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2 That was a distinctly uncomfortable question. He resorted to anger. "Well, let's see. I was killed during the commission of a felony, a failed attempt at seizing a shipment of heroin following multiple homicides. So that's stealing and killing. Not to mention Yvonne-- that's adultery. And coveting, yes, definitely lots of coveting. False witness. Haven't kept the Sabbath, have taken the Name in vain, haven't honored my parents. I don't recall any graven images, though. So much for commandments, more or less," he ranted bitterly, "how about deadly sins? Anger, lust, envy, avarice, pride--sloth and gluttony aren't really my thing, unless the drinking counts? I forget where despair fits in. Oh, yes, and indirect suicide. Didn't even have the guts to do it myself." He was panting with self-loathing. "I don't sound much like a candidate for the City of God, do I?" he concluded. "Not when you put it that way," the old man agreed mildly. "So where are the flames and pitchforks?" Harry demanded. The old man gave a snort of disgust. "Come, now, Harry. You know better than that. It's a typical twentieth-century attitude: first, oversimplify the doctrine of hell to such an extent that even the most ignorant medieval peasant wouldn't recognize it, then disbelieve it. What happened to that vaunted Jesuit education of yours? And don't," he added severely, "try to foist off on me any wretched excuse about having slaughtered brain cells with the various cumulative systemic poisons you've been abusing your body with for the last year or so. You're not corporeal now, so that just won't fly." He pushed his glasses up his nose. Harry squirmed a bit, scratched his head, and rubbed his nose. He didn't like this old man, or this conversation, or this place. "Stop fidgeting!" the old man barked, to Harry's consternation. "Don't slouch!" was his next command, and Harry straightened before he could object. "Pay attention!" The old man's stare pinned him in place. "Now, what is the end to which man was created?" The answer was out of Harry's mouth without hesitation. "'To worship God and enjoy Him forever.'" The old man smiled. "There, you see? You do remember your catechism after all." He'd tried to forget it. Apparently, once Mother Church got her grip on you, she didn't let go. He covered by babbling. "You know, that never made any sense to me. It makes God sound like an egoist, needing to create a bunch of worshipers to serve Him. Why? What kind of deity is that, a prima donna?" The old man sighed. Clearly Harry was trying his patience. Well, that made them even. "What makes you think God needs our worship? You're not thinking." "Then why? If He doesn't get anything out of it, what's the point?" Harry smacked the cot hard for emphasis, making the old man jump.
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