Interview 584, 903, 849, 771 Group Ydky15: Gonerill's Tale
"No… No! NO!!! Please, I can change! I can change! I can…"
St. Peter closed the casebook with a world-weary sigh that only an omnipotent, all-powerful, celestial embodiment of potential religious beliefs could pull off. He could still hear the screams of Interviewee 584, 903, 849, 770 Group Ydky15: Regan, echoing down the "White Mile" – stopping abruptly when they showed her: "The Door".
It had been another of many open and shut cases that he'd had to deal with since the New Manager had come. The girl had obviously been a sinner, and everyone had agreed wholeheartedly to his decision. Well, except that Lucifer chap, who, after hearing the verdict, had stormed out of the room – screaming something about: "fire, brimstone, a rain of dust and the end of the world." They had all laughed it off, of course. Lucifer was getting increasingly impatient with the New Boss – but he always came round. He just needed to adjust to this… Christianity thing. He paused in his thoughts for a moment, and then remembered.
"Oh yes," he said aloud, and reopening his inconceivably massive dazzlingly pure, white, leather bound book – he stood up with a rustle of feathery wings, coughed politely and said:
"Interviewee 584, 903, 849, 771 Group Ydky15 – alias, Gonerill," he paused to allow a sufficient degree of holy tension to build, then continued: "come forth… and be judged!"
The great, glittering, pearly gates clunked and groaned on their shiny new, unused hinges as they opened ominously slowly inwards – revealing a raven haired woman, rather pretty – he noted, in her thirties, who was flanked by two Hit Angels (another idea of the New Management) – and walked calmly into the room, filled with other marginally less important celestial beings, smiling in a disconcertingly sure-of-herself, way. She sat down in the dock in front St. Peter and said:
"Who are you?"
"I am the future St. Peter – an omnipotent, all-powerful, celestial embodiment of the potential religious beliefs of the future religion of Christianity," he said as if he was quoting from "The Textbook". "And you'd do well to show respect, girl," he added, as an afterthought.
When he saw the Interviewee's rather blank, but condescending look, he sighed.
"We're under New Management," he said quietly.
The Interviewee nodded curtly and then said: "Well?"
St. Peter waved the two Hit Angels away, who sidled out of the Judging Room – shutting the gates behind them with a very definite, final and decidedly irreversible click – and turned to the Interviewee and started to recite the Rites in that monotonous, sing-song drone that is still used in religious establishments all around the world today:
"Interviewee 584, 903, 849, 771 of Group Ydky15, alias – Gonerill, you are under the eyes of God, the First and Last, the Alpha and Omega, Our Father and Keeper who knows and sees All within his hallowed Kingdoms of Heaven and Earth and you are obliged…"
"Obliged nothing," Gonerill snapped regally. " I am obliged to do nothing but tell my story – and if you would be so kind as to shut your blabbering mouth – I could tell it before Ragnarok, perhaps," she added, tossing her head and sneering in a very aristocratic way – meeting the eyes of St. Peter, who blinked nervously and turned away.
"Y-yes. Quite," St. Peter stuttered, fidgeting unhappily, until he became aware of the hundreds of pairs of celestial eyes boring into him – and remembered himself. "Yes, quite. Well then, girl," he said condescendingly – rifling through hundreds of solid silver pages until he seemed to find one that suited him. "Let us see, it says here that you… intentionally deceived your father, you rejected your old kind father who's, apparently, "who's frank heart gave all"…err…would you care to explain this to the congregation?"
"He gave me a large chunk of his kingdom because I told him that I loved him," Gonerill said flatly, folding her arms and smiling.
"Riiiiight…" St. Peter said slowly – nudging his scribe, Raziel, who took out a solid gold quill and wrote down the details. "And, apparently, you rejected the natural bond twixt father and child, rejected your father's love, stripped him of his power, dignity and identity, cast him out onto the heath on a night where his new Lordship was coming down a bit heavy-handedly, caused him to go mad, had intentions to commit adultery and also kill your loving husband: and finally, you did, in fact, kill your sister before killing yourself by: "casting self on point of sword," St. Peter read, without taking a breath. "Now," he added triumphantly "would you care to explain that?"
"Hmm…where to start," she said dreamily. "Well, as regards all charges brought against me as regards my father...well... I confess," she said calmly with a nonchalant wave of her delicate, jewelled fingers. "He was a tiresome old dotard – and if he's dead, then good riddance, I say. As for the charges brought against me as regards that hot little biscuit, Edmund – I confess to all."
Good God! Thought St. Peter. This is the Judging Room. The last line of hope before you are sent back to Purgatory to be forever lost in the limbo between the living and the dead – and she's not even trying! As an afterthought, he added: sorry, my Lord. He hadn't quite gotten the hang of the "using the Lord's name in vain", thing yet.
Gonerill carried on with her long list of terrible sins:
"Edmund was never interested in me, you know," she said conversationally. "Only my land and power. Of course, that was the same for me too. We had…an understanding," she said calmly, still smiling in that disconcerting way at St. Peter.
"Err… ahem… my Lord?" coughed Raziel, St. Peter's scribe, a potential Watcher – member of one of the higher choirs of the new Angel hierarchy and formerly known as Thrym. "We have Edmund outside, if you wish to prove true what the Interviewee has stated."
"Edmund's dead? What a shame," Gonerill said – clearly not upset – and sent a queer look at St. Peter.
"Err…no. No thank-you, Raziel. Her evidence complies sufficiently with "The Textbook," he said, and very nearly choked as Gonerill winked slyly at him. "C-carry on, Interviewee."
Gonerill nodded gracefully at St. Peter, crossing her legs and pushing her shoulders back to reveal rather more cleavage than was now legal in the new, puritan Kingdom of Heaven.
"As for my husband," she continued, "I confess. He really was a dreadful bore compared to that wanton, hot little piece of ass, Edmund. I really didn't know how I managed to stay sane, being married to Geoffrey all those years," she added, smiling, directing a full on, seductive pout at St. Peter who was starting to feel a little strange. "And my sister, well, she was threatening to take my hot little Edmund away from me – so I killed her. She was getting in the way," she said to St. Peter and blinked amusedly.
Angry mutters from the assembled angels echoed around the room and St. Peter could make out comments of "detested hell kite" and "degenerate bastard" and also: "filial ingratitude!" "Yes. I agree, Azrael. Tis like this mouth should tear this hand." With that, St. Peter made up his mind and suddenly felt that another open and shut case was about to take place. This woman was clearly a sinner. However, he felt a slight pang of regret, but nevertheless…
"Well then, Interviewee 584…"
"I am not yet finished," Gonerill said smoothly.
The mutterings ceased and Gonerill carried on without batting an eyelid.
"Take note, my Lord, that, in fact, I took my own life," she said gallantly, "…casting myself on point of sword, so great was the remorse for what I had done. Take note also, dear Sir, that, as I lay dying, I prayed to the Gods to keep me safe and grant me forgiveness and a place in Valhalla," Gonerill said in the tone of a saint. Then she turned to St. Peter and said, a touch more slyly: "I think you'll find that that is quite legal under the rules of the Old Gods and that there is no law in the…Textbook…that prohibits a subject of the Gods from taking their own life if the regret is too much to bear."
The murmurings started up again, but this time, it was a murmur of general agreement. St. Peter's mouth gaped and his wings drooped in shock. The sly, manipulative bitch, sorry… the sly, manipulative woman was…right. She was right. Most of the old laws still stood because, with the hectic installation of the New Management, they hadn't had time to amend all of the New Laws to "The Textbook" of this new Christianity. She was right.
Oh dear Lord…He rifled desperately through "The Textbook" as Gonerill sat there, as cool as Niflheim, trying frantically to pin something on the woman. But there was nothing. Nothing. He knew he couldn't change the law of "The Textbook" right then and there, solely to condemn this… venomous viper of a woman. That would be… wrong. However, he could do something to help future generations of angels and to safeguard the future of the new "Heaven".
St. Peter closed his eyes and silently asked the permission of the New Manager and once the New Manager had answered in the affirmative, he closed "The Textbook" with an earth-shattering boom and rose to his feet imperiously – spreading his massive wings out to their full span, knocking over Raziel's goblet of wine (much to the quiet annoyance of Raziel, as it was the third time today that Thor… sorry… Peter, had done it) – and said:
"Go now, Gonerill, daughter of Lear. Go! Get thee gone from my gates, thou foul jail crow of Loki – but hear ye this! Hence forth, no one shall bear the right to take their own life – for it is God alone, Our Father and Keeper – who has the right to give and take life. This ever shall be done…" he boomed, thumping his fist upon the table (he could really be quite intimidating, when he put his mind to it,) "…and never be undone!"
Gonerill merely smiled at St. Peter and, as the Hit Angels returned to take her through "The Other Door" that led to a much more pleasant place – she called out:
"Thank you Peter. You will not regret this!" giving him a sly wink before going through the door that led to the new and improved Heaven – formerly Valhalla.
She had called him Peter. She had winked at him almost continuously throughout the hearing… and what did she mean about: "you will not regret this!" Then, albeit very slowly, the wonderful truth dawned on Peter and he smiled slyly.
She had winked at him.
Maybe, things weren't going to be so bad after all…
…and back down on Earth, in Denmark to be precise, a young man called Hamlet – poor kid – wasn't going to know what hit him.