a word, even to herself. From the crater she heard a groan. ‘Oh, man!’ The hippie heaved himself over the edge. His dreadlocks were ginger, his sunglasses wraparound and his halo wonky. ‘Man.’ Seeing Mrs Comb, he made the peace sign. ‘Good day, ma’am.’
Mrs Comb found her tongue. ‘That were a nasty tumble, and no mistake.’
‘Darned Phantoms! Totally blew me away! Never even saw ’em coming. They must be bombing the town, if they can find anything left to bomb. Still, the munitions are there, so they gotta use ’em up.’
‘Is owt broken?’
‘Only my pride, ma’am, thanks for asking. I’m immortal, y’see.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Immortal. My name’s God. Mighty pleased to make your acquaintance.’
This unsettled Mrs Comb. Should she curtsy? ‘Charmed, I’m sure. But if a town is about to be bombed, shouldn’t you do something?’
God readjusted his halo. ‘Would if I could, ma’am, but once the military decides to bomb the living bejesus out of a country . . . well.’ He shrugged. ‘Time was, we had a divine veto on wars, but our executive powers got whittled away, bit by bit, and now nobody even bothers consulting us.’
‘Fancy . . . just what does it take to stop a war, may I ask?’
God made a ‘search me’ face. ‘Tell you the truth, ma’am, I never wanted to be no God. My daddy insisted, it running in the family and all. I flunked the Ivy League divinity colleges, and wound up in California.’ God grew nostalgic. ‘Surf was high, the sand was gold, and the babes! The babes . . . Divine intervention was compulsory on the syllabus, but I skipped most of the lectures for the breakers on Big Sur! Stopping wars? One sticky spittoon of guacamole, ma’am. So, I graduated, third-class dishonours, and the only thing I learned was the water-to-wine scam. Daddy tried to pull strings, but heaven, ma’am’ – God lowered his voice – ‘is another word for nepotism. Golden City makes the freemasons look meritocratic. Ain’t what you know – it’s who you know and where you know ’em from. The cronies of the Almighty get given the stable democracies, and us nobodies get the war zones and peacekeeping missions. Ma’am, do you have the time?’
Mrs Comb checked her wristwatch. ‘Five and twenty to eleven.’
‘Bonymaronie! I gotta get my videos back to the shop or they’ll fine me again!’ God clicked his fingers and his surfboard levitated from the impact crater. God jumped aboard and waggled his sunglasses. ‘Been mighty fine passing the time of day with you, ma’am. If you run into any trouble, just send me a wing and a prayer!’ He crouched in a kung fu position and surfed away. Mrs Comb watched the dwindling divinity disappear. ‘Aye. Well, I won’t hold my breath.’
In the parched fog and half-light I wake with a yell because an old woman in black leans over me. I sort of spasm, and fall off the sofa. ‘Steady,’ the old woman says, ‘steady, child. You were dreaming. It’s me, Mrs Sasaki, from Ueno station.’ Mrs Sasaki. I unclench, breathe in, breathe out. Mrs Sasaki? Fog blows away. She smiles and shakes her head. ‘Sorry I startled you so. Welcome back to the land of the living. Buntaro neglected to mention I would be visiting this morning, am I correct?’
I untense and breathe deeply. ‘Morning . . .’
She puts down a sports bag. ‘I brought you some items from your apartment. I thought they might make your stay here more comfortable. Though had I known about your black eye, I would have brought a T-bone steak.’ I am embarrassed that Mrs Sasaki saw the mess I live in. ‘I must admit, I thought you would be up by now. Why don’t you sleep in the guest room, you foolish youth?’
My mouth is dust and glue. ‘I feel safer down here, I guess. Mrs Sasaki – you, Buntaro – how did he know your number at Ueno? How do you know Shooting Star, and Buntaro?’
‘I’m his mother.’ Mrs Sasaki smiles at my astonishment. ‘We all have a mother somewhere, you know. Even Buntaro.’
Pieces slot into place. ‘How come neither of you said anything?’
‘You never asked.’
‘It never occurred to me to ask.’
‘Then why should it occur to us to tell you?’
‘My job?’
‘Buntaro got you the interview, but you got the job yourself. None of this matters. We shall discuss your position at Ueno over breakfast. One thing at a time. First, you are to clean yourself up and shave.