Marcia Goes to Hell

Marcia Goes to Hell

Marcia Goes to Hell

It was a beautiful sunny day in early autumn: the kind you wish you had every day - a perfect 69 degrees, not a cloud in the sky.  There weren’t going to be many days like this before winter set in.  It was a shame to have to waste it at work, but work was where I was headed.

I had a spring in my step as I walked down Holland St.  I might as well enjoy what I could before I entered the bowels of the earth along with the rest commuting humanity to spend the day cooped up in a tiny sunless cubicle under fluorescent lights. 

I was about to enter the subway station when I noticed a guy by the door passing out leaflets.  I usually ignore people like this, especially if it looks like they are trying to sell me something.  This guy was selling: he wore a big sandwich board that proclaimed “Jesus Saves.” 

“Where, at the First National?” I muttered as I walked by.  That old joke.  I usually try to avoid clichés like that. 

"Repent," the guy said directing his attention to me.  "The wages of sin are eternal damnation.  The reward of repentance is everlasting glory."

I looked at this impudent young man in a navy blue suit.  He wore his hair short, but a blond shock drooped over his pimply forehead.  He beseeched me with earnest blue eyes that pierced my soul.

"I repent," I said.  "I'm sorry I made a joke about your religion.  It was disrespectful and trite."

"Do you take Jesus into your heart and renounce Satan?" he asked, his eyes fluttering as if her were surprised to receive a response.

"No thanks," I said.  “I am a born-again Pharisee, and I’m afraid you will have no luck with me.”  I was ready to move on, but the youth blocked my way.

“Wait,” he said.  “This could be your lucky day.  Have you heard the good news?”

“What, have they cancelled work today?”

"Jesus died for our sins: yours and mine."

I never did get that line.  What do Christians mean by died for your sins?  I mean, if they said, Jesus died for you, I would understand.

“How do you figure that?” I asked.

When God created man in his image he expected us to take care of his Creation and follow his laws,” he said patiently as if I were a small child. “Instead we have disappointed Him.  So He sent his only son…”

"When God created us he created an animal who could think,” I interrupted.  “He gave us the capacity for good and evil.  God got what he deserved."

"If you don't go with God, you go with Satan." Now he looked hurt.

"Speak for yourself," I said.  If I don't go with God, then I go with my conscience.  If there is a God, he gave us a brain as well as a heart, and he would expect us to use both."  Christ.  I was beginning to sound as sanctimonious as he did.

"I will pray for you," he said.

"Thanks," I said "You will be in my thoughts too."  I might have added "and in my comic writing, you twerp," when a bolt of lightning appeared out of the sky, so bright, so fierce, and so hot, that when it struck me I was blinded, deafened, and scorched.  Still I could sense that my evangelical friend was struck too, and as I was falling from the deadly shock, he was rising, higher and higher.

I continued to free-fall like Alice in the rabbit hole, but instead of seeing jars of marmalade and wondering about the longitude and latitude, I saw nothing but blackness and wondered whether dying was not just the reverse of being born: being pushed back through the canal from which you came, metaphorically speaking.  I anticipated nothingness.

Instead I landed with a thud which left me sore.  It was a miracle that I didn't break any bones, but I was able to get up.  It was cold, bitterly cold and I had lost all my clothes.  I was standing on ice and it was so dark that if it were not for the little bit of light streaming in from high above, I wouldn’t be able to read the words that adorned the portal I was now facing.  It read, “Toast marshmallows, all ye who enter here.”

It suddenly dawned on me.  Not only was God the same fork-tongued, good cop/bad cop, son of a bitch that I had suspected all along, but he had a nasty sense of humor.  Here I was in Hell, with Hitler, no doubt, all because I didn't pay obeisance to the deity with the borderline personality.  If you sweet talk him, you're all right.  But watch out if you make him mad.  Then it's fire and brimstone for you, although I didn't see any fire and brimstone yet.  Far away through the portal was a small faint pinpoint of light, like a star from the beginning of time.  I went through the portal and followed it.

I moved uneasily through the wretched landscape.  The screeches and roars of unseen beasts filled me with dread.  I tried to hurry along but the ice was too slippery, the rocks too jagged, and my surroundings to dark.  If it weren’t for the fact that I was already dead, I might have frozen to death.

The rocks and ice were beginning to make way for a deep soft snow, but by now my feet were so numb that I didn’t notice that the ground was no longer cutting my feet.  I still couldn’t see anything except the point of light which was now glowing brighter but I occasionally caught a glimpse of a lion or leopard.  Wolves howled in the distance.

The snow became less deep and I finally was able to pick up speed.  I could see the dim outline of trees, bare and stark.  Icicles were hanging from the branches and reflecting little sparks of light from the star, which now appeared to be the size of the O I could make with thumb and forefinger.

I plodded on.  The snow had given way to frozen, unyielding earth.  I was getting closer to the light but now I could hear the soul-wrenching, demonic wailing of what could only be hell hounds.  I ran faster towards the light but I didn’t know if I was running away from them or towards the evil beasts.

Soon, the ground was thawing and becoming mucky.  Before I knew it, I was wading shin deep in mud, which puckered and spit like something boiling.  Insects swarmed around me and there was no way to brush them off.

The only thing that sustained me as trudged still on was that the distant light that was now the size of a full moon.  I could see a little of my surroundings.  The trees weren’t quite so bear.  They were sparsely covered with leaves which would possibly be quite vibrant in the daylight, if there were any.  It was beginning to have the feel of a cool autumn night.  It would have been pleasant if I were dressed for it. 

I was nearly at the source of the light.  I paused for a moment and wondered why I was here?  Was it really because of my religious beliefs or lack thereof, or was it something more relevant to my time on earth.  Was it all those times I yelled at my kids unnecessarily or made snide remarks to my husband?  Was it for slacking off at work or not keeping the house neat?  Was it all those good causes that I didn't give enough time or money to?  Or was it just for being an American and consuming so damn much, although you'd think that not owning an SUV would count for something.

As I approached the light I could see it was a enormous campfire of sorts.  There was some sort of beings ringing the fire.  Some were standing; others sitting; and others just milling about.  They were human, I think, and they all were naked.  So this was it - how I was going to spend eternity.  From what I could see in the shadows, the landscape was barren, the air still chilly for the unclothed, not at all like the Paradise promised to the Faithful.  Still, it wasn’t as bad as I expected.

Two figures left the circle to meet me.  They were my grandparents!  “Whoa, I never expected to see you two again.  You’re looking good.”  We didn’t embrace, as it was kind of awkward in the buff, but they seemed glad to see me.  I examined their faces, trying to ignore what was below.  They looked a little younger than when they died but I couldn’t say quite how.  Their hair was still white, their faces still lined.  Maybe it was the dim light.

"Welcome to Hell," my grandfather said.  "Some people like it here but I don't think it's so great.  The fire leaves you too hot one side and too cold on the other.  It’s never right."  That was Gramps just as I remembered him.

"Don't mind him, dear" said my grandmother taking my hand.  "The people here are very nice.  They even have a Great Books Club for us and Grandpa can still attend his Moose Lodge. I sing with the synagogue choir."

"Nice,” I said.  “We always said this was the place to be - with all our friends."

"Come sit with us awhile," my grandmother said.  "I'll find you a nice lamb chop."  Grandma always made lamb chops for us when we were little.  I didn't have the heart to tell her I had become a vegetarian.

"She doesn’t get it," Grandpa said.  "How many times do I have to tell you, Wife.  There are no lamb chops in Hell."

We sat down in a warm spot amid a sea of bodies.  There were people of all ages and races.  Children scampered around as if at a picnic.  Babies were in their parents’ arms.  They all had a kind of ageless quality to them.  The old people had a kind of cherubic look; the young, wise beyond their years.  “Cute,” I remarked to a woman holding a baby.  I didn’t have to ask if the tiny thing was a boy or a girl.

“We were reunited with her only recently,” the mother told me.  “It was when they let them out of Limbo.” 

“Ah,” I nodded.  I looked around to see if I could find anyone I knew.  All these naked bodies sitting in the shadows of the flickering light reminded me of skinning dipping at family dance camp after the kids went to sleep.  That's one thing I was going to miss: dancing on a summer's night in an open air pavilion, working up a sweat, and running to the pond to peel off, jump in and cool ourselves.  That was heaven. 

We'd swim out to the raft and climb aboard.  We'd sit in circle very much like this, except instead of a fire in the middle, there were the stars overhead, the white band of the Milky Way easily identifiable in the country sky.  There wasn't much light but there was enough to tell the boys from the girls.  The same was true here.

Om'gosh, there was my old friend and dance partner, Charlie, walking towards me.  He had died in a motorcycle accident some years ago, and ever since, whenever I danced Childgrove, the last dance we did together, I thought of him. He squatted down next to me and said, "Hi," 

"Charlie, I can't believe you are here.  You were a good Christian.  How did you wind up here?"

"I chose it," he said.  "The singing is better and the dancing too."

"You're kidding."

"I am not.  Heaven is, well, heavenly in a lot of ways.  It's sunny all the time; you have silky white robes, wings, harps.  The whole bit.  There's such feasting going on, you'd think you were in the court of Augustus.  But damn it, the singing is just awful.  They only sing church songs, which don't get me wrong, I like."  Charlie sang bass in his church choir. 

"But nobody sings harmony, except for the Mormons.  They have their Tabernacle Choir, so they get to sing harmony.  But the rest of us, it's just "Jesus Loves Me," and "March on Christian Soldiers," and "Abide with Me," all in unison.  In my section they don't have any gospel.  It was a little too white bread for my taste." 

Charlie was white, but he did like gospel, and reggae, and just about every kind of music there was.  Charlie was a white man with soul.  "Heaven is the most segregated, divisive place I have ever been,” he continued.  “It’s a shame.  You’d think they would know better.  But here, we sing all the songs, religious, secular, and lusty.  It doesn’t matter what you believe.” 

“It’s not what I expected,” I said.

“I’ll show you what I mean,” Charlie said.  He stood up and began to sing:

Mama don’t ‘low no banjo pickin’ ‘round here.

Other’s immediately began to join in.

Mama don’t ‘low no banjo pickin ‘round here..

More joined in, some slapping thighs in rhythm; others twing twanging air banjo.

Well I don’t care what Mama don’t ‘low,
I’m gonna play my banjo anyhow.
Mama don’t ‘low no banjo picking ‘round here.

The song continued for many verses – Mama didn’t ‘low: trumpeting, fiddling, bogey wogeying.  You name it.  If it was fun, Mama didn’t ‘low it.  But we sang it anyhow. 

Charlie’s song was just the beginning.  Everyone joined in as John Lennon sang “Imagine.”  Billie Holiday led us in “Strange Fruit,” a song I didn’t realize I knew.

A man I didn’t recognize got up and led us in “Amazing Grace.” 

“That’s John Newton,” Charlie said.  “He’s the guy who wrote it.”

“Is he here for the music too?” I asked.  “He was a minister wasn’t he?”

“I think he came here to do penance.  He was involved in the slave trade for a long time after he wrote the song, but I think he stayed for the music.”

I was beginning to get warm on one side, so Charlie and I walked around to meet some of his friends.  “We have all the best artists too,” he continued.  “We have Georgia O’Keefe, Toulous LaTrec, and Vincent Van Gogh.  They have Norman Rockwell.” 

I smiled.

“We have the best in literature too: Oscar Wilde, Virginia Wolfe, and Sappho.  They have Horatio Alger.  We even have William Shakespeare.”

“That was quite a coup,” I said.

“Exactly.  He was born and died a Catholic, so he went straight to Catholic Heaven.  But a man of Shakespeare’s intellect and subtlety couldn’t remain in Catholic Heaven for long.  You should hear him when he recites his work. It’s Shakespeare like you’ve never heard Shakespeare before.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Here’s someone I’d like you to meet.  Zarathustra, was the first Zorastrian.  Marcia’s new here.”

“I heard about you.  You were an early monotheist, weren’t you?  You spoke…”  That’s all I could remember.

“Yes, that’s me.  Some wit said ‘Thus spoke Zarathustra,’ and that’s all most people know about me.”

“So what are you doing here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I don’t mind at all.  The truth is that Heaven was a paradise for true believers when I first got there.  We invented it, you know so it was made exactly to our specifications.  It was a lot like Persia with fertile plains, clear running streams and distant rugged mountains.  We had the place all to ourselves and could do as we like: eat, drink, pray, converse - with no one to bother us.  We even had our holy fire, like here. 

“Then the Jews started coming.  That was all right.  There was plenty of room for all of us and we each took half.  We were both live-and-let-live sorts of people and although we couldn’t eat and drink together, we would take turns singing.  They would listen to ours; we would listen to theirs.

“I didn’t think they let Jews into Heaven.”

“Back then Jews routinely came to Heaven.  They thought they invented it and found it filled with milk and honey.  When the Christians came, they grandfathered in all the Jews who were already there.  After all, the Christians took the ancient Jews as part of their tradition.”

“Co-opted them from the way I look at it,” I said.

“You don’t think we can share?” Charlie frowned.

“I don’t mind sharing,” I said.  “As long as we get proper credit for them being ours.”

“Both of ours,” Charlie corrected.

“But mostly ours,” I countered.

“Hey, cut it out, you two,” Zarathustra said.  “If you are going to start religious wars you are going to be asked to leave.”

Me:  “It’s no war.” 
Charlie: (simultaneously)’’Just a friendly discussion.”

Zarathustra raised his eyebrows and continued his discourse.  “Of course Jesus was the first Christian to come.  Well, he was still a Jew, but a different sort of Jew.  He kept himself aloof from the others, except to come home for the holidays.  The family got along about as well as most families do by sticking to neutral topics, and avoiding hot button issues.  So, still there weren’t any major problems.  When the early Christians started coming we had to make room for them too.  They stayed on their side, and we stayed on ours.  We admired them because they were martyrs and they were happy enough not to be persecuted anymore.

“But when the later Christians began to come, after the Romans started arguing with the Eastern branch about who had excommunicated whom, and who were the true followers of Christ, as he was now called,  Jesus didn’t want to take sides and he would have nothing to do with either party.  Then the Protestants started to come, in all their denominations. 

“You have to understand that every time a new religion came, they needed their own fenced in neighborhood, but each group was still in close proximity to one another and many adherents would taunt each other.  They couldn’t stand the thought that those on earth that they had deemed apostates should be rewarded in Heaven.  Some would sing their songs at the top of their lungs to drown out their neighbors and stick their fingers in their ears so they wouldn’t hear what was coming over the other side of the fence.  It was getting to be a terribly raucous place.  Not at all like the old days.

“When the Muslims came, they were no better than the rest.  The Shia argued with Sunni and the Sunni with the Sufi.  “It was some time around the Spanish Inquisition that all of our people, most of the Jews, and many of the Muslims started to leave.  Later some Christians started coming too.  The truth is that Heaven had gone to Hell.”

“Who would have thunk it,” I said.  “What was Hell like when you got here?”

“It was completely dark and filled with doubters and disbelievers and some genuine miscreants: thieves, murderers, and all the Catholics who ate meat on Fridays.  They now are allowed in Heaven if they want, but most have chosen to remain here. 

Hell was a pretty glum place when we arrived.  We set up our fire, which we took from Heaven, and we all started mixing ourselves up.  For the first time in the Afterlife, the Catholics, Protestants, Jews, Muslims, and Zoroastrians started mingling with each other and the criminals and the non-religious.  We taught each other our songs.  That’s when the party began.”

So what happened to the Hindus and the Buddhists?” I asked.

“I never saw any in Heaven.  I think the Hindus are off somewhere being reincarnated and the Buddhists are in Nothingness, but that’s how they wanted it.”

Someone else was waiting to talk to Zarathustra, so we thanked him for his time and continued to wander around the circle.

“How is it that Zarathustra speaks English,” I asked Charlie.

“He doesn’t,” Charlie said.  “If you asked him, he’d asked where you learned to speak ancient Persian.”

“Look over there,” I said, grabbing Charlie by the arm.  “That’s Martin Luther King Jr. isn’t it?”  He was surrounded by a group of friends of all races.  I couldn’t believe it but George Wallace was there.  But then I remembered how Wallace had renounced his racism in his later years, so it all made sense.

We worked our way into the crowd until we got a chance to speak to Martin.  “Tell Marcia why you are here,” Charlie prompted him.

“I did not live and die for full integration of my people into American society only to find myself in a ghetto in Heaven,” he said in his familiar, sonorous voice.  “They had me in the Negro Protestant sector.  We could sing spirituals but that was it.  No jazz, no blues, and none of our good protest songs.  Not only that, some of our people were yelling over the wall at the Black Muslims and they were yelling back at us.  No ma’am.  When I was alive, I had a dream that all God’s children could live together in peace on earth.  I was not going to settle for less in the Afterlife.”

“Amen,” one of his friends said.

“So people exist in perfect peace and harmony in Hell?” I asked.

“Well, not perfect peace and harmony,” Charlie corrected.  “Eternity is an awful long time to be on your best behavior and sometimes some guys will start needling each other about sports or about some disagreement they had on earth.  Or a married couple will start bickering over the petty things married couples bicker over.  They don’t bicker for long though, because the people around them just start singing to drown them out.  It puts the adversaries in a proper state of mind until the next time.  We haven’t had any major problems that I know of.  Even Cain and Abel are civil to each other most of the time and they invented sibling rivalry and murder.

“So where are the really bad guys,” I asked.  “The Hitlers, the Pol Pots, and the Idi Amins of the World.

“No one really knows,” Charlie said.  “They are certainly not in Heaven and the people here wouldn’t let them into Hell.  Even Hell is too good for people like that.  That’s saying something, isn’t it?  Hey look, there’s somebody I want you to meet.”

Charlie dragged me over to a long haired, bearded young man with marks on his hands and feet.  His eyes expressed a sense of great peace and acceptance, but also great suffering. 

“Jesus H. Christ,” I blurted out and immediately apologized.

“I go by Y’shua here,” the man said shyly.  “I left Heaven as soon as the people who killed in my name started arriving.  Besides, you know how I love a sinner.”

“How can your followers continue with you gone?”

“They don’t notice,” Y’shua said.  They still have Christ.

“You’re here and Christ is there.  How do you manage that? I thought you were the same one.”

“We are.  It’s the power of the Trinity,” he said.  “It works in mysterious ways.”

“Y’shua,” show Marcia how you sing and dance,” Charlie said.  “Marcia’s a dancer and she hasn’t seen any dancing yet.”

“You want me to do my song and dance routine, again,” Y’shua sighed.  “You know, I’m not the only one who can lead it.  I keep telling people that.”

“I know, but Marcia would like to see the way you do it.”

“Okay,” Y’shua said.  He raised his arms palms out, the way I had seen him do in pictures.  He took a deep breath and started singing the old Sidney Carter tune in a beautiful tenor voice.

Dance.  Dance, wherever you may be.
I am the Lord of the Dance said he.
I will lead you all, wherever you may be for
I will lead you all in the Dance said he.

He danced moving forward as he sang and people followed behind him singing.

I danced for the scribes and the Pharisees
But they would not dance, they would not follow me.
Said I, “Do not fear, there is plenty of room
For those who dance to a different tune.”

Dance.  Dance, wherever you may be.
I am the Lord of the Dance said he.
If you turn around, the first shall be last,
It’s another’s turn to be Lord of the Dance.

With these words, the dancers turned as one, changing directions and starting to follow the former last in line. I couldn’t see who it was, as the line had reached so far around the fire.  Charlie and I slipped in behind Y’shua and before long I saw that the line had come round to the beginning, and that in a circle, there were no leaders.

When we were done and seated again, I turned to Y’shua and told him I liked the way he had changed the song to be more inclusive.  “Some people like to have a leader, but you showed us how to dance without one.”

“I never meant to be a leader,” he said.  “I am a teacher.”

“Oh, excuse me,” I said. “There are some people I haven’t seen in a while.”  I got up to greet Dave and Herb, old friends of my parents who left two grieving widows behind.

“Marcia, what are you doing here so soon?” Herb asked.

“It was an act of God, I think.”

“Bad luck,” Dave said.  “How are your folks doing?”

My mother’s still going strong but my father is really bad. He can barely talk and I don’t know if he recognizes us anymore. We don’t know how much longer he’s going to last.”

“We’d love to have him here,” Dave said.  “We have a place reserved at the bridge table for him.”

“He will like that,” I said. “He hasn’t played bridge in a long time.”  I realized how much I missed the man who my father once was, and I, too, was looking forward to meeting him again.

“Wait ‘til you meet Moses.” Dave said.  “He’s right over here.”

“You mean Moses who parted the Red Sea?” I asked.

“Sea of Reeds,” Dave corrected.  “Which other Moses?”

“I didn’t think he was supposed to be real?”

“Well, see for yourself.”

“Moshe,” Herb said after making introductions and using Moses’ proper Hebrew name.  “Tell Marcia what it was like in Jewish Heaven.”

“O, it was good at first,” Moses said.  “All day we sat and studied Torah, while the children played like lambs.  Every Shabbos we would light candles, and every Pesach we would retell the story of our Exodus from Egypt.  Every Succot we would build our tabernacles.  We didn’t bother the Zoroastrians and they didn’t bother us.  And all the food was kosher.

“But when the Christians began coming in greater numbers, they were angered that we did not join them.  They called us faithless.  The one they called Saint Peter, denied our people entry.  ‘Simon,’ I said to him, for verily he was Simon, son of Jonah.  ‘Simon,’ I said ‘let my people come’.  But he hardened his heart against us.  Maybe it was God’s will.  So I led my people out of the Promised Land into the Wilderness. 

“Later some of the Christians followed us here,” 

“There went the neighborhood,” Dave smiled.

“You know that is not true,” Moses admonished him.

“You’re right.  The gentiles are quite decent and Y’shua is a mench.”

I left Herb and Dave talking with Moses and wandered off to see what else the place had to offer.  I saw a group of Semitic looking women talking together.  One of them looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place her at first.  Then I realized and walked went over to her.  “Excuse me,” I said crouching.  “Are you Fatima”

“As-salaam alaykum,”  she greeted me.

“Peace be with you, too” I said.  “You don’t know me, but I used to work with your granddaughter Layla.  She showed me your picture when you died.”

“Ah, Layla.  She’s a good girl, but tell me the truth, she doesn’t wear the scarf anymore, does she?

“No she doesn’t,” I admitted, “but she still fasts on Ramadan.”

Fatima nodded with approval.

“She went back to Lebanon for your funeral.  She was very fond of you and said you lived like a saint.”

“Ha, Layla always did stretch the truth,” Fatima chuckled.  “. I’m sorry I can’t offer you any tea.”

“That’s okay,” I said.  “So you, too, decided to leave Heaven for Hell?”

“Yes,” she sighed.  “It was a sad thing.  All my life I lived for my reward in Paradise.  When I got there it was just as I imagined, in some ways.  The rivers were flowing with honey, milk, and wine.  Not the wine forbidden to us on earth, but the sweet wine of God that fills us with holy ecstasy.  I was reunited with my husband, Sayed, whom I had not seen in 20 years but I couldn’t find my dear friend, Zara…”  (she took the hand of the woman sitting next to her) “…because she was on the other side of the fence.  And I could not go near the fence because, I am ashamed to say, so many of my people were there shouting at Zara’s people.  It was not the place of peace that the Prophet had described.”

The other women murmured in agreement.

“It was such a disappointment, that I nearly lost my faith,” Fatima said.  “Sayed and I talked it over and decided to come here.  It was the hardest decision I ever had to make, but it was the right thing to do.”

“I’m so pleased to meet you,” I said.  Oh look, here is my grandfather.  I introduced Gramps to Fatima and her friends.  “Shalom Aleichem,” he responded to her Arabic greeting.  I was surprised at how cosmopolitan he had become.

Later when he and I were walking back to find my grandmother I asked him, “So do you hear much about Heaven?  Are there any Jews left there?” 

“A few,” he said. “Some of the prophets stayed.  The Christians begged them to.  And recently some Israeli settlers have been admitted.  The goyim like them too, as the Jews have to be in Israel in order for them to have their End Days.  So with the prophets chastising and the settlers screaming at the Arabs, it sounds like no paradise.  Even so, they say there are still some old rabbis discussing Talmud, completely oblivious to it all.”

I shook my head with the thought of it.  “There’s one thing I don’t get.  How is it that the fire isn’t even as big as a house, and the circle around the fire is only a few people deep, yet the space can accommodate all the people we know must be here?  And how is it with so many people, you can run into the people you know or want to know so often?

My grandfather smiled.  “If I had a nickel for every time those questions were asked, I’d be a rich man, if you were allowed to take it with you.  We’ve discussed this many times before and the best we can guess is that it has something to do with the fact that we are all just souls with no weight or mass and that our physical presence is just an illusion.”

Wow.  I never heard Grandpa discuss philosophy and physics before, and the fact that he did so now, was almost as wondrous as his explanation.  I had a feeling that I was going to enjoy him more than I ever had since I was a little girl.  “What’s Grandma doing?”

“She’s out grocery shopping.”

Grocery shopping!?

“That’s what we call it.  If you go a little bit outside the circle, you can dig up or pick some things to eat.  Nothing much really, but a little something to nosh on.  I’m sure the hoity-toity are getting much better in Heaven.  Oh here she is.”

Grandma was kneeling near the fire and raking some things out with a long stick.  They appeared to be ears of corn and potatoes – a little on the charred side.  It wasn’t so different from her cooking as I remembered it, but you couldn’t really blame her here.

“Careful, they’re hot,” Grandpa said as he took another stick and helped her rake the vegetables further away from the flames.

“Here, have some blueberries while we wait for the other things to cool,” Grandma said as we sat down.  She handed me a few berries.  They were good.

“We don’t really need to eat anymore,” she said as we munched.  “We just do it out of habit.  At least you don’t have to worry about gaining weight.” 

“So do we really get to toast marshmallows here, like it said at the entrance?” I asked.

“No,” Grandma said.  “That’s some guy’s idea of a big joke.”

“Lenny Bruce,” Grandpa corrected.  “The guy’s name is Lenny Bruce.  He was a famous comedian.”

“I bet they have marshmallows in Heaven,” I said.

“You can be sure they do,” Grandpa said.  “But they don’t have the fire to toast them in.”

“Ha,” I said.  “At least we have something they don’t.”

I ate my corn and potato and sat back and watched the fire.  I wondered why Hell seemed to work out so much better than Heaven.  Heaven had started out as a garden for the faithful but turned into an arena for the intolerant. 

Hell, on the other hand, was a bleak sort of place, and uncomfortable if you weren’t just the right distance from the fire.  Maybe that was part of its magic.  We didn’t have anything here but each other, to huddle with against the cold.  We had to make do with what we had. 

I stretched my legs out to warm my toes.  Before I allowed myself to become mesmerized by the dancing flames, I turned around to see if my father was coming.