I took the cup he offered. It was lukewarm. One of the pitfalls of philosophy, I suppose.
Golding sounded almost defensive. 'I'm merely saying that-historically-it's been downhill all the way, religionwise. Besides, witchcraft
is a craft, not a religion. It's a primitive form of science conducted by members of a religion. In much the way Lysenkoism was a crude science conducted by members of the Marxist faith.'
Ann lowered her cup to say softly, 'Lysenko didn't follow the scientific method. Witches do.'
Golding raised an ebon-and-grey eyebrow in her direction. 'Yes. And unlike Judeo-Christianity or Marxism, the Old Religions had quite understandable deities. Gods and goddesses who didn't take as great a delight in slaughtering their creations. Even as scandalous a god as Zeus was outmatched by the murdering war god of the Old Testament or the nearly identical Allah or the manic-depressive masochist of the New Testament. The old ones didn't issue as many commandments and contradictory orders.
'But, of course, I'd rather not have anything to do with any of them at all. Which is why I'm an atheist, not a Druid or something. All right?'
Ann nodded. She seemed vaguely troubled by his speech, though she hid it behind her cup of coffee.
I yawned. 'I am serious,' I said, 'about killing God.'
'Oh, sure.'
'Look at me, Golding.'
He lowered his gaze to stare down on me. The kimono would have seemed ludicrous if it had been on anyone else this side of Christopher Lee. It gave him an air of imperious superiority.
'Do I look like a kidder, Golding?'
'You look like a hood.'
Ann opened her mouth to protest. A motion of his hand silenced her.
'An educated hood, perhaps, but a hood nonetheless. You are a man who thinks he can change things through violence, even if it's the civilized violence of mockery. It's ideas that change the world, Mr. Ammo-not force or ridicule.'
'So you can't help me.' I swirled the remaining coffee around in my cup.
'Help you to do what? Actually kill God? The idea is absurd! Changing the way people think is the only way to improve the world.'
I stared into my cup. Perhaps improving the world was not my client's intention. I knew that achieving a promised immortality was mine. I doubted that the drive to better the human condition had much bearing on the contract.
'I know I'm on the right track,' I said. 'People would just brush me off otherwise.' I gazed up at him to add, 'People have been trying to stop me.'
'Then I wish you luck. The only good God is a dead God.'
From the study drifted warm laughter. Raissa said, 'Remember Spencer on freedom, Ted?'
Golding smiled sardonically. 'Yes. Remember this, Dell-No god is dead so long as one person has faith. You'd have to convince
that God doesn't exist. That's the enormity of your mission.'
'Enormousness,' Raissa corrected, entering to pour some Java in her unwashed cup.
Golding laughed. 'The usage would be correct from the theist's point of view. Few people can countenance their gods getting snuffed.'
I slugged down the rest of the tepid jo and set the cup on the Formica countertop. An odd chill came over me that I attributed to the carbonremover I'd just swallowed. When I chanced to glance up past Golding, my spine took a trip to the Antarctic.
Blood dripped slowly down the wall.
