else, including me, had ‘Newbie’ embossed on their sheets.
‘Congratulations on getting through the tunnel and the gates,’ he mumbled in a way that implied he had seen it too many times to be interested anymore. ‘As you’ve gathered, John the Baptist is my name; starting the Baptist religion is my fame. By the way your aura is gone. No longer required, just in case you’re worried. I know you bleeding heart Earth people are so precious with auras and the titles on your business cards.’
He suggested I call him John Boy, as everyone else did. I went to introduce myself but John Boy waved me away and said, ‘I know who you are; you’re on the manifesto. I have Roger’s paperwork.’
‘Who the Hell gives their child a name which means disaster?’ he asked.
Before I could answer, he looked behind me and further asked, ‘Did you bring your own linen?’
‘No, I didn’t realise I had to until I saw the sign,’ I answered.
John Boy shook his head and muttered how things were so much easier in the old days.
‘In the old days everyone travelled with a change of underwear and fresh linen. They listened to their grandparents.’
‘You serious?’ I remarked.
‘No, not at all,’ responded John Boy laughing. ‘The sign is a joke. It’s a good one, isn’t it?’ He poured me a glass of red and said, ‘Follow me.’
Looking at how short John Boy was, and not to be outdone by his attempt at humour, I enquired of him, ‘I’m guessing your Baptisms were done in shallow water, huh?’
‘They were at that. How did you know?’ he answered.
‘Merely an observation,’ I replied.
The mode of transport in Heaven is floating, as in you float. The further you lean forward, the faster you are propelled forward. The further you lean backwards the slower you go. Standing upright causes you to stop, to float in the one place.
‘If this is Heaven, mate, it’s a tad disappointing,’ I said. ‘There’s not a lot here except a long cloud; there has to be more. Where did the Guardian Angels fly to? Where are we going? Will I get to meet God and his lad, and why do only Baptists get into Heaven?’
John Boy told me to be patient as he waved away my questions. He put the headphones of his iPod into his ears and signalled for me to follow him. I followed, drink in hand. Every so often, I caught sight of Guardian Angels flying above us, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in groups of four. They were patrolling the skies, making sure the perimeter was secure and no one from any other religion, apart from Baptist, had discovered a way to breach the tunnel, the wall or the gates. We continued floating. John Boy was more interested in listening to his iPod than talking to me.
Eventually we ascended and I bore witness to a most incredible sight. Compared to what I was now seeing, John Boy and I had been travelling on a dry and dusty road through a parched barren countryside. The oasis of the Pearly Gates stood before us. No mistake, the real ones: huge, shiny and totally spectacular. A waterfall of shimmering gold ran down all twelve gates. Each gate was made from one large pearl. Underneath the gold waterfall was the glitter of precious stones.
The family crest of ‘God the Almighty’ adorned the top of the gates. It was a simple crest: God sitting on his throne, looking very much the benevolent ruler, and the motto, ‘We’re no fools – the Baptists Rule’, was inscribed underneath.
As we approached, trumpets pierced the air, the Pearly Gates opened and in front of me lay Heaven in all of its splendour and glory. For a man who never believed, I have to tell you, I was beginning to have a change of mind. The evidence before me was compelling.
‘What a marvel, a phenomenon, a paradise, a Godadise,’ I hollered to John Boy.
Angels on either side of the gates blew trumpets and played harps to herald our arrival.
John Boy pointed to his ears as if to say, ‘Now you know why I wear headphones.’
A single angel broke into song:
Hark, the Herald angel sings
Glory to him
It’s grand he’s one of us
And not one of those religious other things
Otherwise, I wouldn’t get the chance
To have a sing
As we floated through the enormous gates, I immediately noticed the streets were made of gold. Yet no one used them as everyone floated. I saw a sign saying, ‘Welcome to Kingdom Come’. I wondered why they never finished the sentence. It doesn’t sound right, does it? Kingdom Come. But from whence does it come?
The aroma of herbs, mixed with the scent of fruits like oranges, apples, lemons and mangoes, struck me. There was also a plethora of other smells, new to my senses. Together, they gave off a wonderful perfume fragrance. White fluffy clouds, big and small, square and rectangular, were everywhere. Happiness resonated; people were floating, playing games and relaxing. The sound of crashing waves on a beach was audible. In the distance, I could make out the bluish tinge of mountain ranges.
Around me and below me, there were lakes and streams, with water cascading over more precious stones. Some waterfalls generated their own splendid rainbows in colours I had never seen. The grass beneath me looked lush and deep green and there were lots of trees, shrubs, and colourful flowers spreading out as far as I could see. The sky above and in between the clouds was deep blue. I remember thinking if this was the Kingdom of Heaven, don’t change the decor; I love it just the way it is!
The further we travelled inside Heaven, the duller became the sounds of the trumpets, harps and singing from the Pearly Gates. John Boy took out his iPod headphones and explained to me that people lived in some clouds and socialised in others. Other clouds were set aside for Heaven administration. John Boy informed me we couldn’t hang around too long as I was booked in to see God. The surprise must have shown all over my face as he added quickly it was no biggie, meeting God. God met every new arrival. John Boy made it sound rather boring.
‘Always bloody God this, bloody God that! I got so fed up with all the crap I became an atheist,’ uttered John Boy despairingly.
‘Whoa now, Captain of Baptisms,’ I uttered, alarmed. ‘Atheist? Not possible! You’re here with God and his boy and angels and clouds and the Pearly Gates and stuff. You can’t be an atheist; it doesn’t fit the business model for Heaven.’
‘It’s a complicated story,’ he replied.
John Boy, the short one, the atheist, proceeded to tell me he was an atheist because he felt as if he had not received enough special acknowledgement for being the first ever Baptist.
‘Jesus was not a Baptist until I bloody well messed with him in the water.’
Valid point, I thought. John the Baptist did baptise Jesus in the Jordan River. This by rights has to make him, John Boy, the first Baptist, and Jesus the second one.
‘Mr Fancy Sandals Jesus gets the credit all the time for everything because he’s the son of God,’ said John Boy sarcastically. ‘Me, I am just a lonely gate keeper who threw the King of the Jews into the water and baptised him. To appease me they named a religion after me. Apart from that, I hardly rate a mention; no holidays named in my honour, no prayers prayed to me, no hymns sung about me. Jesus gets everything. King of the Jews, my arse. When he came out of the water he was spluttering, crying and carrying on, as does a little child who can’t get its own way. He’s a self-proclaimed King! I gave him everything, I made him, and I never even received a thank-you. You’ll become famous, I was told. Famous, my arse; all I got out of the religion deal was a piddling disciple appointment, which I had to beg to get. A job for life he told me, and what a job it is, being a freaking gate keeper for his old man!’
I had