saw it happen in reality. And it was not simply such a horror which can't be feigned, which can be produced only by reminiscence of real events (and what might those events be if only a single memory of them turns the face into a terrible mask of a corpse?!)–no, this grimace demonstrated also an insuperable disgust risen as a lump in the throat.
"There is He", dully said Jackson.
"Who? God?" I didn't understand. However, the look of my vis-a-vis suggested an opposite assumption: "the Devil?"
"Call Him what you want," Jackson returned to his former grumbling tone. "He deceived you into the belief that there are two beings. All dualistic religions keep repeating that, enticing new unfortunate idiots. But actually, He is one. Creator. Founder. He, or more likely It... The soul should return to its creator, huh? But why in the world do all of you think that it happens for your pleasure?!" now Jackson almost shouted. "That It is interested in anyone's pleasure, except Its own? And the main thing–everything is on the surface! Sometimes his servitors speak out clearly–however, even they are blind and don't understand WHAT they serve... they don't understand that there will be no reward and no exception for them either... Flock, oh yes. The favorite Christian image, what could be clearer. And if only anyone reflected–WHAT are sheep to the shepherd, or to be exact–to the owner of the flock? WHAT role does he prepare for them?"
"Are you saying..."
"We are Its food. For this purpose It created us, and it is the only meaning of our life. And sinners, saints, believers, non-believers–all these have no value. These are senseless labels with which we amuse ourselves in our pen. Really, who is interested in the beliefs of livestock?"
"Well, it's, of course, a curious hypothesis..." I allowed.
"It's not a hypothesis, you idiot!" Jackson bellowed, and his chains tinkled. "I saw it with my own eyes! Or what I had instead of eyes... there. The tunnel really exists and I flew through it almost up to the end. But do you know what it is actually?"
"What?"
"It's... it's a throat."
For some time he sat silently, looking at the smooth surface of the table in front of him. Then he continued:
"Actually, our fate is even more awful than a sheep's. For He devours alive not our bodies, but our souls. More precisely, even that's not so. A soul is immortal. This was not a lie. And He–It–feeds not on souls, but on their suffering. That horror and despair which souls produce in the process of digestion... eternal digestion," Jackson made a pause again. "I saw it. There, where the throat leads... in the stomach. There is... as if braided brown space, all consisting of a torn, dirty, shaggy web. And in this web people hang... millions, billions of people. Can you imagine old, exhausted corpses of flies–the victims of an ordinary spider? It looks similar from afar, but up close it's much worse. They hang there... semi-digested, dried, with tatters of flesh hanging down from their bones, many of them already have no extremities, or just gnawed stumps sticking out... Certainly, that's not real, corporeal bones and flesh–our consciousness simply perceives the mutilated soul this way. But, eventually, if we feel it to be so, what's the difference to us what their true nature is? And they shout. All of them eternally shout..."
"So 'semi-digested' or 'eternally'? If 'semi-', there should come also the moment when completely..."
"It is not necessarily true at all. Do you know what an asymptote is?"
"Seems to me, something mathematical..."
"Yes. The state to which it is possible to infinitely approach, but never to reach. The same is here. A certain core of a soul always remains. That core that is capable of feeling horror and pain..."
"And how did you manage to get out of there?"
"I, naturally, turned back when I saw all this. As well as billions before me. But usually the people who have fallen that deep can't return. Even if doctors manage to reanimate the body, the soul remains there. And on a hospital bed the next comatose 'vegetable' appears... But I was very lucky. There were those nearby who helped me."
"Who? You said something about ghosts."
"You see, it's also true that those who die a cruel death get stuck between the worlds. They don't fall into the throat. I don't know why and neither do they. Perhaps, from His point of view they are something like unripe or, on the contrary, spoiled fruit...