Destinations 7.

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Chapter 27

Pensive, Rivkah, releasing his hand, walks around, in circles. Then, realizing the black of the holodeck, “hey Enoch, could you please make a chair or something, no!, better a sofa, a nice Freudian couch, with plenty of blankets, multicolored, and a huge, and I mean yoo-ge!, pillow, a white and crispy one. Please?” Puppy eyes.

“Voilà. I’d think of it more like a Jungian sofa, but that’s ultimately a subject of interpretation.”

Plunging on the virtual couch, Rivkah spreads her legs wide and begins to masturbate. Compulsively.

Perplexed, Enoch walks, in circles, staring at her, “what do you think you’re doing here?”

“You tell me, you’re the mind reader, the man from Heaven, the Immortal.”

“Ah, you feel frustrated, sad, depressed, because of the eagle back in your ancestry.”

“He gave his life for me, for us, quitting some form of paradise for this shithole. Why on earth?”

“The right question would be: why on Vulture. If you wish we talk about it, then please accept my new batch of mental bliss. And stop slapping that... oh my, oh my... OH MY--” Unaware of the consequences, he already freed the telepathic massage before she could listen and stop her moves. A large puddle next to the dripping sofa. Wiped away in a second, together with the furniture. “Stand up and listen to me, you little vixen.”

“Standing. Listening. Ugh, wow, what a solo session. Incredible. Got me back on track. Oh, and thank you for the massage. Divine. You’ve got a gift, definitely.”

“I invented carnality, ya know. Sex for pleasure, strictly.”

“Really, how about procreation?”

“Seeing my new invention, Yasu mentioned that pleasure brings responsibility. To balance existence, you know.”

“They don’t really need procreation on Vulture, since nobody dies. Isn’t it?”

“I said that they do not die of natural causes, such as disease and aging – which is a disease. However, death is present on Vulture, coming by accident, or even from malicious plots. Every fallen one must die – this the definition of the fallen state: there’s only one way out of it. Death.”

“They know this, it seems?”

“Yes, they do. Unlike earthlings, they’ve got plenty of time to ponder their condition, to consider the optimal way out of it. Which is, according to them, to venture down to this planet, to help their fellow sons of Adam.”

“Why don’t you say humans?”

“Too broad a term. Humans are hybrids from too many worlds.”

“Tall blonds, reptilians...”

“To name only the major interventionists. Do not forget the sons and daughters of the other Adams, fallen or not, who look exactly like you do. Same species.”

“In this multi cultural universe, are we the retards?”

“The hillbillies, the rednecks, the ghetto, lower gives not.”

“This is why God chose this planet, as the lowest common denominator.”

“To serve and die, volunteering. Thus fixing death. For any son and daughter of all the Adams, across the universe.”

“You say that lower gives not?”

“So I say.”

“Well, about this Sheol I think I get it: a collection tank, like a capacitor, before sending the souls back to their pristine created state. Good. But what about Tartarus?”

“Tartarus is what you call Nirvana. Used to wrap the anode above our heads, shielding Hades eons ago. But when The Word moved the Moon out, to circle the Earth, then Tartarus followed.”

“The endless core of the Moon? You say.”

“Yes, therein. I say.”

“I was close. Papa passed through it. There he encountered Rolf. Oh, Rolf, my love.”

“Rolf, AQL12, Aquila.”

“You wish to imply--”

“I don’t wish and I do not imply. AQL12, or Aquila, is the blue blooded avatar of Rolf’s. And yes, Rolf has ancestry from Vulture, like you.”

“I knew it. I knew it. My gut instinct never betrayed me. Rolf is a mischling."

“A hybrid.”

“Whatever. I knew it. Is he alright?”

“As always. Patiently waiting for you. The archetype of loyalty, this Rolf of yours. Be kind to him. Promise me.”

“You must know better than me that I can’t promise much. I’ll do my best. I love him, this you know.”

“What now?”

“Tell me.”

“It’s not how this works. You tell me. What do you wish to do next?”

“Perhaps find Rolf and ask Beatrice if she could recommend us for the anode?”

“Ask Beatrice? Do you think that Yasu is deaf?? Ask your Lord, dear.”

“Ah, precisely. Or, what if...”

“What if?”

“What if I keep being myself an–d--”

“And?”

“I’ll go up North, after that snake of a virus. I’m his mother, after all. How about I teach him a few lessons.”

“It’s unteachable.”

“Exactly. More so I could make his life miserable. Can it kill me?”

“It’s the killer.”

“By design, I mean. Is it allowed to kill his mother?”

“He tried to kill his first mother, Astarte. Remember?”

“Which he succeeded, eventually.”

“By proxies, through an eon next. So no, by design he is not allowed to kill the one who birthed him.”

“Great. It’s all I wanted to know. Gimme a kiss.”

“Here,” moderately excited, Enoch bends to kiss her forehead. Twas a trap! The little vixen grabs his head, pulling her face ever closer and forcing a French kiss on him. A very long one.

“Cherry lips. Dark cherries. I love your cherry lips. Bye bye.” Up North she flies, circling the anode.

Well, she had the last word. Maybe she deserves that. It’s in her nature, after all.


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