Private Heaven

Memnock had waited for a thousand years. At least, he thought it was a thousand years but it could have been much longer than that; he didn't wear a watch after all. Since the accident with Clarence, Memnock had been a morose devil. There was only so much excitement you could extract from sitting on a cloud; the fun he'd shared with Clarence now but a distant memory. He spent most of his time in a far off reverie of those halcyon days where he would try and kill a mortal whilst Clarence would always save them. Well, nearly always.

Today was just another boring old sunny day. Once more he glanced across at the cloud next to him hoping that by some remote chance, Clarence may have returned. Memnock couldn't gauge how many times he had glanced across over the years. When I say years, I mean decades, centuries and maybe even millennia. One more redundant glance, one more disappointment and one more deep sigh apart from the streak of white. Streak of white? What streak of white would that be? The devil looked up and saw an angel staring back at him. No, it couldn't be? It was probably a mirage; after all, his mind had played numerous tricks on him over the years. It was probably a stray piece of cheese, a mouldy old glob of mustard or whatever it was that he'd read by that Dickens fella. He did a double take and looked again but the angel was still there. "Is that really you, Clarence? the green devil asked politely.

"Yes, my friend. I've returned. Came the reply. Clarence radiated goodness and propriety.

"Well, where have you been all this time? I thought you were dead Memnock looked concerned only briefly before resuming his customary frown.

"I've been in limbo. Clarence informed him.

"Limbo? What on earth is limbo when it's at home? enquired the monster.

"Surely even you know what limbo is? Stated the angel. This seemed disparaging in the way that Clarence could ever be disparaging. "It's been around since forever. You know, purgatory and all that; the parking bay between Heaven and Hell.

"Parking bay? Memnock looked disgusted. "Just how metaphysical is a parking bay between Heaven and Hell? I mean, it's not very a la scriptures is it? No, the truth is I wasn't aware of it but then my master's never mentioned it before.

"Ah, your master; that explains a lot. Clarence looked quizzical and stroked his chin as he considered Memnock's master.

"So if you've been to limbo then how did you get away then? You've been gone an awfully long time. Memnock felt relieved and even elated at the return of his friend. The descent into Hell is marked by a sweeping sense of boredom and boy had he been bored!

"The truth is, the Church doesn't believe in it any more so it's been disbanded. Clarence looked as calm and serene as he ever did with his flowing white robes and a halo to crown his noble head.

"What? Disbanded? Can the Church do that? You know, just discard an idea. Where is limbo now then? Has it been re-parked somewhere south of Iceland so that nobody can find it or something? Memnock looked incredulous, his brow furrowing as he considered the ludicrousness of the situation.

"Oh, I shouldn't get so wound up, Memnock. I mean I'm back aren't I? We both know that the clergy do as they will and that will never change. One minute Jesus is the son of God and the Saviour of Man, the next he's merely a historical figure and the Bible's an allegory. I always did prefer that Buddha chap anyway. I do have some interesting news for you. Clarence was keen to change the subject. He'd been gone a long time and was now desperate to spread his own wings, stimulate his brain and generally have some pious fun.

"What's that then oh pillar of propriety? The devil's sarcasm did not go unnoticed but Clarence rose above it as his cloud lifted upwards further into the sky..

"The game has changed, my friend Clarence turned and motioned forwards with his arms. With that, his resident cloud moved off in a general northerly direction. Memnock followed suit keen to keep his friend and nemesis within sight after spending so very long on his own. As the devil's cloud moved off, a thousand copies of "Not OK" slid off the side and into the atmosphere. The magazines fluttered open as they fell and pictures of celebrities, either fighting each other or generally looking unhappy, glared out of the pages. In this particular publication the celebs got rather a hard time but then he'd always had a wicked taste in reading material.

It wasn't long before they were situated in front of a pair of ornate gates. They looked rather like one of those you'd get in a Hollywood Drive. You know, the kind that Kevin Spacey might own or somebody just like him. OK, maybe Engelbert Humperdinck then. Memnock absorbed the scene in front of him as the gates, surrounded by billowing clouds, mushroomed out for as far as the eye could see. It was all a bit stereotypical in a distinctly typecast way but this was Heaven and Heaven is real you know.

"The game has changed Memnock. We now have to make a decision as to whether the various guests that troop up from the Earth below should go into Heaven via the pearly gates or be rejected into Hell below. Clarence looked very knowledgeable at that precise moment. Memnock just looked confused.

"Hell? Where's that from here? Clarence looked down. Memnock followed his gaze and saw a roaring inferno of cacophonous fire and brimstone. It looked a bit like Slough might on a busy Saturday afternoon.

"It looks a bit warm down there. The devil observed.

Clarence ignored the statement of the obvious. "The trick is this. If either of us let the wrong person into the incorrect domain then we have to go to Hell in my case, Heaven in yours.

Memnock looked shocked. "Me in Heaven? Sacre Bleu!"

Clarence continued. " We get to ask 20 questions. The respondent can only answer either "yes or "no. At the end of the sequence we have to decide whether to let them into Heaven or Hell. All clear? The angelic one looked at Memnock for confirmation that all was understood. His nemesis merely snorted,

"What kind of parlour game is this then? he asked. "Oh well, maybe this'll soak up another few aeons. For a green devil, Memnock could be as self-piteous as the best of 'em.

Having digested the gist of what they needed to do, both of the protagonists sat and waited for their first subject. Clarence looked decidedly unmoved with a pleasant, vacant look spread all over his face whilst Memnock looked like a tightly wound ball of paranoia. After what seemed like another long wait (Clarence has filed his nails again while Memnock had managed to find another copy of "Not OK with a feature about Jade Goody being eaten by a carnivorous aadvark), their first "customer arrived. He was a short, hairy, dwarf of a man with a gnarled grin and a clubbed foot. Memnock sighed. "Have you committed any crimes? He asked lazily. The man nodded, his expression now a little bemused.

"Was it a serious crime? probed Clarence. The hairy dwarf shook his head.

"Damn, I'll bet it's a speeding fine or something. Spat Memnock. "Are you a fan of Bruce Forsyth? This was greeted with a casual shake of the head as Memnock muttered to himself "I'm not surprised¦.although he is a good ballroom dancer, I suppose.

This was proving a little harder than at first thought. The questions continued to flow, getting more sensible than Memnock's last effort until they reached question number 20. "So we know that you've never committed a serious crime, you don't like Bruce Forsyth, you do like Red Dwarf, you aren't religious, you like carrots, you believe in Father Christmas, you get drunk, you don't do drugs, you hate tall people, you hate smooth-shaven people, you don't like work, you don't support Manchester United, you believe in God even though you aren't religious, you think the British economy should be pegged to the Euro, you drive, you were married, you like dolphins and you hate French people. Hmmmmm.... Clarence pondered the final question.

"Oh, go on, clear off into Heaven Memnock directed, much to Clarence's consternation. The little, hairy man duly shuffled in the general direction of the gates and was allowed in. Clarence peered at his adversary and friend. "But how did you¦? he bumbled.

"Well, anyone that doesn't like Bruce Forsyth¦ Memnock asserted, his eyebrows raising as he spoke.

And so their latest game commenced. Many came, many were judged and all were sent to the right place, thus sparing both the indignity of either being sent to their respective Heaven or Hell. The game went on and on and, once again, Memnock was happy, Clarence simply content. Time simply dissolved as the centuries slipped by, those below on the Earth oblivious to the power games above.

On a grey, autumnal Saturday in October, the duo's latest subject arrived complete with cowl. If anything, whoever this was looked quite intimidating. Memnock thought that all they needed was a scythe and the Grim Reaper impression would be complete. The questions re-commenced.

"Are you a vegetable? The devil asked ironically. The subject shook their head.

"Do you drive a Volkswagen? The interviewee nodded much to the surprise of the questioner. The questions continued, some serious, others not so as the final question approached. In truth, Memnock had grown bored and become glib about the whole thing these days.

"Hmmmm¦..OK¦. he asserted. "Are you, essentially, a good person?. The subject nodded politely. The devil stroked his goatee beard and considered the facts.

"I'm sure you said you didn't like sport¦or was it football? Maybe it was cricket. Oh, I dunno¦anyone that doesn't like sport simply has to go to Hell, however good they claim to be. The victim in the cowl looked up and pulled the hood off in a dramatic gesture. Memnock's beast-like eyes opened as wide as the Grand Canyon, his mouth dropping open in unison. "Not again! He exclaimed. Before him stood his angelic friend, Clarence. Memnock stood and thought, realising this meant a trip to Heaven. He stood, looked and thought. He imagined the angels, all the good and the great, the saintly and the kind and, above all, the supreme Being sitting on his throne. Yes, it would be Saturday night hymns and glasses of freshly made lem - on - ade down at the Youth Hostel whilst making dinner for the down-and-outs. He thought about all of this and then said simply "Fuck.