Lamb The Gospel According to Biff Christs Childho - By Christopher Moore Page 0,88

standard for testing," said the monk.

"Actually, I'm a member of the village idiots' guild," I retorted.

"In that case," said the monk, "go away."

I cursed eloquently in five languages and was beginning to tear at my hair in frustration when I spotted something large moving in the sky overhead. As it got closer, I saw that it was the angel, wearing his aspect of black robe and wings. He carried a flaming bundle of sticks and pitch, which trailed a trail of flames and thick black smoke behind him in the sky. When he had passed over us several times, he flew off over the horizon, leaving a smoky pattern of Chinese characters that spelled out a message across the sky: SURRENDER DOROTHY.

I was just fuckin' with you (as Balthasar used to say). Raziel didn't really write SURRENDER DOROTHY in the sky. The angel and I watched The Wizard of Oz together on television last night and the scene at the gates of Oz reminded me of when Joshua and I were at the monastery gate. Raziel said he identified with Glinda, Good Witch of the North. (I would have thought flying monkey, but I believe his choice was a blond one.) I have to admit that I felt some sympathy for the scarecrow, although I don't believe I would have been singing about the lack of a brain. In fact, amid all the musical laments over not having a heart, a brain, or the nerve, did anyone notice that they didn't have a penis among them? I think it would have shown on the Lion and the Tin Man, and when the Scarecrow has his pants destuffed, you don't see a flying monkey waving an errant straw Johnson around anywhere, do you? I think I know what song I'd be singing:

Oh, I would while away the hours,

Wanking in the flowers, my heart all full of song,

I'd be gilding all the lilies as I waved about my willie

If I only had a schlong.

And suddenly it occurred to me, as I composed the above opus, that although Raziel had always seemed to have the aspect of a male, I had no idea if there were even genders among the angels. After all, Raziel was the only one I'd ever seen. I leapt from my chair and confronted him in the midst of an afternoon Looney Tunes festival.

"Raziel, do you have equipment?"

"Equipment?"

"A package, a taliwacker, a unit, a dick - do you have one?"

"No," said the angel, perplexed that I would be asking. "Why would I need one?"

"For sex. Don't angels have sex?"

"Well, yes, but we don't use those."

"So there are female angels and male angels?"

"Yes."

"And you have sex with female angels."

"Correct."

"With what do you have sex?"

"Female angels. I just told you."

"No, do you have a sex organ?"

"Yes."

"Show me?"

"I don't have it with me."

"Oh." I realized that there are some things I'd really rather not know about.

Anyway, he didn't write in the sky, and, in fact, we didn't see Raziel again, but the monks did let us into the monastery after three days. They said that they made everybody wait three days. It weeded out the insincere.

The entire two-story structure that was the monastery was fashioned of rough stone, none larger than could have been lifted into place by a single man. The rear of the building was built right into the mountainside. The structure seemed to have been built under an existing overhang in the rock, so there was minimal roofing exposed to the elements. What did show was made of terra-cotta tiles that lay on a steep incline, obviously to shed any buildup of snow.

A short and hairless monk wearing a saffron-colored robe led us across an outer courtyard paved with flagstone through an austere doorway into the monastery. The floor inside was stone, and though immaculately clean, it was no more finished than the flagstone of the courtyard. There were only a few windows, more like arrow slits, cut high in the wall, and little light penetrated the interior once the front door was closed. The air was thick with incense and filled with a buzzing chorus of male voices producing a rhythmic chant that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once and made it seem as if my ribs and kneecaps were vibrating from the inside. Whatever language they were chanting in I didn't understand, but the message was clear: these men were invoking something that transcended this world.

The monk led us up a narrow stairway into