“Per queste sue manine, In quale eccessi, mi tradei, un baclo de mano…
This was followed by a song in Esperanto. I could understand it, although I wasn’t quite sure what it was about.
“Profunde ii elfosis mm Bele ii masonis mm, Aire Ii konstruis mm. Sed Bil-Auld esrasforirinta.
And so forth. The singing was not bad, at first, but a little too tinkling and twittery for my tastes. They could have done with a couple of good bassos to back them up. It all finally ended on a high-piercing note that made my teeth hurt. They swirled upward and away. “Great,” I called after them. Then an afterthought. “Is there a good bar or cantina nearby?” Only the sound of high-pitched laughter sounded from above. “Thanks a lot,” I muttered sourly. Stood and scuffed down the road trying to ignore my growing thirst. The white building on the hill appeared no closer and the sun was hot on my shoulders. But a turn in the road held out some promise of succor. A little plaid tent of some kind was set up beside the road. Gilt chairs with ornate arms were arrayed on the grass before it. A woman in a white dress sat on one of the chairs sipping from a golden mug. She smiled broadly at me as I. approached. A rather fixed smile that did not change-nor did her eyes move to follow me. More frosted mugs were on a table in the tent. I took up one, sniffed and tasted it; cold sweet and definitely alcoholic. “Not bad,” I said in my most friendly manner. She did not turn her head or reply. I went and sat in the chair next to hers. A very attractive woman, firm of breast and fair of brow. I was glad that Angelina wasn’t here, for the moment at least, and I leaned forward. “Do you come here often?” I asked, all conversational originality. But at least it did get her attention. She turned her head slowly and fixed her dark and lovely eyes upon me, opened moist red lips. “Is it time to go already?” she husked richly, put her glass down, rose and left. “Well, Jim-you do have a way with women,” I mused and drank my drink. Then blinked quickly as she stepped onto the yellow brick road and vanished. It was quite abrupt and soundless. I walked over and looked but there was no trace of a trapdoor or device of any kind. “Slakey!” I said, spun about, but I was alone. “Was she here on one of your day tours, a quick look at Heaven then back to the checkbook?” I remembered what Coypu had said about the narcotic gas in the air here; she had really looked stoned, on that and the drink maybe. I put mine down without finishing it. Refreshed enough, I went on. A twist in the road led through a flowered ravine and I saw that the building on the hill was now closer and clearer. Gracious white marble columns supported a gilded roof. As I came close I saw that stone steps led up from the road. I stopped as they began to move. “A Heaven-sized escalator,” I said, eyeing them with glum suspicion. “You have been observed Jim-or have actuated some concealed switch.” There seemed to be no point in retreating. My presence was known-and after all I was here to investigate. So I did: Stepping gingerly onto the steps that carried me gracefully up to my destination. A large single room tilled the interior of the building, with blue sky visible between the columns that framed it. A shining marble floor, dust and blemish free, stretched to the throne at the far end. A man sat there, old and plump with white hair, occasionally strumming a chord on the harp he held. If nothing else, Heaven was surely big on harps. A golden halo floated above his head. As I walked closer, the noble head turned towards me, the halo bobbing and moving with it. He nodded and the lips turned up in a smile. “Welcome to Heaven, James Bolivar diGriz,” he said. The voice was rich and warm, the profile familiar. “Professor Slakey, I presume?”