The Garden of Unearthly Delights by Robert Rankin Read Free Book Online Page A

propelling him onto the section
of blackly painted road where he fell in a heap. ‘Barking mad.’
    ‘Outrage!’
The old woman covered her face with her hands. ‘Sacrilege! The Highway to
Heaven is despoiled.’
    ‘Cease
this madness now.’ Maxwell shook his fists in the air. ‘There is no bus.
There is no Varney. You’re wasting away your lives. Ninety-eight years,
waiting for a bus that. will never come, to carry you off to some terminus in
the sky. How long must you wait to learn the folly of your ways?’
    The old
woman crooked a finger at Maxwell. ‘Unbeliever, iconoclast, son of some
faithless harlot.’
    ‘How
dare you?’ said Maxwell. ‘My mother wasn’t faithless.’ And the cold shiver
passed through him once more for the mother he would never see again. ‘My
mother was a Christian,’ said Maxwell.
    ‘Oh
yes?’ The old woman gave a mocking laugh. ‘My grandmother told me of that sect.
You scorn a wait of a mere ninety-eight years. Then tell me how long your
mother’s lot waited in vain for their deity to make his second coming?’
    Good
point, thought Maxwell. ‘That is neither here nor there,’ he said.
    The
youth had now raised himself from the painted section of road. He snatched up a
rock from the selection which had spilled from his mum’s shoppers and
brandished it menacingly. ‘I must bear a mighty penance for soiling the sacred
tary-mac. The-case-of-suits-which-is-not-allowed-on-the-top-deck. Your broken
bones will fill this case.’
    Maxwell
took a smart step backwards. ‘This is a theological discussion,’ said he.
‘There is no cause for violence.’
    ‘The
violence is all of your making. You began it.’ Good point also, thought
Maxwell. ‘Now see here,’ he said, as the two women began to sort amongst the
stones. ‘Now see—’
    ‘Stone
the heretic!’ cried the old woman. Maxwell weighed up his chances. They weren’t
good. He could strike the surly young man, but hardly the two women. And if he
simply turned tail and ran there was the strong possibility that he might be
brought to book by a well-aimed stone to the skull.
    Well,
thought Maxwell, if you’re going down in flames, try to hit something big.
‘Cease this behaviour at once,’ said Maxwell, in no uncertain voice. ‘Do you
not recognize me?’
    ‘No!’
agreed the three, hefting their missiles. ‘I am The Inspector.’ Maxwell uttered
this with such authority that he almost surprised himself.
    ‘You
are who?’ The old woman halted in mid swing. ‘The Inspector,’ said
Maxwell. ‘Surely you have heard of The Inspector.
    Heads
nodded. They had indeed heard of The Inspector.
    The
young man’s head ceased to nod first. ‘Hah,’ said he. ‘If you are The
Inspector, where is your uniform?’
    ‘This is my uniform.’ Maxwell straightened the lapels on his Oxfam zoot suit.
    ‘He lies.’.
Kevin raised his stone once more.
    ‘You
have seen an Inspector’s uniform before?’ Maxwell ventured. ‘How, then, does it
differ from my own?’
    ‘I…’ Kevin did not have a ready answer to this question.
    ‘And
let me ask you this: do you know the role of The Inspector?’
    ‘Of
course He judges all who enter Terminus.’
    ‘Thus
and so,’ said Maxwell, who had been hoping for such a reply. ‘And thus you are judged.’
    ‘Judged?’ Young Kevin almost raised his stone once more.
    Almost,
but not quite.
    ‘Judged,’
said Maxwell. ‘And not found wanting. I, The Inspector, came to test
your faith. Ask yourself, would any ordinary man dare what I have dared?’
    ‘Well… no …‘ said Kevin. ‘I suppose …’
    ‘No
indeed.’ Maxwell thrust out his chest. ‘I mocked your beliefs. I blasphemed the
holy name of Varney. I cast you down onto the sacred tary-mac. And why did I do
this?’
    ‘To
test our faith?’ asked the old woman.
    ‘Correct,’
said Maxwell. ‘And I am greatly pleased. Pleased with how well you have tended
the shrine. Pleased with how stoically you bear your penances. Pleased