“Sam?” he said.
Sam nodded.
“I am trying to guess your true identity. Lord Brahma. I confess that I cannot.”
“This is as it should be,” said Brahma, “if one is to be a god who was, is and always shall be.”
“Fine garments, those you wear,” said Sam. “Quite fetching.”
“Thank you. I find it hard to believe that you still exist. Checking, I note that you have not sought a new body for half a century. That is taking quite a chance.”
Sam shrugged. “Life is full of chances, gambles, uncertainties. . .”
“True,” said Brahma. “Pray, draw up a chair and sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”
Sam did this, and when he looked up again, Brahma was seated upon a high throne carved of red marble, with a matching parasol flared above it.
“That looks a bit uncomfortable,” he remarked.
“Foam-rubber cushion,” replied the god, smiling. “You may smoke, if you wish.”
“Thanks.” Sam drew his pipe from the pouch at his belt, filled it, tamped it carefully and struck it to fire.
“What have you been doing all this time,” asked the god, “since you left the roost of Heaven?”
“Cultivating my own gardens,” said Sam.
“We could have used you here,” said Brahma, “in our hydroponics section. For that matter, perhaps we still could. Tell me more of your stay among men.”
“Tiger hunts, border disputes with neighboring kingdoms, keeping up the morale of the harem, a bit of botanical research—things like that—the stuff of life,” said Sam. “Now my powers slacken, and I seek once more my youth. But to obtain it again, I understand that I must have my brains strained. Is that true?”
“After a fashion,” said Brahma.
“To what end, may I ask?”
“That wrong shall fail and right prevail,” said the god, smiling.
“Supposing I’m wrong,” asked Sam, “how shall I fail?”
“You shall be required to work off your karmic burden in a lesser form.”
“Have you any figures readily available as to the percentage that fails, vis-á-vis that which prevails?”
“Think not less of me in my omniscience,” said Brahma, stifling a yawn with his scepter, “if I admit to having, for the moment, forgotten these figures.”
Sam chuckled. “You say you have need of a gardener there in the Celestial City?”
“Yes,” said Brahma. “Would you like to apply for the job?”
“I don’t know,” said Sam. “Perhaps.”
“And then again, perhaps not?” said the other.
“Perhaps not, also,” he acknowledged. “In the old days there was none of this shillyshallying with a man’s mind. If one of the First sought renewal, he paid the body price and was served.”
“We no longer dwell in the old days, Sam. The new age is at hand.”
“One would almost think that you sought the removal of all of the First who are not marshaled at your back.”
“A pantheon has room for many, Sam. There is a niche for you, if you choose to claim it.”
“If I do not?”
“Then inquire in the Hall of Karma after your body.”
“And if I elect godhood?”
“Your brains will not be probed. The Masters will be advised to serve you quickly and well. A flying machine will be dispatched to convey you to Heaven.”
“It bears a bit of thinking,” said Sam. “I’m quite fond of this world, though it wallows in an age of darkness. On the other hand, such fondness will not serve me to enjoy the things I desire, if it is decreed that I die the real death or take on the form of an ape and wander about the jungles. But I am not overly fond of artificial perfection either, such as existed in Heaven when last I visited there. Bide with me a moment while I meditate.”
“I consider such indecision presumptuous,” said Brahma, “when one has just been made such an offer.”
“I know, and perhaps I should also, were our positions reversed. But if I were God and you were me, I do believe I would extend a moment’s merciful silence while a man makes a major decision regarding his life.”
“Sam, you are an impossible haggler! Who else would keep me waiting while his immortality hangs in the balance? Surely you do not seek to bargain with me?”