Impossible Stories Page 13

  But I was deprived of this privilege to delude myself. The story had, in fact, been removed—just one erasure had destroyed all earlier saves—but the visitor had left a trace behind him after all. It was very faint, yet undeniable. I noticed it the first time I breathed in deeply through my nose. A tangle of delicate vegetable smells of unknown origin hovered faintly all around me. It might be impalpable to other people, but as long as I could smell it I knew I must restrain myself from writing science fiction.

  8. The Train

  Mr Pohotny, senior vice president of a bank prominent in the capital city, met God on a train. In a First Class compartment, of course. Mr Pohotny did not take the train very often, but whenever he did he travelled First Class; it not only reflected and reinforced his social position, it also minimized the probability that he would find himself in unsuitable company. Having a mistrustful and suspicious nature, to which his profession was attuned, he took pains to avoid the company of strangers whenever possible. Indeed, before setting forth this time he had even—guided by some premonition, perhaps—briefly considered reserving all of the compartment’s six seats, to ensure that no one would bother him; but his banker’s common sense had triumphed over that notion. It would represent too heavy an outlay to obtain something that, with a little luck, he might get quite free.

  Luck was with Mr Pohotny for almost three quarters of the trip. Then, at a small station where fast trains did not normally stop, God climbed into the First Class car and headed straight for Mr Pohotny’s compartment. The senior vice president did not immediately recognize God, of course. Although he couldn’t explain exactly why, he thought at first that the gentleman who opened the door to his compartment was a retired army officer, most likely a colonel. He was a short man with greying, though still abundant hair; a trim moustache; slightly florid cheeks. He was wearing a suit of classic cut that cleverly disguised his somewhat excessive girth.

  God entered, and favoured Mr Pohotny with a cordial smile and a brief nod. He took his train ticket out of his left jacket pocket, examined it, sat in the seat next to the window across from Mr Pohotny, and crossed his legs. Then he looked his fellow traveller over without a word, smiling all the while.

  In other circumstances his bearing and demeanour would have greatly annoyed Mr Pohotny. He would have regarded the man as impolite, even impudent, for it is most unseemly to stare at a complete stranger, and even more to smile broadly while so doing. When he had toyed with the idea of buying up the whole compartment, it was just this sort of unpleasantness he had had in mind. Antisocial behaviour was all too common, even in First Class.

  Yet for some reason this stranger’s staring failed to irritate him—quite the reverse, one might say. He took it as a completely acceptable invitation to talk, thereby shortening the dreary trip. What harm could derive from two polished gentlemen of similar age striking up a conversation, given that Fate had thrown them briefly together? Were they to remain silent until they reached their destination, simply because they had not been formally introduced? Certainly not! One should not be a slave to rigid social conventions.

  Mr Pohotny deliberately laid down the book he had been reading on the seat next to him—a leather-bound edition of Impossible Encounters—and returned his fellow traveller’s smile. “I hope you don’t mind the open window,” he said.

  “Not at all,” God replied, “it’s very sultry.”

  “It’s often quite sultry during the summer,” the senior vice president remarked. Having delivered this truism, he realized that it was hardly a gem of perspicacity. He felt awkward; he was inexperienced in small talk. “If you wish, we can raise it a little,” he added obligingly.

  “No, no,” God said, “there’s no need, it’s quite all right as it is.”

  “It’s better to travel in other seasons,” Mr Pohotny continued after a moment’s reflection. “Then it’s never sultry, and you don’t have to open the window.”

  “Yes,” God agreed, “if you are able to choose, it’s better to avoid traveling in the heat.”

  “Although sometimes in winter they overheat the cars, and then the window has to be opened for a short time, to cool the compartment a bit.”

  “It’s really much nicer when it isn’t too hot.”

  “The worst time, actually, is during the spring and fall. Then it’s hardest for the passengers to reach an agreement. Someone always wants to keep the window open a bit for the sake of fresh air, particularly during long trips, while others are bothered by the draft.”

  God sighed. “It’s not easy to satisfy people.”

  There was nothing to add to or subtract from that conclusion, but it nonetheless put the senior vice president in a predicament. He wanted to continue the conversation, but they seemed to have exhausted the topic of opening the window. Nor did a single further conversational gambit spring to mind. Truly, what are the interests of retired colonels? He had never spent any time in their company, so he had no insight into their tastes. They must be interested in military matters. What else? Unfortunately, Mr Pohotny lacked the slightest understanding of the arts of war.

  God continued to stare at him, with his fixed little smile. The senior vice president had already started to fidget, when he suddenly saw a way out of this predicament. Of course! Now was the right time to make each other’s acquaintance. That would certainly help to unburden their mutual reserve.

  He bowed, perhaps somewhat more deeply than was customary. “Let me introduce myself,” he said, extending his hand towards the figure opposite. “Pohotny, banker, senior vice president.”

  God shook the extended hand, bowed in response, and replied succinctly, without the blemish of superfluous additions: “God.”

  If anything surprised the senior vice president, even briefly, it was the fact that he wasn’t the least surprised to learn the identity of his travelling companion. All at once it seemed not only obvious but even quite natural that the heavy-set, grey-haired gentleman in the dark suit across from him should be God. Of course, who else? Where had he got the nonsensical idea that he was some sort of retired colonel? Quite inappropriate!

  Despite the surprising composure with which he received this information, Mr Pohotny remained somewhat embarrassed. He had even less to say to God than to a retired colonel. It was immediately clear, however, that small talk would be quite out of place; besides, he had already displayed his lack of skill at it. He also felt that banking was not the proper subject, either, however expert his approach. No, he had to find something more suitable.

  “Am I dead?” he asked, a little taken aback, finally letting go of God’s hand.

  “Dead? No, why do you think you’re dead?”

  “Well, I thought people only met you after death. At least, that’s what they say.”

  “They say all kinds of things. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear. To begin with, I meet everyone once while they’re alive.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Of course you didn’t. No one knows anything about it.”

  The senior vice president nodded slowly. Then he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead, keeping the handkerchief in his hand once he had finished. “There must be a reason for these meetings, I suppose?”

  “Yes, there is.”

  “Does it have to do with what people do, how they behave? Whether they’re honest or not?”

  “No,” God replied. “Such considerations have no bearing upon it.”

  Mr Pohotny tried to hide his sigh of relief, but was only partially successful. “Then might I know your reasons for meeting people?”

  “Of course. To answer their questions.”

  “What questions?”

  “Any they may have. They can ask anything.”

  “Anything?”

  “Yes. You can ask me whatever you want. Absolutely no holds barred.”

  The senior vice president thought for a moment. “And what is expected in return?”

  “N
othing.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “Nothing at all. I’m not the devil. Take this as, let’s say, rectifying an injustice. As God, I am supposed to be just, am I not? People are deprived of many things, so this is my chance to make up for it a little. At absolutely no cost to you.”

  “So, that’s it,” Mr Pohotny said. “Very generous of you. I admit, I haven’t been excessively devout, so to speak, but in the future, rest assured, I . . . ”

  “Don’t act rashly. Wait and see whether you like what you hear. It’s not always the case, and piety has a tendency to evaporate. So, what would you like to ask me?”

  The senior vice president stopped twisting the damp handkerchief in his hand. “This is all so sudden. If only I had time to think it over a little, to prepare for it! It’s not easy to be called upon to ask God something like this, out of a clear blue sky.”

  “Surely, there must be something you would like to find out, something that intrigues you, even obsesses you? Don’t hesitate for a moment! I will answer any question you ask.”

  “It’s hard to decide. There are things that clearly interest me, but .. . ”

  “I must draw your attention to the fact that we don’t have much time. Your station isn’t very far away, and I will get off the train before you. I advise you to use this meeting to your very best advantage. There won’t be another.”

  “Well, all right, here goes. As you see, I am on my way to evaluate the reliability of a company that has asked our bank for a loan. A huge loan, almost one-third of our capital. I carry a great responsibility. If I recommend approval of the loan and it falls through, it would be a serious blow for the bank, perhaps disastrous. In any case, it would be the end of my career. On the other hand, if I turn down the loan and the job succeeds with the help of some other bank, I will completely lose my reputation. It would therefore be of invaluable assistance to know how to act.”

  The smile disappeared from God’s face. “Are you sure you want to ask that?”

  “Yes,” the senior vice president replied without hesitation. “It is a very serious matter. I have never had to make such an important decision before. My whole career is at stake, and quite possibly the future of the bank too.”

  “All right. As you wish. You might have asked me a more general, ultimate, even transcendent question, but if you’re not interested in that . . . ”

  “Of course I am!” Mr Pohotny objected, interrupting God. “I think about such things occasionally, indeed I do, but, you see, at this moment . .. ”

  “I see, I see,” God broke him off, “you don’t have to explain anything. Here is the answer to your question. Your evaluation will be that you should approve the loan, and you will not be mistaken.”

  This time the senior vice president did not attempt to suppress his sigh of relief. He was even briefly tempted to cross himself, but it seemed somehow improper. “Thank you so much. I shall certainly become very devout, you can count on that.”

  “Perhaps, but not for long. Just a year and a half.”

  “What do you mean? Nothing will be able to divert me from my faith! I assure you that I shall remain devout to the end of my life.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. You have a year and a half of life.”

  Mr Pohotny squinted at his travelling companion. “But that’s not possible,” he said finally in a hushed voice. “I mean, I’m completely healthy, I go to the doctor regularly for a checkup, I lead an orderly life . . . ”

  “People die of other things than illness. You, for instance, will commit suicide. You will shoot yourself. A single, large-calibre bullet into your right temple.”

  The senior vice president raised his handkerchief to his mouth and wiped the corners with trembling movements. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you will make a mistake that will lead to your bank’s ruin. In the wake of your forthcoming triumph you will become over-confident, and in circumstances similar to these you will make the wrong decision. Suicide will be your only honourable way out.”

  Not knowing how to respond to this, Mr Pohotny continued to stare dully at the figure on the seat across from him, his pulse beating in his ears. But then a thought flashed through his febrile mind, and he grabbed at it.

  “But that can be avoided! You have warned me of the danger. What if I don’t make any decision? What if I withdraw completely from the bank?”

  “You won’t be able to rely on my warning, I’m afraid,” God replied. “Remember I told you that no one knows of my meetings with humans during their lives. Why do you think that is?”

  The senior vice president shrugged. “Because it’s a secret?”

  “No. That wouldn’t work. Someone would have discovered it by now. That’s human nature. I had to provide something more reliable. No one remembers meeting me. You will also forget it completely as soon as I leave the train.”

  “Then, if you don’t mind, what is the purpose of meeting with people? You offer them answers that they cannot remember?”

  “That was the most that could be done. The choice was between leaving human beings in permanent ignorance, and giving them knowledge that is paid for by being immediately erased. Between nothing and something, I chose something. It seemed to be more just.”

  “It doesn’t seem very just to me, to tell a man that he will soon die, and then deprive him of the chance to save himself! Don’t be cross with me, but that is more what I would expect of the devil.”

  “On the contrary. The devil would happily deprive you of oblivion, because that would afford him the opportunity to revel in your agony. But even if you remembered this meeting, you would still not be able to extricate yourself. Nothing you could do would prevent the ineluctable unfolding of ordained events. Why, then, expose you to the unnecessary anguish that must derive from knowledge of your approaching death?”

  From a distance came the protracted whistle of the locomotive, as the train began to slow down.

  “I might have asked something else,” Mr Pohotny reflected softly.

  “Yes, you might have. But now it’s too late, unfortunately. This is my station coming up.”

  “It’s not easy to find the right question to ask God.”

  “I know. But if it’s any consolation, it is also hard to satisfy people, as we had already concluded.” God stood up and offered his hand to the senior vice president. “Goodbye, Mr Pohotny. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  Mr Pohotny stood up and shook the proffered hand. “Goodbye,” he replied, although it seemed to him that the word was not quite suited to the moment.

  When the train started moving several minutes later, the senior vice president raised his eyes from the book which he continued to read and briefly looked out of the window, wondering why they had made an unscheduled stop at this small station. But it made no difference, since there would be no more stops until his destination. Now it was certain that he would be alone in the compartment to the end of his trip. Wisely had he decided not to buy up all the seats! A successful bank vice president must make the proper decision at all times. This was a good omen for the evaluation he must shortly make.

  9. The Confessional

  The deep, harsh coughing that came from the other compartment of the confessional sounded almost like a distant growl.

  The priest started in confusion and raised his eyes towards the gap in the partition that separated his cubicle from the area where the faithful sat to confess. Through the slanted wickerwork that served as a semitransparent screen, he detected the outlines of a heavy-set man. He hadn’t heard him enter because he had been asleep. He had secreted himself in the confessional for that specific purpose, not because he was waiting for a penitent. Here, this failing of his was least noticeable. It would not do to have a visitor catch him asleep in the open part of the church.

  His conscience did not bother him overly on account of this sin. He found partial justification in his advanced age, which enhanced the periodic temptation
to sleep during the day, particularly in the middle of the afternoon when the church was very quiet. But the faithful were equally to blame. If there were more of them, if they had not thinned out so much, he would not have had time for this improper repose. When he’d come to this parish many years ago as a young priest, the situation had been completely different. At that time he would never have been left alone in the church for so long. But now a secular age held ruthless sway. Recently, there had even been days when not a single person crossed the church’s threshold.

  There was one more extenuating circumstance that mitigated the sin of sleeping in the confessional. Whenever he felt his eyelids close, he would not simply go through the thick, dark-red velvet curtain as if into a sleeping berth; rather he would go with the worthy intention of reading—although once he drew the curtain it was rather dark inside, at least for his eyesight which was already quite poor.

  In the beginning he had taken the Bible with him as the most appropriate reading material for such a context. But since he never got beyond half a page before sleep engulfed him, that seemed some sort of sacrilege, so he came to substitute other, less holy works for the sacred text. That, to be sure, did not seem to be the solution most respectful to God and His house either, but since this reading was of equally brief duration, the offence was not very great. In any case, he had never been unduly strict in granting absolution to others, so why be harsh with himself?

  Startled out of sleep, he forgot for a moment that there was an open book in his lap. When he twitched, it slipped and fell to the floor, landing with a dull thud. He quickly bent down, picked it up and tucked it under his mantle. There was no way the visitor in the other compartment could have seen it, of course, yet he suddenly felt like a boy who has been caught looking at indecent pictures. The book that had for quite some time been his companion whenever he withdrew to the confessional for his afternoon nap was not indecent in the slightest; at least, not to judge by the few early pages that he had managed to read. Even so, its title—Impossible Encounters—seemed rather inappropriate for the Lord’s house.