Graham Jerry O'

1. Auflage 2012
ISBN: 978-1-62309-449-2
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 300 Seiten

God is concerned about the state of the human condition. He sends his son, formerly known as Jesus and now known as Jerry O' back to Earth to read the world the riot act. Despite our great advances in technology we have become coarsened and narcissistic. This time the son returns to Earth with company. The novel describes the fantastic odyssey of Jerry O' and his troupe. The novel veers between ribald fantasy, adventure and sharp commentary. The climax is stunning and dramatic.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Graham, Anthony

Leseproben

PARADISE

ONE

Wilfred stood at the rear of his electric golf cart measuring the distance to the hole. His drive had been competent. He was on the fairway. He leant into his bag and took out a six iron. He replaced it with a five iron. He took his stance and prepared to strike the ball. He forward pressed slightly and swung. The ball left the club with a pleasing thwack. It was slightly long and faintly sliced to the right. Wilfred replaced the club and got into the cart. He drove towards the green. He pondered on the vagaries of the game of golf. How long had he been playing it? On and off, he thought to himself, for two hundred years and still he was not its master. His father had never showed the slightest interest in the game. Still he was busy enough, with his seven universes with their fiery suns and the often troubling comportment of the various planetary occupants. Wilfred drove to the side of the green and alighted. He was playing alone. This was how he liked it. He had time to contemplate between shots. The Three Moons Golf Club was one of many courses in Paradise. Yet there were comparatively few golfers. This was because it was a game limited to being played on the little planet Earth and those humans who played it were often consumed with sins of pride, envy and greed. Paradise was accordingly denied them. Wilfred smiled to himself thinking of the funny tartan pants the human men wore when playing golf and the strange and inconsequential dress code which tony clubs clung to. It was different in Paradise. Here all inhabitants were civilized and considerate to one another. It was, after all, how they got to Paradise in the first place. Earth was still the only planet that Wilfred’s father had colonized with fully rational beings. Wilfred doubted that his father would try it again. Humans, he mused, had shown that given the choice of good and bad, they usually took the wrong path. Wilfred ruefully thought of the various dictators that Earth had produced, the calamities brought by humans on themselves and the Crusades, allegedly fought, in the name of his father.

Yet Paradise was changing. Wilfred’s father had authorized the building of fifty thousand homes in a new suburb of Paradise One called Earthly Meadows. There would be new shops, sporting facilities and theaters. Wilfred expected this was due to the population explosion on Earth. More humans must surely mean more inhabitants of Paradise. There were similar sub-divisions being developed in each of the other six Paradises.

The son was always the loyal right hand man to his father. He knew one day his destiny would again overtake him. He knew his father would one day inform him of the second coming to earth. He still had the punctures in his hands to remind him of his first visit over two thousand years ago when he called himself Jesus.

Wilfred took a pitching wedge and walked to his Titleist Pro V. He paused to stand on the ridge where his ball was perched and enjoy his view of the three overlapping lakes which dominate the course and which were the ‘three moons’ of the Club's name. It was late afternoon in Paradise and its two suns were starting to dip towards the North. The day had been fine and clear. The temperature was a balmy 23 degrees. It was just another pretty day in Paradise. Wilfred was a tall man. He was dark and slim. His beard was neat and trimmed. He wore a dark blue Three Moons Golf Club golf shirt with khaki tailored shorts, ankle socks and tan leather golf shoes. He stood over the ball. The Fifteenth was a par four. He was going to lob the ball to the green and wait for the dip and borrow to run the Pro V to the hole.

He heard a voice and turned to see a golf cart driving towards him. It had a single occupant. He recognized him. It was Mohammed, his father’s aide de camp.

The cart pulled up just short of where Wilfred was standing.

“Wilfred”, Mohammed said, “the Big Fellow wants to see you now”.

“Mary Mags and I are having supper with him”, Wilfred replied, “don’t tell me he’s forgotten. I would like to finish my round. I am seven over with three to play and I expect to par this hole. I am having a good round”.

“Sorry”, said Mohammed, “he told me it was urgent”.

It must be a new crisis, thought Wilfred, perhaps an out of control Asteroid or a war between the two factions of sub-human Grillabies on Pluto.

He followed Mohammed back down the Fifteenth fairway to the path that cut behind the green to the Seventh hole and led to the clubhouse and car park. A pro shop attendant was waiting to take the golf cart.

Wilfred packed his golf bag into his white Mini and headed through the gates into Atlantic Boulevard. Mohammed was leading the way in his SUV.

The trusted aide had been with the Big Fellow since before Wilfred was born on Earth as Jesus of Nazareth. When Muslims entered Paradise and came upon Mohammed, they sometimes took him to be God. He quickly disabused them, pointing out that the Big Fellow had a variety of names which included Mohammed and he was merely Mohammed Zim, a former Abyssinian tailor and minor politician who had been accepted into Paradise and who became the confidante and aide to the Creator by dint of his hard work, loyalty and good works in Paradise. Mohammed would confidently twirl his handlebar mo and show a mouthful of sparkling white teeth to the Muslims. They would be disarmed and relieved.

The two vehicles entered the grounds of the Big Fellow’s residence and administration centre. The red brick office block which housed the bureaucrats was starting to empty as the workers went home. The white cement angel’s block, known as The Citadel, on the other side of the residence, on the other hand, never slept as angels travelled between Paradise and Earth carrying out their work as agents of the Creator. Between the office block and The Citadel was the simple, single story red brick bungalow where the Big Fellow lived with his wife Mary.

Mohammed and Wilfred entered the house. The Big Fellow was waiting. He ushered his son into the small ante room which served as his front office.

“Thanks for being so prompt”, he said, “there is something that has been troubling me for months. I now believe it requires our urgent attention”.

The Big Fellow sat in his old tan leather armchair and lit up his briar pipe. Facing him was his white board wall showing the present state of the seven Universes. Wilfred sat next to him, perched on the arm of the chair.

“You know son I will not interfere with nature”, the Big Fellow had clearly rehearsed what he was going to say, "if I was to even clip a dove’s wing or shake a monkey's paw the course of nature would be affected. The human condition is at the very essence of nature. Goodness knows, when Adolf Hitler was born I thought long and hard about it. In the end nature triumphed and the modern world was born. However Calliope has been reporting to me of recent developments and his accounts become more disturbing by the day".

Calliope was one of the lesser known angels. He was a particular favorite of the Big Fellow. He often went to Earth delivering messages for Him. He was a source of information about Earth and its troublesome inhabitants. Gabriel and some of the other high profile angels seemed to Wilfred to be put out by the fact that Calliope had the Big Fellow’s ear. Not that they would ever say much. After all they were angels. They answered to Wilfred's father. However Wilfred saw angels as being similar to the Roman Senators he had come up against two thousand years ago. At heart both groups were roosters who enjoyed their finery and their positions. Still, Wilfred would never utter a word against an angel. After all they were his father’s messengers and agents. They served Paradise daily in a meaningful way.

Tea had arrived. His mother Mary walked in carrying a tray. She gave Wilfred a peck on the cheek. “I have sent Mohammed to pick up Mary Mags”, she told the the pair before retreating.

The Big Fellow had a sip of his Ceylon Blend and puffed his briar. Wilfred remained silent. He waited to hear the news.

The Big Fellow resumed speaking.

“It seems that Iran now has a nuclear weapon. I have no doubt that it will use it in my name against Israel. North Booga will launch against the South. China will intervene and while this is going on, the USA is stuck in Iraq and Afghanistan fighting wars it cannot win. Both sides in those wars are claiming that they fight on my behalf. But this is not all. The new computer technology has only further sapped the good qualities of Humans. You can add an eighth deadly sin. It is the sin of narcissism. Humans are now obsessed by themselves. They somehow think others are interested in their every facile thought and deed on this foolish Twitter technology. Women think they are men and men do not know whether they are Arthur or Martha. There is little or no contemplation or sensible self assessment. The leaders are generally egocentric. The hoi polloi has become dumbed down and feral. This is all the fault of the worst generation of earthlings ever, those foolish baby boomers. They taught the later generations in the schools and Universities. The children have learned no logic. They have not been taught the fundamentals. The so called Baby Boomers are now sucking the intellectual stimuli out of the world with their thick half formed theories. Climate change is just one of the nonsensical pseudo scientific clap trap accepted as a reality on earth. There are still good humans, but they are frightened to speak out because the Baby Boomer chatterers...