Christ’s eyes blazed dangerously. He spat out a bit of meat into his napkin and said, very emphatically and deliberately, “I did not say those words. And I didn’t curse the poor fig tree either. Being misquoted is one of the worst things that can happen to a god’s message, and it happens all the time. Then of course, it’s repeated endlessly. Endlessly.” Christ’s voice grew morose. His divine eyes wandered. Seven thought that if this kind of behavior kept up, Christ might even forget that he was there, and he could sneak away.

“Endlessly,” Christ repeated, staring at Seven.

It was quite possible, Seven thought, that Christ’s memory was slipping, but even as Seven thought those words, Christ’s head snapped forward. The divine eyes came afire and Christ said, “So you think I’m losing my memory, do you? I remember the beginning of the world.” Once more his eyes dimmed. “Those were the days,” he muttered.

Seven was ready to weep. If this was Christ, the legends far surpassed the reality. He was almost always disappointed meeting an author in person, but this! He lowered his eyes and looked at the floorboards. They began to shimmer. Somewhere, Seven thought that he heard Zeus and Christ laugh—massive chuckles that disrupted birds in their flights through a million skies—laughs that emitted divine humor, compassionate but largely lost to any but godly ears. Gradually the chuckles changed in character though they continued until Seven thought that they’d sounded for eternity.

Realizing that he’d closed his eyes, he opened them. Then he rubbed them. There were torn magazines on the coffee table where only a moment earlier there had been, instead, a plate of mutton. The golden couch was replaced by several rickety chairs and instead of Christ and Zeus, Jeffy-boy and his Ram-Ram sat with the coffee table between them.

Queen Alice, on the other side of the table, said, “Ideas of sanity are so limiting, don’t you think? That’s why people who think they’re sane get in so much trouble when they realize that they’re actually bigger than their concepts give them a right to be.”

Jeffery said, “This is ridiculous.” He ignored Queen Alice and turned to Ram-Ram, who shrugged his shoulders comically at Queen Alice and said, “Jeffy-boy just can’t get all this through his head.” Then, to Jeffery, “You want to know if I was really in your apartment the other afternoon. I was. Now, does that answer your question?”

“It does and it doesn’t,” Jeffery replied with some irritation. “Were you there physically?”

“Definitely not,” Ram-Ram said; then, with the kindly old psychologist’s smile, “I know, I know. You have more questions, but let’s take them one at a time.”

“You’re the one who’s in the mental institution,” Jeffery shouted. “So don’t give me advice.”

“Quite right,” Ram-Ram said agreeably.