"J. Brian Clarke - Hell Aint What It Used To Be" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clarke Brian J)

that second look. "I am glad you appreciate your situation.
What else do you know?"
I jerked my thumb at the second door, the one labeled
H. "Where that leads."
"Oh that." Again the contemptuous chuckle. "The eternal
fire. Is that what you think?"
The woman was toying with me and I did not like it. I
yelled, "I know bloody well what H stands for!" I could have
screamed at the moon for all the effect it had on her.
She said calmly, "Luv, I am afraid you do not know as
much as you think you do. To start with, the letter on that
door is only there because my clients expect it. It can just
as easily be X for extermination for instance, P for
purgatory, and so on. Second, there is no such thing as
infinite punishment for a finite crime. That nonsense was
dreamed up by the medieval clergy to keep the peasants in
line and the tithes coming in. Whatever a person does in a
lifetime, is rewarded or punished on a sliding scale
appropriate to that person's deeds. We call it justice."
"I have heard of it," I admitted warily.
"And evaded it." Smith lowered her glasses to the end
of her nose and regarded me over them. She had the owlish
look of a disapproving school teacher. "Until now, of
course."
"I think--" I took a deep breath. "You are about to
boot me through that door, aren't you?"
"Boot is rather a strong word. But yes, that is where
you are going."
I tried not to think what was on the other side, and
failed miserably. Even the prospect of better things after
my litany of sins was burned out of me, seemed a long, long
way off. Then I thought of possible alternatives to fire--a
rat infested dungeon perhaps, or slavery under sadistic
taskmasters.
"Do I have a choice of punishment?", I asked.
"You do not."
"How long will I have to suffer?"
"It is entirely up to you."
"God," I muttered.
"And Her too, although do not expect too much at the
beginning. Just work hard, do what you are told, and in a
century or two subjective you may be allowed through
Elysium's door." The woman returned the glasses to the
proper place in front of her pale eyes, turned back to the
computer and poised a finger. "Now you must go."
I remembered the glorious view through the window, and
it makes me feel worse. "Do it," I said.
The finger descended and Hell's door opened.
And opened...
And opened...