“So why am I here?” I asked, defeated. “And why are you here talking to me?”
“You are here because I wanted you to exist. Your story is my life’s ambition, and I’ve only just begun. On some level, despite the turmoil that you’re obviously feeling right now, this news has got to be fairly comforting.”
“Comforting?”
“Isn’t it? To know—not to take on faith, but to actually know for a fact that God exists, that the world was created for you, and that above all, God loves you, well, is that not comforting? I know I’m not much to look at, as far as deities go, but meeting me has to be somewhat of a relief.”
Well, he was right about one thing. I figured God would’ve looked more like Charlton Heston, not some overgrown kid in a suit. “Well,” I said, “it’s kinda hard for me to embrace this whole ‘God Loves Me’ revelation, when I’m still trying to make sense of being a fictional character.”
“You’re taking it pretty well, all things considering.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m an agnostic and an avid comic book reader. So in a sense, I’ve been preparing for this encounter my entire life.”
We shared a final laugh together, and for a brief moment, I was almost content with what should have been a mind-blowing revelation. But just as I was settling into this new idea of reality, out of nowhere, Sakura’s beautiful face flashed through my brain. And there it was. A nagging, previously inexplicable sensation made real. Discontent. If my life was a complete fiction then that meant that certain things didn’t have to happen. Certain irreversible events. Certain tragedies.
“What about Sakura? I was going to marry her!” I grabbed him by the shirt collar, but the stranger remained composed. The world fell away. It was just me and my God.
“Well, that’s the other reason I’m here,” the stranger began. “That’s why I’m talking to you. Y’see, I’ve come to apologize. You’ve already been through so much, I mean, for Sakura to die, to lose your father, your friends…”
“She didn’t have to die!” I tightened my grip. “If this isn’t real, then you could have changed that. You could’ve made this world whatever you wanted!”
“Yes, theoretically, I could have, but as hard as this may be for you to understand, Sanjuro, sometimes characters take on lives of their own. They make their own decisions and their own mistakes. And sometimes they die. I’m sorry that had to happen. I wish I could do something, but…”
“Horseshit! That’s a cop-out! You’re the author here. You’re in control, so you can write the story anyway you damn well please!”
“That’s where you’re wrong. If I’m in control, then why are you so angry at me? Wouldn’t I prefer you to be overjoyed? To accept me? Yet wouldn’t that do away with the whole purpose of me apologizing? True, this conversation exists because I permit it to exist, but the fact of the matter is you’re exerting free will right now, son.”
Son? I couldn’t even look at him.
His voice grew quiet. “About your father, your friends, and Sakura, well, I-I feel bad about it. T-that’s why I’m here. I’m here to…”
“Have me absolve you of your guilt?”
“Partially, I suppose.” He thought his words over carefully. “But really, I just want to bring you comfort. I want to apologize. At the very least, you can take solace in knowing that as long as I have anything to say about it, you will endure and overcome. And with any luck, you’ll live happily ever after.”
I just stared at the bastard. Nobody said anything for a long while.
“Sanjuro,” he said timidly. “Are you okay?”
“Bloody fucking lovely.”
“Is there anything you’d like to say?”
It took me a while to muster up the words, but when I finally did, I let ‘er rip. “You’re a piss-poor excuse for a god, I’ll tell you that much. Every time I got stabbed in the back, every time I got my heart torn from my chest, and every time I lost someone who meant something to me, that wasn’t just life, that was you!”
“Technically, I suppose, but like I said…”
“So how much money have you made off my ‘adventures’? What are you, Stephen King-famous now?”
“Well, actually,” he took in a deep breath. “I’m not published.”
“WHAT? What did you just say to me?”
“Well, I, um, easy there, hoss.” He raised his hands in defense. “My work is under consideration at some publishing houses right now, but the last few seemed like they either wanted some crybaby coming of age story about ethnic identity or a lame-brained mystery without an ounce of substance to it. Guess your stories are just ahead of their time.”
“Or maybe you’re just not a very good writer.” His visible embarrassment was almost revenge enough.
“That, too, is a possibility,” he said diplomatically. “But the thing is…”
“So let me see if I understand you,” I interrupted. “You’re telling me that not only is this world not real, but that all I’ve suffered never really happened or had to happen, that I myself am a figment of your imagination, and that my sole purpose for being is to make you rich and famous, yet MY STORIES AREN’T EVEN PUBLISHED!”
“Yeeaah,” he said slowly while rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s about the gist of it. Sorry.”
What happens when you punch God? I was willing to find out.
“Hold it right there, Sanjuro. I know what you’re thinking. But just hear me out. Why don’t I make this up to you? Through me, all things are possible, right?” He let out a nervous chuckle. “For example, that lighter you have in your pocket, that’s your father’s. He meant a lot to you. And you’ve always wished you had a better relationship with him before he died, isn’t that right? Just wait one second, and I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Before I could react, the stranger spoke quietly, as if reciting an incantation. After he finished, a cascade of memories suddenly flooded through my mind. My father. Alive. We were working on cars in his old workshop, fishing together, and tossing the ol’ football around. Those and hundreds of other little moments were now a part of me, connected like a chain from birth to the present instant. No more arguments. No hurt feelings. No cancer. And above all, no death. All gone, now replaced by new memories, real memories, enveloping me like a warm baby’s blanket. The whole thing would’ve been overwhelming if it weren’t such pure bliss.
When it was all over, the stranger put his hand on my shoulder. I was too shaken to say a word. “And now just this once, I’ll…” he paused. “Now I can’t do it again, but just this one time, I’ll give you something I took away. Correction. I’ll give you someone that I allowed to be taken from you.”
“Giving me back my dad doesn’t change a goddamn thing,” I said through gritted teeth. “You can’t buy my respect. Or my forgiveness. Or my love.”
I looked him square in the eye to make sure he knew I meant it. I could tell that my words had hurt him, but the stranger attempted to mask his feelings, before finally speaking: “I don’t intend to buy anything, Sanjuro. I simply want to reward you. Call it a gift from God.” He mumbled something under his breath before speaking clearly once more. “Turn around.”
I did. There, sitting on the stool to my left was Sakura, alive and well, and more beautiful than ever.
The stranger stood up and spoke, “I’ll settle the bill. Not that it really matters, but hey, might as well go through the motions, right?” He counted out a wad of cash and placed it on the sushi bar. “For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry. Sorry for everything that has happened. And for everything that will happen.”
I broke my gaze with Sakura and glanced at the stranger. “It can’t be all bad, can it?”
He smiled and waved his hand. “Orujnas tegrof.”
* * *
The stranger’s words were said more out of a sense of whimsy than for any practical reason. In truth, he could make Sanjuro remember as much or as little as he wanted without saying a word. The stranger was not God, but—as he had said— only a construct, and when his purpose ceased to exist, so did he. When the stranger vanished, no one in the restaurant cared to notice, least of all Sanjuro. Instead, he and Sakura tried to pick up where they had left off four years earlier. The two of them joked and laughed and reconnected as only lovers can after experiencing a long, tortuous separation. Sanjuro had not known happiness like this in quite some time. The next morning, however, he woke up alone and wept.
Elsewhere, his true Creator stares at the page and fumbles for a happy ending.
