THE PALE THIN GOD

by Mike Resnick

He stood quietly before us, the pale thin god who had invaded our land, and waited to hear the charges.

The first of us to speak was Mulungu, the god of the Yao people.

“There was a time, many eons ago, when I lived happily upon the earth with my animals. But then men appeared. They made fire and set the land ablaze. They found my animals and began killing them. They devised weapons and went to war with each other. I could not tolerate such behavior, so I had a spider spin a thread up to heaven, and I ascended it, never to return. And yet you

have sacrificed yourself for these very same creatures.”

Mulungu pointed a long forefinger at the pale thin god. “I accuse you of the crime of Love.”

He sat down, and immediately Nyambe, the god of the Koko people, arose.

“I once lived among men,” he said, “and there was no such thing as death in the world, because I had given them a magic tree. When men grew old and wrinkled, they went and lived under the tree for nine days, and it made them young again. But as the years went by men began taking me for granted, and stopped worshiping me and making sacrifices to me, so I uprooted my tree and carried it up to heaven with me, and without its magic, men finally began to die.”

He stared balefully at the pale thin god. “And now you have taught men that they may triumph over death. I charge you with the crime of Life.”

Next Ogun, the god of the Yoruba people, stepped forward.

“When the gods lived on Earth, they found their way barred by impenetrable thorn bushes. I created a panga and cleared the way for them, and this panga I turned over to men, who use it not only for breaking trails but for the glory of war. And yet you, who claim to be a god, tell your worshipers to disdain weapons and never to raise a hand in anger. I accuse you of the crime of Peace.”

As Ogun sat down, Muluku, god of the Zambesi, rose to his feet.

“I made the earth,” he said. “I dug two holes, and from one came a man, and from the other a woman. I gave them land and tools and seeds and clay pots, and told them to plant the seeds, to build a house, and to cook their food in the pots. But the man and the woman ate the raw seeds, broke the pots, and left the tools by the side of a trail. Therefore, I summoned two monkeys, and made the same gifts to them. The two monkeys dug the earth, built a house, harvested their grain, and cooked it in their pots.” He paused. “So I cut off the monkeys’ tails and stuck them on the two men, decreeing that from that day forth they would be monkeys and the monkeys would be men.”

He pointed at the pale thin god. “And yet, far from punishing men, you forgive them their mistakes. I charge you with the crime of Compassion.”

En-kai, the god of the Maasai, spoke next.

“I created the first warrior, Le-eyo, and gave him a magic chant to recite over dead children that would bring them back to life and make them immortal. But Le-eyo did not utter the chant until his own son had died. I told him that it was too late, that the chant would no longer work, and that because of his selfishness, Death will always have power over men. He begged me to relent, but because I am a god and a god cannot be wrong, I did not do so.”

He paused for a moment, then stared coldly at the pale thin god. “You would allow men to live again, even if only in heaven. I accuse you of the crime of Mercy.”

Finally Huveane, god of the Basuto people, arose.

“I, too, lived among men in eons past. But their pettiness offended me, and so I hammered some pegs into the sky and climbed up to heaven, where men would never see me again.” He faced the pale thin god. “And now, belatedly, you have come to our land, and you teach that men may ascend to heaven, that they may even sit at your right hand. I charge you with the crime of Hope.”

The six fearsome gods turned to me.

“We have spoken,” they said. “It is your turn now, Anubis. Of what crime do you charge him?”

“I do not make accusations, only judgments,” I replied.

“And how do you judge him?” they demanded.

“I will hear him speak, and then I will tell you,” I said. I turned to the pale thin god. “You have been accused of the crimes of Peace, Life, Mercy, Compassion, Love, and Hope. What have you to say in your defense?”

The pale thin god looked at us, his accusers.

“I have been accused of Peace,” he said, never raising his voice, “and yet more Holy Wars have been fought in my name than in the names of all other gods combined. The earth has turned red with the blood of those who died for my Peace.

“I have been accused of Life,” he continued, “yet in my name, the Spaniards have baptized Aztec infants and dashed out their brains against rocks so they might ascend to heaven without living to become warriors.

“I have been accused of Mercy, but the Inquisition was held in my name, and the number of men who were tortured to death is beyond calculation.

“I have been accused of Compassion, yet not a single man who worships me has ever lived a life without pain, without fear, and without misery.

“I have been accused of Love, yet I have not ended suffering, or disease, or death, and he who leads the most blameless and saintly life will be visited by all of my grim horsemen just as surely as he who rejects me.

“Finally, I have been accused of Hope,” he said, and now the stigmata on his hands and feet and neck began to glow a brilliant red, “and yet since I have come to your land, I have brought famine to the north, genocide to the west, drought to the south, and disease to the east. And everywhere, where there was Hope, there is only poverty and ignorance and war and death.

“So it has been wherever I have gone, so shall it always be.

“Thus do I answer your charges.”

They turned to me, the six great and terrible deities, to ask for my judgment. But I had already dropped to my knees before the greatest god of us all.

-end-

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