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JOB: A Comedy of Justice

Robert A. Heinlein

Behold, happy is the man whom God correcteth:

Therefore despise not thou the chastening of

The Almighty.

Job 5:17

Chapter 1

When thou walkest through the fire,

thou shalt not be burned.

Isaiah 43:2

THE FIRE pit was about twenty-five feet long by ten feet wide, and perhaps

two feet deep. The fire had been burning for hours. The bed of coals gave off

a blast of heat almost unbearable even back where I was seated, fifteen feet

from the side of the pit, in the second row of tourists.

I had given up my front-row seat to one of the ladies from the ship, delighted

to accept the shielding offered by her well-fed carcass. I was tempted to

move still farther back... but I did want to see the fire walkers close up. How

often does one get to view a miracle?

‚It’s a hoax,’ the Well-Traveled Man said. ‚You’ll see.’

‚Not really a hoax, Gerald,’ the Authority-on-Everything denied. ‚Just

somewhat less than we were led to expect. It won’t be the whole village -

probably none of the hula dancers and certainly not those children. One or

two of the young men, with calluses on their feet as thick as cowhide, and

hopped up on opium or some native drug, will go down the pit at a dead run.

The villagers will cheer and our kanaka friend there who is translating for us

will strongly suggest that we should tip each of the fire walkers, over and

above what we’ve paid for the luau and the dancing and this show.

‚Not a complete hoax,’ he went on. ‚The shore excursion brochure listed a

„demonstration of fire walking“. That’s what we’ll get. Never mind the talk

about a whole village of fire walkers. Not in the contract. ‚The Authority

looked smug.

‚Mass hypnosis,’ the Professional Bore announced.

I was tempted to ask for an explanation of ‚mass hypnosis’- but nobody

wanted to hear from me; I was junior - not necessarily in years but in the

cruise ship Konge Knut. That’s how it is in cruise ships: Anyone who has

been in the vessel since port of departure is senior to, anyone who joins the

ship later. The Medes and the Persians laid down this law and nothing can

change it. I had flown down in the Count Von Zeppelin, at Papeete I would fly

home in the Admiral Moffett, so I was forever junior and should keep quiet

while my betters pontificated’.

Cruise ships have the best food and, all too often, the worst conversation in

the world. Despite this I was enjoying the islands; even the Mystic and the

Amateur Astrologer and the Parlor Freudian and the Numerologist did not

trouble me, as I did not listen.

‚They do it through the fourth dimension,’ the Mystic

announced. ‚Isn’t that true, Gwendolyn!’

‚Quite true, dear,’ the Numerologist agreed. ‚Oh, here they come now! It will

be an odd number, you’ll see.’

‚You’re so learned, dear.’

‚Humph,’ said the Skeptic.

The native who was assisting our ship’s excursion host raised his arms and

spread his palms for silence. ‚Please, will you all listen! Mauruuru roa. Thank

you very much. The high priest and priestess will now pray the Gods to make

the fire safe for the villagers. I ask you to remember that this is a religious

ceremony, very ancient; please behave as you would in your own church.

Because -‚

An extremely old kanaka interrupted; he and the translator exchanged words

in a language not known to me Polynesian, I assumed; it had the right liquid

flow to it. The younger kanaka turned back to us.

‚The high priest tells me that some of the children are making their first walk

through fire today, including that baby over there in her mother’s arms. He

asks all of you to keep perfectly silent during the prayers, to insure the safety

of the children. Let me add that I am a Catholic. At this point I always ask our

Holy Mother Mary to watch over our children - and I ask all of you to pray for

them in your own way. Or at least keep silent and think good thoughts for

them. If the high priest is not satisfied that there is a reverent attitude, he

won’t let the children enter the fire - I’ve even known him to cancel the entire

ceremony.

‚There you have it, Gerald,’ said the Authority-on-Everything in a third-

balcony whisper. ‚The build-up. Now the switch, and they’ll blame it on us.’

He snorted.

The Authority - his name was Cheevers - had been annoying me ever since I

had joined the ship. I leaned forward and said quietly into his ear, ‚If those

children walk through the fire, do you have the guts to do likewise?’

Let this be a lesson to you. Learn by my bad example. Never let an oaf cause

you to lose your judgement. Some seconds later I found that my challenge

had been turned against me and. -somehow! - all three, the Authority, the

Skeptic, and the Well-Traveled Man, had each bet me a hundred that I would

not dare walk the fire pit, stipulating that the children walked first.

Then the translator was shushing us again and the priest and priestess

stepped down into the fire pit and everybody kept very quiet and I suppose

some of us prayed. I know I did. I found myself reciting what popped into my

mind:

‚Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray the Lord my soul to keep-‚

Somehow it seemed appropriate.

The priest and the priestess did not walk through the fire; they did-something

quietly more spectacular and (it seemed to me) far more dangerous. They

simply stood in the fire pit, barefooted, and prayed for several minutes. I

could see their lips move. Every so often the old priest sprinkled something

into the pit. Whatever it was, as it struck the coals it burst into sparkles.

I tried to see what they were standing on, coals or rocks, but I could not tell...

and could not guess which would be worse. Yet this old woman, skinny as

gnawed bones, stood there quietly, face placid, and with no precautions other

than having tucked up her lava-lava so that it was almost a diaper.

Apparently she fretted about burning her clothes but not about burning her

legs.

Three men with poles had been straightening out the burning logs, making

sure that the bed of the pit was a firm and fairly even footing for the fire

walkers. I took a deep interest in this, as I expected to be walking in. that pit

in a few minutes - if I didn’t cave in and forfeit the bet. It seemed to me that

they were making it possible to walk the length of the fire pit on rocks rather

than burning coals. I hoped so!

Then I wondered what difference it would make recalling sun-scorched

sidewalks that had blistered my bare feet when I was a boy in Kansas. That

fire had to be at least seven hundred degrees; those rocks had been soaking

in that fire for several hours. At such temperatures was there any real choice

between frying pan and fire?

I Meanwhile the voice of reason was whispering in my ear that forfeiting three

hundred was not much of a price to pay to get out of this bind... or would I

rather walk the rest of my life on two barbecued stumps?

Would it help if I took an aspirin?

The three men finished fiddling with the burning logs and went to the end of

the pit at our left; the rest of the villagers gathered behind them - including

those darned kids! What were their parents thinking about, letting them risk

something like this? Why weren’t they in school where they belonged?

The three fire tenders led off, walking single file down the center of the fire,

not hurrying, not dallying. The rest of the men of the village followed them, a*

slow, steady procession. Then came the women, including the young mother

with a baby on her hip.

When the blast of heat struck the infant, it started to cry. Without varying her

steady pace, its mother swung it up and gave it suck; the baby shut up.

The children followed, from pubescent girls and adolescent boys down to the

kindergarten level. Last was a little girl (nine? eight?) who was leading her

round-eyed little, brother by, the hand. He seemed to be about four and was

dressed only in his skin.

I looked at this kid and knew with mournful certainty that I was about to be

served up rare; I could no longer back out. Once the baby boy stumbled; his

sister kept him from falling. He went on then, short sturdy steps. At the far

end someone reached down and lifted him out.

And it was my turn.

The translator said to me, ‚You understand that the Polynesia Tourist Bureau

takes no responsibility for your safety? That fire can burn you, it can kill you.

These people can walk it safely because they have faith.’

I assured him that I had faith, while wondering how I could be such a

barefaced liar. I signed a release he presented.

All too soon I was standing at one end of the pit, with my trousers rolled up to

my knees. My shoes and socks and hat and wallet were at the far end,

waiting on a stool. That was my goal, my prize - if I didn’t make it, would they

cast lots for them? Or would they ship them to my next of kin?

He was saying: ‚Go right down the middle. Don’t hurry but don’t stand still.’

The high priest spoke up; my mentor listened, then said, ‚He says not to run,

even if your feet burn. Because you might stumble and fall down. Then you

might never get up. He means you might die. I must add that you probably

would not die - unless you breathed flame. But you would certainly be terribly

burned. So don’t hurry and don’t fall down. Now see that flat rock under you?

That’s your first step. Que le bon Dieu vous garde. Good luck.’

‚Thanks.’ I glanced over at the Authority-on-Everything, who was smiling

ghoulishly, if ghouls smile. I gave him a mendaciously jaunty wave and

stepped down.

I had taken three steps before I realized that I didn’t feel anything at all. Then

I did feel something: scared. Scared silly and wishing I were in Peoria. Or

even Philadelphia. Instead of alone in this vast smoldering waste. The far

end of the pit was a city block away. Maybe farther. But I kept plodding

toward it while hoping that this numb paralysis would not cause me to

collapse before reaching it.

I felt smothered and discovered that I had been holding my breath. So I

gasped - and regretted it. Over a fire pit that vast there is blistering gas and

smoke and carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide and something that may be

Satan’s halitosis, but not enough oxygen to matter.’ I chopped off that gasp

with my eyes watering and my throat raw and tried to estimate whether or not

I could reach the end without breathing.

Robert A Heinlein - Job, A Comedy of Justice.pdf

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