Yet more amazing adventures awaited our correspondent in
Hell!
{beginning of email}
“PSST!”
I heard from somewhere off in the mists, which is what Hell has instead of
clouds.
We were
all surprised. I was no longer the only one who seemed clueless about what was
going on. We all looked around to try to locate the source of the sound.
“Over
here,” came a loud whisper.
Philomena
had returned from her conversation with Pope Francis. She had very acute
hearing and located the person who had made the sound.
“Why,
look what the cat dragged in!” she said, as she pulled a spirit person out of
the mists and into our circle of camaraderie. It was a man whose clothing had
been made from a Confederate flag. “You must have done something really bad, to
be a Confederate who ended up in Hell,” she said.
The man
introduced himself. “I am Stonewall Beauregard,” he said. “And, I will let you
know right away, please keep me hidden. I have been condemned to Heaven, and
I’m not supposed to be down here. But, I just needed to talk to someone who
actually thinks about things. Say, Ma’am. What’s your name?”
“They
called me Philomena, and I was of African descent back on Earth.”
Stonewall
smiled broadly. “I am so glad to meet you.” He knelt down. “Please forgive me
for siding with the Confederates. And all of the rest of you: Please forgive
me.”
“I
forgive-a you,” said Pope Francis.
“Me
too,” said Philomena. “My ancestors were still in Africa during the
Confederacy, so my forgiveness doesn’t mean much. I was born in Benin. I
suffered a lot of prejudice when I moved to America, but not from
Confederates.”
“Ah,
there’s where you err,” said Stonewall. “I did not live during the Confederacy
of 1861-1865. I lived in Oklahoma in the twenty-first century. I was one of
those Confederate sympathizers. I drove a big truck around with Confederate
flags flapping from it. Then I had a little too much to drink and ran my truck
into a ditch. Soon as I woke up, there was a welcoming committee for me in
Heaven. The Confederate sympathizers who had gone before me were playing in a
big band. Dixie, of course, but also The Bonnie Blue Flag. I should have been
happy but, you see, I felt guilty when the welcoming committee greeted me. I
did not feel forgiven for the way I
had lived, until this very moment. What joy you bring me, Philomena, and—who
did you say you were, sir?”
“Call
him His Holiness,” said Karl.
“Don’t-a
call me that-a,” said the Pope.
“I’m so
ashamed of the way I behaved on Earth,” continued Stonewall. “And I’m even more
ashamed of the way the other guys behave up in Heaven. You know what they do
all day?”
“Yes,” I
said. I have described the daily ritual in Heaven in an earlier dispatch.
“I’m
going to have to get back before they miss me. Back on Earth, I used to slip
into the bushes to read inspirational books by Frederick Douglass and Booker T.
Washington and Martin Luther King. I told everyone I needed to go see a man
about a dog. But up here, we don’t have bowels so I can’t make that excuse any
more. But I am so glad I found
all-y’-all.”
“Please
feel free to come by for a visit when you can,” said Andrew.
“Oh, I
wouldn’t miss it for a whole pot of crawdads,” said Stonewall. “And especially
meeting you, Miss, or Ms., or whatever…I forgot your name…”
“Philomena,”
she smiled.
Stonewall
pronounced her name like it was a delicious piece of chocolate spread all over
his spiritual teeth. He and Philomena held hands a little longer than was
necessary before he shot back up to Heaven.
{end of email}
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