Hammerport

‘Hmm, something is a-bothering me now, buzzin’ around in my head like a hornet’s nest.’ Earl stood up. ‘So off you go and make, well, everything… but you tie your hands like you say, promising not to get involved. Things are set in motion because that’s all they needed, like, a gentle push.’

He hesitated; he didn’t like to challenge God, but God seemed to be doing his best to actively encourage this sort of behaviour. ‘And so, well, there ain’t no evidence of your existence. That rule you mentioned – Occam’s razor – it then says you don’t exist.’

God was unperturbed. ‘Occam’s razor is a logical device, Earl. It means don’t assume any more than you have to. I don’t need to explain the choices of your life with an assumption that the number of cookies you’ve consumed since birth totals 732, but it’s true, nonetheless. Occam’s razor doesn’t dispute truth. It keeps things simple, melts things down to the bare necessities.’

‘Will you stop with the cookies?’ Earl was tired of the cookie metaphor, but couldn’t ignore the count. ‘732 cookies? Are you sure? Can I demand a recount?’ He pinched his side, checking for fat. There was plenty there.

‘Fact and logic never disagree,’ God replied, ‘but sometimes they won’t see eye to eye. Anyway, you should ask yourself the real hard question, here, Earl. Why would I bother putting in obvious evidence of my existence before you good people have reached your peak? That, pardon my language, would pretty much screw things up.’

The hornets were in a frenzy. Earl was moments away from the question, the one that had been sizzling away like a barbecue steak ever since God had made his first appearance. ‘So you’re no believer of divine intervention?’

‘Absolutely not. Intervention would be an almighty mistake. And the Almighty does not make mistakes. Did you ever see the end of Quantum Leap? Dean Stockwell was really good in that show like he always is. Spoiler alert, Earl. It was revealed that Sam was leaping around in time fixing God’s mistakes. Can you believe that? Holy son of moley, I make mistakes?’

‘Well, sir, pardon me for saying, but what we have right here in this shed is intervention.’

God pulled down his NY Mets cap, as if about to catch a little shuteye. ‘You’re catching on fast, kid.’

The question came out, reckless and uninhibited. ‘Why, sir, are you here talkin’ to me?’