I’m sitting on a rock with God. Below us in a field of cactus a naked Ron Silliman is scurrying after a rabbit.
Again and again it looks like Ron’s about to nab it but he either mistimes his final leap or the rabbit’s too slick and he ends up in cactus. Usually face-first.
But, a couple of times, tumbling over, it’s ass-first. All credit to Ron, though, he’s diligently and painstakingly removing all the needles (sometimes with the help of a mirror he’s produced from who knows where.)
I look over at God. He’s blank-faced.
“Are you upset, disappointed, disillusioned...?” I ask.
“O, no,” he says, “I’ve seen much worse.” And for a moment it looks as though a smile’s flickering across his tough face.
Meanwhile, Silliman’s back in cactus.
“Ouch!” I exclaim. “That was a bad one.”
“You know,” God says, “he really does have a very good heart.”
“You’re probably right,” I mumble, “but the problem with Ron is that he has absolutely no f-cking sense of humour.”
And now, I am sure, God is smiling.
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