Free Waiting for Godalming by Robert Rankin

Every great detective dreams of
The Case
. And this had to be it.
    “Barry,” said I, with more seriousness than a Sudanese soothsayer, “this is the Big One, but I have a problem here.”
    “You could strap the ice pack into your underpants.”
    “Not that kind of problem. I’m already engaged on a case. I’ve taken the thousand big ones up front. And although these are now only small ones, compared to the Big One, I can’t just quit the case.”
    “Chief. A word to the wise here. God’s wife is not the kind of creature that you want to keep waiting. If you think that God’s been a little harsh with the Ethiopians, believe me, piss God’s wife off and you’re in a world of hurt.”
    I glanced down at my wristlet watch. “Listen, Barry,” I said. “It’s just turned four. I can have this other case tied up today, easy. Then I could go out this evening, have a few beers, talk some toot, get an early night and find God first thing in the morning. How does that sound?”
    “About as likely as Blue Peter sponsoring a Gary Glitter comeback concert, chief.”
    “That likely, eh?”
    “That, or just a bit less.”
    I pondered my position once more. I felt the need to cogitate. To conceptualize. To lucubrate. To cerebrate. To ruminate. To …
    “Gimme a break, chief. Dump your case and let’s go looking for God.”
    “Well …”
    “Chief, would you like me to tell you a little story about God’s wife?”
    “Does it have a happy ending?”
    “No, chief, it doesn’t. But I’m going to tell it to you anyway. It’s all about how the world really began and it’s not the version you’ve read in the Old Testament. I’ll tell it as it happened and I’ll do all the voices and everything. I’ll even throw in a title for good luck.”
    “Go on then.”
    “OK.”
    GENESIS
    At Last the Truth
    God’s wife wasn’t impressed.
    “And what is
that
supposed to be?” she asked.
    “It’s a present,” said God. “I made it for you.”
    “A present.” God’s wife did that thing with her mouth. That thing that God didn’t like.
    “It’s for your birthday,” said God. “You see I didn’t forget.”
    “I see,” said the wife of God.
    “And I’ve named it after you. It’s called the Earth.”
    God’s wife did that thing once again. “My name is
not Earth
!” she said. “It’s Eartha. You know I don’t like you calling me Earth. It sounds dirty, somehow.”
    “You used to like it when I called you Earth.” God made a sad and sorry face.
    “Well that was
then
and this is
now
and what is that supposed to be?”
    “Which
that
is
that
?”
    “That little that down there on the Earth.”
    “Ah,” said God, with pride in His voice. “That little that is Man.”
    “Man?” asked Eartha, wife of God.
    “Man,” said God. “I created him in my own image.”
    “Ha ha ha,” went the wife of God. “You never looked as good as that.”
    “It’s what you call an idealized representation.”
    “Yeah, right, sure it is.”
    “Look,” God sighed. “Do you want it or not? It took me days to make.”
    “How many days?”
    God sighed again. “What does it matter, how many days? Look at the detail. Look at all the pretty colours.”
    God’s wife looked. “And what are those?” she asked.
    “Those are trees,” said God. “And those are flowers. And those are rabbits. And those are birdies. And that’s a Ford Fiesta.”
    “I don’t like
that
,” said Eartha.
    “Why don’t you like it? What’s wrong with it?”
    “The design of the inner sill on the wheel arches. You’ll get rust there.”
    “Ah,” said God.
    “And why is Man grinning like that?”
    “Because he’s happy.” God shook His old head. “So do you want it, or not?”
    God’s wife shrugged. “Suppose so,” she said. “But what’s it for? Can I wear it?”
    “No!” God threw up His hands in despair. “It’s not for wearing. It’s not even for touching. It’s just for looking at. You look at it and it makes