The Land of Decoration

“There’s not a second to lose!”

“Go away.”

“Don’t you know what this means?”

“Please go away,” I said.

But the voice wouldn’t. “What do you see?” it said.

“Everything’s broken,” I said at last and closed my eyes.

God said: “Exactly!” He sighed. “Judith, I’m trying to help you here, but time is running out.”

“Running out for what?” I said.

“Think about it.”

I opened my eyes, and this time I said: “No.”

“Yes,” said God.

“No. You don’t mean—”

“I do.”

I shook my head. “That’s impossible.”

“What was that word again?”

“Impossible,” I said.

“Have all the other things happened?”

“Yes, but … that would mean—”

“Armageddon,” said God. He laughed. “You wanted the world to end. You asked Me about it often enough.”

I needed to go to the toilet. I got onto my knees. “When?” I said.

“Imminently.”

“How long have I got?”

“About two hours,” said God.

“Oh my goodness,” I said. I held on to the wall. Then I said: “I’ve got to tell people.”

“You have told people,” said God. “You’ve been telling them for years.”

“They might listen if they knew it was coming tonight.”

God laughed. “Do you think so?”

“They would if they knew it was really going to happen.”

“Then it would be for the wrong reason,” said God. “Anyway, how would you convince them?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve got to try.”

“Judith,” God said, “it’s half past four in the morning. What are you going to do—shout from the rooftops?”

Everything was spinning. I thought how happy the Brothers and Sisters would be: May’s chilblains would be better; so would Elsie’s joints. Nel would walk again. Alf would grow hair. Uncle Stan’s ulcer would vanish. And Gordon would never be depressed again. Josie would be able to make clothes for people for all eternity. And Father—Father would see Mother. And so would I!

“But,” I said, “what about the other people?”

God didn’t answer for a minute. Then he said: “You know what happens to the other people.”

And he was right; I had always known, but now that it was about to happen it was different. “Isn’t there anything You can do?” I said. “Perhaps the world isn’t ready to be destroyed just yet! Perhaps there are still good things in it.”

“Such as?” God said.

I tried to think. “Mrs. Pew!” I said suddenly.

“Mrs. Pew?” said God. He didn’t seem to think much of my suggestion.

“Yes!” I said. “And Oscar!… And Auntie Jo!… And Mike! And Joe and Watson, and Sue Lollipop—and Mrs. Pierce!”

“They don’t believe in Me,” said God.

“But You can’t just kill them!” I said.

“You knew this would happen.”

“What about the children … the people who haven’t heard about You … the people who didn’t listen when we went to the door, because they were on the phone, or the baby was ill, or they’d heard bad things about us, or it was raining?”

“I’m sorry,” God said, “that can’t be helped. I can’t hang around forever. There’ll always be those who don’t know or don’t listen or are too busy. It’s not My fault.”

“It’s not theirs either!” I said. I was beginning to feel as though I would like to be sick as well as go to the toilet. “Can’t You just forgive them?” I said.

God laughed. “You’re a fine one to talk about forgiveness! Look, I’ve waited since the Garden of Eden to do this. You don’t expect Me to put it off a few more weeks?”

“So Father hasn’t made the end of the world come after all?” I said.

“Well, yes and no. This is all besides the point. It’s happened; I would have made sure it did one way or the other.”

“And now it’s gone,” I said, and I looked around again. “If only I could put it back together! But I can’t. It would take too long.”

But I wasn’t really thinking about the Land of Decoration anymore. I was thinking about Mrs. Pew and Oscar, about Sue Lollipop and her trip to the Bahamas, about Mrs. Pierce and Mike. I was thinking about so many other things too that it seemed they were crowding into my mind because it might be the last time they would be remembered—thinking of the way the world was in the snow and how it would be in the spring, how the cherry tree would come back to life, and Mother’s Christmas roses, how in the summer the mountain would become green, and how Father and I would go up in the hot-air balloon and see the whole valley. I was trying to imagine it all gone, and it was really difficult.

“So I can’t save them?”

“No.”

I sat down on the floor with a bump and pressed my hands together to try and stop them from shaking. I said: “What will it be like?”

“The biggest thing the world has ever seen.”

“And then,” I said, “the new world.”

God said: “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

And I didn’t say anything, because it was what I had wanted for as long as I could remember.

I closed my eyes. “No more sickness, no more death?” I said.

“That’s right.”

“And You’ll wipe the tears from people’s eyes?”

“Yes.”

“And Father and I will live there, and we will see Mother, and it will be like it was in the beginning?”

God said: “What was that?”

“And we’ll see Mother again.”

“Not that bit,” said God. “The other bit.”

“And it will be like it was in the beginning.”

“No, no, the first bit,” said God.

“And—Father and I will live there…” I said.

“That’s it,” said God. “You see, that’s the bit I’m not sure about.”

“What?” I said.

“Well,” said God, “your father—I mean, can you really call him a believer? His attitude hasn’t been right for some time now.”

I blinked. “Father believes in You!” I said. I laughed. “You know he does! He’s just been tired lately; things got on top of him—”

But God was saying: “No. I’m not sure he believes in Me at all.”

“Are you listening to me?” I said. I jumped up. “You have to save Father!”

“It doesn’t change the fact that he’s lost faith in Me.”