“Perhaps you should ask God yourself?” Joar stared at him in genuine surprise, as if he were expecting the minister to hold out a tin can on a piece of string, with God sitting at the other end. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?” The minister gestured amiably toward the roof. “God belongs to you as much as to me. You can ask whatever you want.” Joar pursed his lips thoughtfully for a long, long time. Then he looked up at the roof, cleared his throat seriously, and said: “Okay. Can you stop giving people cancer, you fucking bastard?”
