The Widows of Eden (15 page)

“No.”

Tell me if I'm wrong, but I didn't get the sense that she had even a pinch of adoration left, assuming she had any to start with. “But you have two fine boys, right?”

“Uh huh.”

The picture of a naked, buttered Buford reappeared involuntarily in mind. I shuddered and went on, “Then his job is done,
but I wouldn't throw Prince Charming out the door just yet. I'd wait till the weekend at least.”

“Why?”

“Because Vernon Moore is in town, Lily.
The
Vernon Moore. We can sit around the Abattoir all day plotting this or that, but it won't amount to a hill of beans come Friday afternoon. He is going to do whatever he is going to do, and it won't be what anybody expects; not you, not me, not Lo, not Clem, and certainly not Hail Mary Wade. None of us have a clue.”

“Are you sure, Wilma?”

“Heck no, but it'll all be over in three days. What have you got to lose?”

Chapter 16

 

G
OD
'
S
D
ILEMMA

J
OHN
S
MITH
WASHED
Clem's black limousine in the front courtyard of the River House every Wednesday and Saturday, come hell or high water, or nearly no water. He customarily wore black from head to foot, but he removed his shirt for the purpose of washing a car in the blistering sun. As a consequence, the ladies of the household became familiar with his pectorals and abdominals, but from a purely admirational point of view. He kept himself in fine physical condition, I have to say.

When Mr. Moore pulled up to the house in his blue Mustang, John put down his hose and walked over to open the door.

My famous lodger emerged and said, “It's good to see you, John. Given your presence, would I be correct in assuming that you and Clem have ironed out your differences?”

“We did, Mr. Moore. Thanks for your advice.”

“You're welcome. Would I also be correct in concluding that Clem is ignoring the ban on washing cars?”

“Laws like that are made for little people, not Tuckers, but if using a few extra gallons of water is the worst he ever does, I expect I'll be able to cope. Are you here to see him?”

“Yes. How's he doing today?”

“He's officer material, that's for sure. He's been running
around the house all morning, barking out orders and causing trouble everywhere he goes. If Pearline can get him back in bed, he gets on the hooter and starts swearing at somebody.”

“So he's better.”

“A lot better, and he credits you. He says you gave him his strength back.”

“It sounds like I may have given him the wrong end of his vocabulary back, too.”

“I'm afraid so, sir. Would you like me to walk you in?”

“Thanks, but I can find the way. If I were you, I'd finish the limo so I could get out of the heat.”

“I don't mean to diminish the county's need for rain, Mr. Moore, but this isn't hot. Hot is North Africa in the summertime. Have you ever had the pleasure?”

“Once upon a time, long, long ago. Have a good day, John.”

The young man returned to his chores while the older man let himself in and walked back to the master suite, where Pearline was checking the sick man's blood pressure.

Clem was sitting at the head of the bed in Wedgwood-blue silk pajamas with white piping and buttons, which I gave him for Christmas one year. They complemented his white terrycloth robe, which was long and hooded, like a boxer's.

“Come on in, Vernon,” he said as he rolled down his sleeve. “Have a seat. Pearl is just finishing up.” He looked up at her and inquired, “Well? Am I going to live?”

“It's amazing, Mr. Tucker. Your temperature is back to normal, your pulse and respiration are fine, and your blood pressure is down fifteen points. But you need to quit hopping up and down and get your rest. Should I leave the phone?”

“Naw. Take it with you, please. I'm expecting a few calls, but take messages until Vernon and I are done. Okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

After Pearline had excused herself, Clem said to Mr. Moore, “I hear your friends arrived at the Come Again yesterday afternoon, and they're all widows. Is there a reason you like to hang around women with dead husbands?”

“Let's just say that I've learned to prefer them to women with living husbands, generally speaking.”

“That's pretty sound reasoning, now that you mention it. Why'd you invite them here?”

“I didn't. They wanted to see Ebb for themselves.”

“So they're not here to help you call in the rain or exorcise my cancer?”

“Not at all. They're just good friends, and a little nosy.”

“I heard that, too. Wilma's bringing one of them down to see me later today. Heloise, I believe her name is.”

“Eloise, or El. She's very nice. You'll like her.”

“Eloise; I'll try to remember. Why are you sending her out here? Are you looking for a second opinion?”

“It wasn't my idea, Clem; it was hers. If you're up to it, you might enjoy a tour of her motor home.”

“Maybe I will. I am feeling better; a hell of a lot better thanks to you, and don't deny it either. I'm happy with the theory I have. What's on the program this morning?”

“The Deist's Paradox. Do you remember it?”

“You'll have to forgive me, Vernon. It must have been the excitement of the day. I forgot to commit it to memory.”

“No problem. It goes:

A benevolent God would intervene in the affairs of men from time to time;

But God has not intervened in the last two thousand years;

Therefore, He has abandoned us.”

“Okay, but why is that a paradox? It sounds to me like a simple statement of fact. God took off. He flew the coop, just like I've been saying all along.”

“But what if He didn't? What if He's still here, but He chooses not to intervene?”

“Are you saying that He's nothing but a spectator, Vernon; that He just sits up there and watches us, like we're on TV?”

“Why not? It's a possible solution to the paradox. If you were to try on His shoes for a few minutes, then maybe we could determine whether He does or not.”

“Hold on a minute, cowpoke. Did I hear you right? Did you just say that you want me to step into God's shoes? What size does he wear: a twelve zillion triple E?”

“Don't be modest, Clem. If anyone can fill His shoes, you can. Aren't you the chairman of the largest bank in the state … ?”

“Three states.”

“Then let's move you up a rung. Let's put you in God's shoes and see if we can discover whether you, as God, would be a spectator, or you would intervene on Earth. Do you think you can handle it?”

Clem thought it over, then answered, “No problem. If playing God is what it takes, then I can play God. Would you like to say a little prayer to me now?”

“Maybe later. For now, I'd like you to relax: close your eyes, let your shoulders drop, breathe deeply. Imagine that you're all-knowing and all-powerful. It can't be much of a leap.”

“I hope you're not expecting me to eat humble pie today, Vernon. I'm God. I've got my infinite shit together.”

“More importantly, you're omnipotent and omniscient. Under such extraordinary circumstances, what would you want more than anything else?”

“A big-chested woman with no vocal cords and no emotional
baggage. If Wilma had my sister's vocabulary, she'd be two words short of perfect.”

In case you're wondering, I didn't make that up. It was reported exactly as recorded; I swear to God.

“Is that all you want, Clem? Over the course of history, kings and caliphs have kept hundreds of wives and concubines, and they're merely royalty. Isn't there something more elusive you would want, something beyond mortal reach?”

“Jesus, Vernon, I don't know. Give me a hint.”

“Remember, you're omniscient. You're aware of everything that has ever happened, is happening now, and ever will happen. What's the one thing you crave more than anything else?”

After a pause, Clem replied, “I apologize for being so thickheaded, but I'm still leaning toward my first choice. Maybe you'd better explain the error of my ways.”

“It's simple, really. If you were omniscient, you would know everything about the past, the present, and the future, forever. You could never be surprised or amazed; there would be no mysteries or revelations. You couldn't even have an idea; you'd have already had them all. If you were an omniscient God, wouldn't you be bored to tears? Wouldn't eternal life be a curse of infinite proportion?”

“So what am I supposed to do: make myself stupid?”

“Would you rather be stupid, or would you rather be surprised?”

“You just lost me, Vernon.”

“Think about it, Clem. If you knew everything, wouldn't you crave uncertainty? Wouldn't you value surprise and excitement above all else? In fact, weren't you in a similar position a few years ago? Isn't that why you parlayed the family bank into a coup d'etat at the National Bank of the Plains? Weren't you just plain bored with the same old job at the same old office in the same old town every single day?”

My fiancé opened his eyes. “That was a brilliant business maneuver, if I say so myself. It made me wealthier than even you can imagine.”

“Maybe, but to pull it off you had to consolidate the trust's wealth in the loan portfolio of a small, rural bank. Was that a brilliant maneuver, or was it the reckless act of a terminally bored businessman?”

“Okay, so I was bored, but I'm not real fond of the word ‘terminal' right now, if you don't mind. I'm happy to assume that God was bored, too. That's why He took off and left us behind — because we're a boring goddamned species. What do you say to that?”

“I'd say you were jumping ahead of me. You're an all-knowing God, so you suffer from God's Dilemma: you're infinitely bored. However, you are also all-powerful, so you can make anything you want. What do you make?”

“I suppose a chesty woman is still the wrong answer.”

“Oddly, you're on the right track, but instead of one woman, why not build a planet full of women and millions of other species, and maybe even a few men? Since you're omnipotent, why not build billions of galaxies, each with billions of stars and planets of their own? If you had the inclination, I bet you could finish the job in a few days, maybe even less.”

“Yeah. I suppose I could.”

“Good. Now what's the most important feature that you would build into this giant universe of yours?”

“I take it I'm supposed to say ‘uncertainty' instead of ‘boobs.'”

“That's right! If you were God, you could build an uncertainty engine the size of a universe. While you were at it, you could embed the principles of uncertainty into everything from the actions of subatomic quantum particles to the impenetrable emotions of lovely, large-chested women, to the behavior of the
very stars themselves. Then you would be surprised and mystified and pleased and excited, and even disappointed, every single day.”

“Check the org chart, Vernon. You're not God; I am. I've had enough disappointment for one life so my universe isn't going to have any.”

“You'd eliminate disappointment? Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“How?”

“I'm God. I'd remove the prospect of disappointment. It would be a piece of cake.”

“Would you allow your subjects to eat the same cake?”

“That depends. Am I a benevolent God or a prick?”

“You're benevolent.”

“Okay, then I'm an equal-opportunity God. Nobody gets any disappointment.”

“Fair enough. Suppose a dozen of your humans place bets on a single turn of a roulette wheel. In order to eliminate the prospect of disappointment, wouldn't you have to let them all win, every turn of the wheel? How could you do that?”

“I'm omniscient, Vernon. I'd figure it out.”

“Suppose you did. Would the excitement of the game be preserved? How could it be if every player won every time?”

Clem didn't reply, so Mr. Moore continued, “What about free will? Wouldn't you have to eliminate that, too?”

“Why?”

“What was the most disappointing day in your life?”

“July fourth; the night my granddaughter died on my porch. She was my last heir.”

“It must have been heartbreaking. How about the second most disappointing day?”

Clem thought for a moment, then answered, “It's a toss-up;
either the day my wife ran out on me, or the day my daughter ran out on Calvin Millet and my dying granddaughter.”

“So, in order to eliminate disappointment, you'd have to prevent your human subjects from leaving their loved ones behind. In other words, you'd have to inhibit free will. Would He do that, or would a truly benevolent God leave our free will intact?”

“Okay, Vernon. I get free will, and I've been bored enough in my own lifetime to understand that excitement requires an element of risk. So what?”

“You're still God, Clem. What would happen if you intervened in anything on Earth: the birth of a child; the outcome of a baseball game; the illness of an old man; the path of a tornado? What would happen?”

The room was silent for a long while, then Clem said, “Uncertainty would be kaput.”

“That's correct. In effect, you'd be unraveling the tapestry of uncertainty you deliberately sought to weave, and not only for yourself, but for your little human subjects as well. You'd be destroying everyone's uncertainty, and the ramifications wouldn't stop there.”

“What does that mean?”

“You're God. You take pity on the people of Ebb, so you decide to drop down to Earth and end the drought. How do the locals react? What do they do?”