Saturday, September 11, 2004
The Throne of the Most High
"Let's look for God," Grisha Perelman says.
"Who?" the woman says.
"The Deity. The Creator of all things. The One. Any of those ring a bell?"
She shakes her head. "Sorry."
"This is His city," Grisha says. "It's like He's the mayor."
"What's a mayor?" the woman says.
Grisha sighs, turns away.
"Excuse me," he says to the next passerby. "Could you direct us to the Throne of the Most High?"
"The what, now?" the stranger says with a little smile. She's a nicely put together middle-aged woman, maybe a year or two over fifty, with the body of a 25-year-old jogger.
"The Throne of the Most High," Grisha says.
"Sorry, I have no idea what that is," the woman says.
"God's throne," Grisha says. "Where God lives."
"Which god?" the woman says.
"What do you mean, which god?" Grisha says. "The God of Israel. Creator of the universe."
"Who, you mean Yahweh?"
"Yeah," Grisha says, "that's the one."
"And you think he created the universe? That's a new one on me!" She's laughing, now. Her eyes are all lit up. Grisha has made her day.
"Look," Grisha says, "do you know where His throne is, or not?"
"I have no idea about any throne. I've never been inside his house, so I don't know how he's furnished it. He spends most of his time out around the pool anyway."
"So you do know where He lives?"
"Sure. Everybody does. See that street up there? Not this next one, but the one after. See the Walgreen's? That one. Take a left there. It's a bit of a hike, maybe a mile. On your right."
"A castle? A palace? A mansion? How will I recognize it?"
"No, it's just a tract house. A starter home, we used to call it back when I was in the real estate business. It's got their names on the mailbox."
"Their?"
"Sure. Yahweh, Mary, and Jesus. Seriously, you can't miss it."
"Thanks," Grisha says.
"Think nothing of it." The woman chuckles again and shakes her head. "Creator of the universe. I like that one. Mind if I use it?"
"Not at all," Grisha says.
The woman walks off laughing.
"Looks like maybe this place isn't what they told you about back in--shul? Was that the word?"
"Yeah," Grisha says sourly. "That was the word."
They turn left at the Walgreen's and start hiking out Divine Acres Lane, reading the mailboxes.
