Read Online Bible Stories for Adults by James Morrow - Free Book Online Page B

labeled NYPD blocked the way, channeling the limousine along a byzantine detour that eventually landed them in United Nations Plaza, a good ten blocks south of the Tower.
    Mr. Nimrod, smooth, cool Mr. Nimrod, didn’t mind. As they started back uptown, he stretched out, sipped his Bloody Mary, and continued asking unanswerable questions.
    â€œDo you suppose He’ll let us drop His name?” The boss’s boyish face broke into a stupendous grin—the first time Michael had seen him happy since the Yaku Shima deal fell through. “Word gets around Who’s up there on the sixty-third floor and
bang
, we can double everybody’s rent overnight.”
    â€œI believe He prefers to retain a certain anonymity,” Michael replied.
    â€œWhat do you think He’s selling?”
    â€œI don’t think He’s
selling
anything.” Michael looked Nimrod in the eye. Such a vigorous young man, the secretary thought. How salutary, the effects of unimaginable wealth. “I got the impression He regards you as, well . . .”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œAmbitious.”
    The boss shrugged. “It’s a big universe,” he said, mixing a second Bloody Mary. “Hey, maybe it’s not stuff at all—maybe it’s a service. You think He’s selling a
service
, Michael?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYou know—immortality or something.”
    â€œI wouldn’t want to guess.”
    â€œPhotosynthesis?”
    â€œDon’t ask me, sir.”
    Even after they exited the limo and started through the atrium, the boss continued to drive Michael crazy. Nimrod lingered in the stores, reveling in the clerks’ astonished gasps and bulging eyes: good God, it was
he
, the great man himself, strolling amid the goods like an ordinary Fifth Avenue shopper—like a common millionaire. At Beck’s he stopped to admire a $2,300 Nymphenburg chess set; at Asprey’s he inspected a $117,000 clock studded with cabochon rubies and lapis; at Botticellino’s he bought his newborn nephew an $85 pair of blue suede baby shoes. It seemed to Michael nothing short of a miracle that they arrived at the threshold of God’s pied-a-terre only thirty-two minutes behind schedule.
    Although their Host came to the door wearing a relaxed and cheerful expression, Michael remained uneasy. God had dressed with dignity—mother-of-pearl business suit, white cotton shirt, beige moire tie—whereas Nimrod’s primrose linen trousers and turquoise silk shirt radiated a casualness that, Michael feared, bordered on the irreverent.
    Nimrod shook the Almighty’s hand. “Your reputation precedes You.”
    â€œAs does yours,” said their Host, eyelids on a snide descent.
    God guided His guests into the parlor. An array of hothouse orchids and force-fed dahlias now decorated the lid of the Steinway.
    â€œI have a gift for You, God,” said Nimrod. “May I call you God?”
    The Almighty nodded and asked, “May I call you Daniel?”
    â€œCertainly.” Nimrod snapped his bejeweled fingers. Michael popped open his Spanish-leather valise and drew out a copy of
Paydirt: How to Make Your Fortune in Real Estate.
“Shall I include a personal message?” Nimrod asked.
    â€œPlease do,” said God. “And permit Me to reciprocate,” He added, removing a New International Bible from His mahogany bookshelves.
    The two of them spent a protracted minute inscribing their respective books.
    â€œSaturn,” said Nimrod at last.
    â€œHuh?” said God.
    â€œThat’s the snazzy one, right? The one with the rings?”
    â€œJupiter’s got a ring too,” God noted. “Even the
Wall Street Journal
carried the news.”
    â€œI’ll give You seven hundred and fifty,” said Nimrod. “Eight hundred if we can close the deal before the month is out.”
    â€œWhat are you talking