Shallom. Heaven here. How may we help you. What!? Well if that’s the way you want it. This is Jimmy Carter’s peanut farm. Jimmy Carter speaking. Yes Mr. Carter. What can we do for you. Errr. My flatmate Stuart left me a note to ring your number. It said to ask for Nick. Obviously this is another of his infantile jokes. Oh surely not! It’ll be saint Nick you want. If it was Old Nick, you’d be ringing the other place. However, I’m afraid that Nick can’t be reached at the moment. He’s down below there somewhere finding out who’s been naughty and who’s been nice. And he’s forgotten to take his cell phone with him. As per usual! By the way, I hope you’ve you been nice. Can I take a message? O.K. Two can play this game. Can you ask him to ring me when he gets back? No! I’m afraid that’s not allowed. This line is only for use between home base here and our agents in the field. Perhaps if I ring later? Forget it! I wouldn’t put you through. Anyway, it’s an unlisted number. I can’t help wondering how your flatmate could have got hold of it. So please keep it a secret and please PLEASE don’t ring it again. Then how do you explain the fact that it’s a Taranaki number? Seven five triple nine double three. I’m sure that you must have pushed some extra digits without noticing. You don’t for a moment think that heaven is in Taranaki, do you? It could be. It’s no more unlikely than telephones and receptionists in heaven. Certainly there are! We’ve a complete PABX system. And a fax machine. Unlisted. So I mustn’t tell you that number either. But I can tell you how to find our home page on the internet if you’re interested.
I don’t have a computer. But listen, I would have thought that if there was a telephone in heaven you’d have the number widely advertised. Then people with problems could ring up and get an immediate solution, maybe a miracle. Do you think so? You may not realise it but you’re on a toll call and not just a national or an international one but inter-dimentional. It’s lucky for you that we’re running a five dollar weekend. I think you’ll agree that no-one in their right mind would make an expensive toll call when prayer is free and just as effective. But supposing you had an oh eight hundred number. One that was easy to remember. And how would that help? Simple. You need all the exposure you can get, don’t you? You people up there are tending to get very much overlooked down here these days. Well, you just stop and think about it. We’d be overloaded with crank calls, probably even have people ringing up trying to convert us. And people would ring up demanding to speak to the man in charge. At least with prayer they have no come-back. The solution might actually be their own. Though I must admit we almost always get blamed anyway. Turn out well and it’s proof of their innate good sense. Disaster and it’s an act of God. We can’t win. I have the impression that you could handle them quite nicely. I can just see you, Shielding the management with little white lies, calming the choleric, and painting your nails at the same time…..Do I hear someone sniggering in the background there? It sound suspiciously like a gentleman called Stuart. Who is Stuart and how would he get up here? I told you. He’s my flatmate. He could hoist himself up that telephone cable that disappears up into the clouds. Used to, you mean. These days we’re on satellite. And at this point, you’re going to tell me that the head of the opposition firm has his service run
underground. You catch on quick. But changing the subject, it sounds as though you don’t trust this Stuart. And with good reason! Two weeks ago it was ‘Doug ring Tanya’ and the number was Devon Escorts. Before that, an Auckland number turned out to be Dial-A-Prayer. So you don’t believe that I’m really an angel. Of course I am. Cross my heart. How in heaven’s name could you be? You’re a woman. Anyone who knows their Bible will tell you that all the angels there are men. Well that’s typical isn’t it. What can you expect? The men get all the field trips, the perks, the publicity, and we women are expected to stay back here and cook and clean. As for me, I’m stuck here running this bles-sed switchboard. Careful now. That ‘bles-sed’ sounded like a euphamism for something stronger. This is heaven remember, so it must be blessed. Right? Anyway, haven’t you noticed that there’s female angels on television. I think you’ll admit that they do a pretty good job too. Hopefully, it’ll make certain members of the heavenly host wake up their archaic ideas. So now, you’ve got television in heaven too. Now don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’ve got Sky. It’s hardly likely to be cable, is it? True. But if you really are an angel, you’ll be able to clear up some questions that have been bothering me. Try me. I run the information desk too. I’ve been wondering whether it’s alright to pray to saints. Now don’t quote me on this but I think that it’s a complete waste of time. I always say that if you want something done, you should go straight to the top. I’d agree with that. And is there such a place as purgatory? Of course there’s purgatory. It’s purgatory being stuck here running this stupid switchboard. Finally, and most important of all, the prime theological question. How many angels can fit on the
head of a pin? You might just as well ask how many angels we can cram into a Mini. Obviously, it depends entirely on the size of the individual angels. Minis? It’s a big place up here. You’re Joanna, aren’t you? I can pick the voices of Melanie and Jocelyn even when they’re trying to disguise them and I know that Tracey is over in Brisbane. So that only leaves Stuart’s latest project, Joanna. Unless there’s others that I don’t know about, of course. Though that’s a distinct possibility. You do get some funny ideas. But tell me. These girls you mentioned. They’re Stuart’s ex- girlfriends I assume. Well, not exactly. They continue to live in hope. Say! What was that bang? Nothing important. There’s a certain male angel here who thinks that this conversation is straying into dangerous territory. He tried to push the button to cut off the call. So naturally, I rapped his knuckles with the receiver. Now tell me more about these hopefuls. What’s to tell? They’re nice enough girls although it seems to me that they haven’t a single original idea between the three of them. Apart that is from thinking that Stuart is Mr. Wonderful. You’re jealous. Admit it. I can tell. Stuart has the gift and you don’t. Jealous? Of course not! Although having his gift would do something for my confidence. But! I can’t help feeling that being too successful in that way must entail some erosion of integrity. I mean, you could never be completely open and honest in your relationships , could you? Not while keeping a number of girls on a string. Are you telling me that you’ve never imagined yourself with a girl on each arm. Never! One girl maybe and I’m realistic enough to know that even that’s unlikely. I’m fated to be a life-long bachelor.
I still say that you’re jealous. Bewildered perhaps. What does he have that I don’t? Stuart lounges around the flat here, looking like a real scruff. He leaves his clothes lying everywhere. But when he puts them on, the wrinkles seem to stay behind on the floor, he looks immaculate, self-confident, dashing even. The transformation is enough to make one believe in miracles. I have to believe in miracles. It’s part of my job description. But I still can’t understand what the girls see in him. Maybe they’re dazzled by the packaging rather than the product. Anyway, what does he say about this Joanna?…..Hang on a second will you?…..That male angel is still here and he’s making a nuisance of himself….He’s glaring at me…..I’ve been poking my tongue at him…..Now about Joanna. To tell the truth, Stuart has kept very quiet about her. I don’t think he can make her out. I get the impression that, for once, the old Stuart magic is not working as it should: that she’s not exactly been swept off her feet and that he can’t understand it. Could it be that the naughty girl’s just toying with him? Joanna or angel, you’d know better than me. As I told you before, I’m an angel and angels can’t lie, can they? But how do you see this Joanna? Well, as you know, we haven’t met but I think that the idea of a girl studying civil engineering and restoring old cars as a hobby tends to throw people a bit. Mannish is she? Gaunt…pebble glasses…the hint of a mustache? Tell me, am I right? No! Apparently she’s quite attractive and clever with it but no-one can get to first base with her. She’s a real challenge. Which is probably why Stuart has asked her for help with his maths. It gives him a foot in the door. Does it now? That’s interesting. But tell me about yourself. There’s not much to tell. I’m just your average , run-of-the-mill Adonis with the body of Arnold
Swartzeneggar and the intellect of Albert Einstein. And modest too. Like Cassius Clay. Fair enough. Actually, that was my wish list. Unfortunately I’m the original invisible man. Girls unsettle me. In the event that they do notice me, I never know what to say and always end up looking a total idiot. I rehearse something smart ahead of time and it dies on my tongue. Perhaps you really are an angel. I can talk to you and here I am admitting things that I normally wouldn’t admit. I can’t help feeling that you’ve been selling yourself down unnecessarily. Don’t try to be something you’re not. Be yourself and you’ll click. Yes mother, Anything you say mother. Are you getting cheeky with an angel? Listen! I’m being serious. There are lots of girls who despair of ever finding a genuine man. The majority of men are phonies, all show and full of themselves…….Oh goody, I just got another glare from a certain angel……Now he’s stalked out and slammed the door. Clearly….somebody has a bit of a temper. My goodness! If you keep carrying on that way, upsetting other angels, using violence, poking tongues, you’ll get thrown out of heaven….But! If that ever happens….just remember…..I’ll be only too happy to help you re-adjust to life down here…..Merciful heavens!!…I can’t believe that I really said that. You’re learning my child. No, I’ve been far too forward with someone that I’ve not even met. This entire conversation has not been me at all. I’ve put my foot in it. Forward Infanta? You wouldn’t know how to be forward. I can see that someone is going to have to take you in hand. I have to go now. Another light’s come up. But look! I’ll definitely be in touch. In the meantime…..peace be with you my son.
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