decisions.
Angel Michael opened the big gate and there he was, a small man, who entered and so spoke to God.
“Oh, God I wouldn’t bother you if anyone else could have helped me here in Heaven. But I’m…..”
“You are looking for the one they call van Gogh, are you not?” God asked yet his question didn’t seek any answer.
“Yes.” The man bowed with passion until his head hit the floor. “His work was what I dedicated my life to back on Earth; and to him I want to speak here in Heaven.”
“He is not here, little man. He is in Hell.”
“But how is that possible. I, the insignificant man, am here in Heaven and the greatest painter in the world is in Hell. Is it because he was mentally ill?”
“No.”
“Because he cursed a lot?”
“No.”
“Because he slept with many women then?”
“No. It’s not that.”
“Then it is definitely because he was not a religious man.”
“No. You need not be religious to live properly and come to Heaven.”
“Then why, why oh LORD, he is in Hell?”
“He spent sometime in Heaven but then he was banished and sent to Hell.”
“Oh Lord, he did something to insult you. Can’t you forgive him, oh most merciful?”
“No he did nothing wrong. He was very kind and generous to all inhabitants of Heaven.”
“Then If I may ask you, Lord - why is he in Hell?”
“Because of you.”
“Because of me? How is that possible?”
“Because of you and millions of others who started to worship his paintings as if they were divine images. Because of you, who raised his paintings to the level of icons and cherished them the same. Because of all of you who forgot that the temple was the only place you bow in front of an image. Because of you, who created heresy out of his work. Because of you, he shall burn in Hell until the end of time and beyond.”
The man was trembling before God’s rage and God knew what he was about to ask, while the man wondering if he was strong enough.
“Lord, may I go to Hell and see him?”
“If you go, there is no way back.”
“I know; let me go.”
“If that is what you desire,” God said and sent him to the one they called van Gogh. God then turned around to Michael and said:” You see it doesn’t matter if you let a person into Heaven who does not belong here. Eventually, he will find his way to Hell.”
Then God looked at the scribe that was busy on the table nearby and said: “That’s the end of this story. Did you get every word, Moses? Good, good.”