With the greatest reluctance, David said: “God is cruel.”
And what is God? What’s your experience of the nature of God?”
“I don’t want to say.” David looked down at his hands, then up at the grave, intent man—the strangely familiar man—in the sunglasses. “I’m scared I’ll get in dutch.” He hesitated, then dragged out what he was really afraid of: “I’m scared you’re God.”
The man uttered a short, rueful laugh. “In a way, that’s pretty funny, but never mind. Let’s stay focused here. What do you know of the nature of God, David? What is your experience?”
With the greatest reluctance, David said: “God is cruel.”
He looked down at his hands again and counted slowly to five. When he had reached it and still hadn’t been fried by a lightning-bolt, he looked up again. The man in the jeans and tee-shirt was still grave and intent, but David saw no anger in him.
“That’s right, God is cruel. We slow down, the mummy always catches us in the end, and God is cruel.
