Fragments from the Annals of the Displeasures of God
Eric Maroney
Rabbi Judah son of Rabbi Simon said: “Let there be evening” is not written here [in Torah], but “And there was evening” [was]; hence we know that a time-order existed before this [world’s creation]. Rabbi Abahu said: This proves that the Holy One, blessed be God, went on creating worlds and destroying them until God created this one, and declared, “This one pleases Me; those did not please Me.”
Bereshith Rabah 3
DIVINE DISPLEASURE # 178641
This time The Androgynous Soul is in the body of a man, a Rebbe born into a family of bricklayers. Here, the sky is a uniform shade of yellow. The people scoff at the Rebbe. His name is on everyone’s lips and is tantamount to a curse. This was not always the case. Two generations ago he had scores of followers scattered over the planet like spores of pollen, planting his teaching of a capricious and powerful God. But now a third generation has turned, and their eyes are fixed only on their own pleasures. They mock the Rebbe to his face and his remaining followers are ashamed.
Rabbi Ariel says: the Rebbe is all that keeps us from God’s wrath.
Rabbi Shmuel answers: The Rebbe teaches that God wants us to be kind, but we ignore the suffering of others.
Rabbi Miriam says: No one hears. Words fall from our mouths and drop like stones.
The Rebbe says to God: I tried the soft touch to bring these people to righteousness: stories, parables, aphorism, preaching. All failures. Next time, I will try direct action. Political engagement. The Androgynous Soul is as bright as a flame inside the Rebbe’s chest. He gazes up and the hand of God tears open the yellow sky. Again, the Rebbe says, and again, and again, and the planet is subsumed by scorching tongues of flame as The Androgynous Soul departs from the Rebbe’s flesh and soars away.
DIVINE DISPLEASURE # 178642
The Androgynous Soul is born into the body of the daughter of the Highland Gentry. The sky is a dark shade of red. Daughter’s Androgenous Soul flutters in her chest like a butterfly in a field of flowers. The planet is divided, cross-sectioned, quartered, and owned by the slice. When Daughter reaches the Age of Consent, she engages in direct political action, as The Androgynous Soul promised in the last world. So, she parcels her family land and distributes it to the impoverished Lowlanders. The Gentry are murderously unhappy.
Adon Amos says: We must stop her … or the people will kill us and take our land.
Adon Xanders answers: It’s already too late [*] for in the doing [*]
Adon Imma says: If we kill her or throw her in jail, she becomes a martyr for the Lowlanders.
The Gentry decide that even in a world of bad choices, something must be done. Daughter is out in the wide green fields parceling lots to Lowlanders. The Gentry surrounds her, grasping her robes, pulling her hair… “You’re failing the test,” Daughter gasps as she is shoved around… “Everything created, God soon despises, and you people aren’t helping yourself…”
Before they can kill Daughter, she looks up and sees the hand of God crack the red sky. Daughter mumbles damn it all before fire floods the planet, but not before the Androgynous Soul surges to the heights.
DIVINE DISPLEASURE # 178643
The Androgynous Soul is born into a family, and named Dal. This world’s sky glows green. People are not born with fixed sexual organs, but at puberty, a person develops the genitals of a male or female. Dal develops male genitalia and mates accordingly. Dal takes a tour of this lush, verdant world, and after thousands and thousands of years of God creating worlds only to end up despising and destroying them, he thinks this place is the jackpot.
The people are committed to non-violence and peace. Before Dal’s eyes the world blooms to its full vision: a planet without war or violence. A choir of angels sing. But later Dal witnesses a murder. He soon discovers that crimes are hidden and go unpunished. Even if a person kills another, there is no recourse to justice or revenge. The victim is buried and the murderer is free. These people forgive the most egregious of sins. Dal grows deeply worried. God will hate this! So, in the town square, he stands on a stone fountain to address these all too compassionate people.
“Citizens,” Dal calls. “A man named Fal was killed yesterday in front of a dozen witnesses. We must right this wrong!”
“What good will it do?” Someone calls back. “Fal is gone forever. Nothing can bring Fal back!”
“What of justice?” Dal pleads. “What of safety? This murderous being will kill again unless imprisoned.”
“Oh, we know!” Another calls out. “Tal killed Fal. Tal has killed before and will do so again. Tal cannot help it. We freely give Tal our forgiveness and forget anything happened.”
Dal sits on the ground in defeat. Shit. Dal thinks. After all these years, Dal’s Androgynous Soul knows God like nothing else. Beings must exercise an equal measure of justice and forgiveness, and of reward and punishment. Otherwise, a world is out of balance and worthless. Such a world is like a ship with a hole in its hull: it will sink into the water either from the bow or stern – but sink it surely will.
Dal gazes up at the green sky as God’s hand cracks it open and then mysteriously stops as Dal’s Androgynous Soul lays out a drum beat of words newly formed. Dal stands, shaking his hand at the divine hand, and scolds God:
“Part of this is your fault. You’re too picky! You have unreasonable goals. And You create these worlds. You have all the power to make what you want, but then you hate them all. How can that be? You are supposed to be powerful beyond comprehension [*] Take a step back and think about what you are doing. Do not create a world that you know will displease you. You can do anything [*] make a perfect world from the get-go!”
Dal exhales, God’s hand moves down, and tongues of fire consume the planet just before The Androgynous Soul sprouts wings and flutters away.
Divine Displeasure # 178644
Immediately, The Androgynous Soul realizes something is different, in this, the 178644th world. For one, The Androgynous Soul is immediately inhabiting a fully grown being, and not an embryonic concoction of flesh and bone. The Androgynous Soul is in a fully formed body, which feels massive in size and proportions for a new pairing with a soul. The Person opens their eyes: the sky is a light blue. The Person gazes at their body – it has both male and female sexual features. For the first time, for the countless millennium, The Androgynous Soul has an Androgynous Body.
The sensation of divine conjunction lasts but a short time. God stands before the Person. God gives an order [*] and this is new for God, who has never intervened in a world until the very end. The Person realizes that this world will not drift to a Divine calamity. God will order things in a direct way. God speaks:
“I have planted a garden, to work and take care of.”
The Person is in this garden, and looks around, but there is nothing to do. There is no need for work and care. Everything has already been done by God. So, as time passes and God arrives on occasion, The Person acts busy. These moments are very uncomfortable. But soon enough, even stranger episodes unfurl.
God brings animals and instructs The Person to name them. The Person is insulted. For centuries, The Androgynous Soul has worked to reform established cultures with complex folkways and civilizations. Now the Person is being asked to do the basic work of simply naming creatures that reek of excrement. This is a demotion. The Person is not pleased, but does the task. This is God, after all. So they name every single drooling beast.
But matters are still not right. The Person realizes that what is unfolding in this world is quite un-Godlike, based on past experience. When The Person engages in honest reflection, God's actions still bear some resemblance to the usual stamp of Divine Naivete, but there are certain novel inflections. God arrives again, appearing depressed.
“Off the record, that animal experiment didn’t work,” God explains wistfully. “I haven’t found a suitable helper for you.” On hearing this, The Person speaks boldly.
“Why do I need anyone?” the Person asks. “For years I have been doing this work alone. Why change now?”
“Because none of those worlds pleased me,” God answers. “I don’t know what went wrong. Everything starts out great and then [*]” God looks away toward the horizon, misty with regret. “Give this world a shot. See what you can do [*] I’m getting tired of this routine. I’ll get involved here when things get really shitty.”
“God,” The Person says, but it is too late. The Person falls into a deep sleep, and upon waking finds his side is aching, and his body feels radically different. The Person knows enough from the voyages of The Androgynous Soul to understand that his body has suddenly become sexually differentiated. He opens his eyes and looks at a being who appears quite like him, but is female. Then he feels inside his heart. Half of his soul is missing. This has never happened. His core has been broken – he is off-balance, incomplete and disoriented. He is now a Man – masculine in both body but also, newly in soul – and cries out: This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh… and is about to say that The Androgynous Soul has been butchered, cut in twain, and therefore grievously diminished. But the Man knows God better than God knows God. The Man knows the lines of this cosmic play were written so long ago they are not even a part of time, which may not even exist at all, or a part of a myth from some other, uncreated, better world. There is no comprehension. There is only division. God speaks: she shall be called ‘woman,’ for she was taken out of man.
The Man and Woman stand together, watching God leave. They face each other: they share the Androgynous Soul, at least pieces of it, and it is the lens through which they see their world.
“What can we do?” the Woman asks the man.
“I have no idea,” the Man answers. “He told us we’re on our own.”
“He told us to mind the Garden,” she continues, “but I have no idea what that means. The Garden’s fine as it is. So now what?”
“As far as I can tell,” the Man answers, “we just sit around [*] naked and eat the fruit off the trees.”
“This world isn’t promising,” the Woman says, lying down on a patch of soft grass beneath shady trees. “There’s no evil to conquer, pain to surmount. No world teetering on the edge of destruction. If we don’t have those things, what’s the point of living?” The Man shrugs and sits beside her. They see each other’s genitals. Perhaps they can have sex: that will pass the time. In every world procreation, even if it does not produce offspring, is enjoyable. They stroke each other, but there is no desire. So without anything to do, they fall asleep in the shade. Time passes, but neither can say how much or how little. What is the point of time if they do not change, if nature does not transform, if they don’t work and have sex and bear children?
So they eat as much fruit as they can – and it is varied and delicious. They eat out of boredom. One day, they find a beautiful tree – shining and tall with luscious fruit. They eat it and their minds [*] grow remarkably lucid. The world sparkles before them – they see two sides of the coin of reality – the good and the evil. They are not impressed.
“Look at us,” the Woman finally says, gazing at her body. “We’ve let ourselves go.”
“Maybe we should sleep less and get more exercise,” the Man suggests. So they walk briskly all around, and one day they find themselves in the center of the Garden next to a tall and grand tree they had never noticed.
“We missed this one,” the Man says.
“Let’s eat this fruit,” the Woman answers. “It’s beautiful and smells like heaven.” After a few bites, they notice a change. They feel immortal and know they will never die. Energy surges through their bodies. They shed weight. Where there was fat, there is now lean muscle.
“We are going to live forever,” the Woman says. “But what difference does it make?”
“I agree,” the Man answers. “We’re not aging in this Garden. Something is wrong with this world.”
When they return to the patch of grass that is their de facto home, God is sitting in a row of daisies looking glum and embarrassed.
“I have some bad news,” God tells them. “You might have noticed some inconsistencies in this world. I’ll admit it, in my rush to finish up and hand this place to you, I left out key details. I thought it wouldn’t matter, but I have been watching you for a while and it does. I just screwed up, and there is no way to fix it at this point.” God stands up, looking sheepish.
“So, I’m going to close the file on World # 178644. The next world, #178645, will be similar, but I will have to tweak it so it makes sense. I’ll admit, out of context my next plan sounds crazy: Trees of Good and Evil and Eternal Life, a talking Serpent, Cherubim with flaming swords… but let's hope for the best. So, we have to wrap this up. Chin up, we’ve done it before. World #178645 is going to be a wild ride, don’t worry. No long naps and boredom there. And you won’t get fat on fruit! So here we go. Ready? One, two, three [*].
Note: [*] is text missing from the fragments.
Eric Maroney is the author of two books of nonfiction, Religious Syncretism (2006) and The Other Zions (2010). His mixed genre book, The Torah Sutras, was published in 2019. His short fiction has or will appear in twenty-eight literary journals and publications. He is a regular fiction and nonfiction reviewer for Colorado Review. He works at Cornell University, and lives in the hills outside of Ithaca, NY, with his wife and two children.