I can go no further here. I should be counted censorious, and perhaps unjust, if I should enter into the unpleasing work of reflecting … upon the unthankfulness and return of all manner of wickedness among us, which I was an eyewitness of myself.

I shall therefore conclude the account of this calamitous year with a coarse but a sincere stanza of my own, placed at the end of my ordinary memorandums the same year they were written:

A dreadful plague in London was.
In the year sixty-five,
Which swept an hundred
thousand souls
Away, Yet I alive.

Appendix

July 3, 1984
Fiction: Approx. 50,000 wds.
Please return in SASE to:
Hartley Mims jr.
PO Box 6114, Canal Street Station
New York, New York 10011

TOWARD A MORE PRECISE IDENTIFICATION OF THE NEWER ANGELS

Having just died, having been judged unexpectedly worthy, you—new recruit—find yourself transposed up those infinite octaves separating you, the truly righteous, from the rest of those deadbeats left down there.

Glad you’re aboard. You’ve earned it.

You are saved from the ranks of the dull and greedy. You are set apart from the recent attorneys general whose one defense ran, “I have not been indicted yet.” How does it feel, being finally unlatched from pain? I am here to welcome you.

I have greeted many.

(Some complain that during these wake-up calls, I “editorialize.” But, for me, you see, strong opinion is paradise.) Been here for absolute ever. My exact age, thank God, is finally irrelevant. I can’t believe how much I cared. Time was such a Drag. My dears, we are well shut of it.

In Paradise, we organize by color. Later, God will put on such a show for you. You’ll see hues that you cannot yet name. I will teach you what we call each one.

What do you thousands of souls have in common? A superstitious fondness for the lucky numbers 1, 3, and 7. For the color red. Among you, find more Geminis and Scorpios than any other sign—(we notice astrology but don’t quite believe it here either).

As a group, you all exhibit a sense of humor often criticized as “infantile.” You have a secret sweet tooth. You enjoy playing around. You show a passion for collecting anything from salt-cellars to orphans. There’s real talent at empathy, a quiet yet profound interest in sex (more about that later). You’ve each kept a garden, if only a windowbox. The amount of fund-raising you did, we angels first admired, then pitied. Your virtue runs alongside a scofflaw’s hatred for paying parking tickets.

And, today there’s the surprise element. First, you feel astonished at the fact of a Paradise, any paradise. Then you’re shocked on being picked for it. But, see, that constitutes your righteousness, you silly willies!