Free Deus Irae by Philip K. Dick

something more to offer,” said Tibor.
    “Like what?” asked Dr. Abernathy.
    “Love, faith, hope,” said Tibor.
    “Yet you’re taking their money,” Dr. Abernathy said.
    “Yes,” said Tibor. “I’ve already made an agreement with them.”
    “One which requires a Pilg?” Dr. Abernathy asked.
    “Yes,” said Tibor.
    “If you convert today, what will you do about this commission?” asked Dr. Abernathy.
    “Give it up,” said Tibor.
    “Why?” Dr. Abernathy inquired.
    “Because I don’t want to make the Pilg,” said Tibor.
    They both sipped their coffee.
    Finally, “You think you’re being an honest man,” said Dr. Abernathy. “One who meets all his commitments. Yet you want to come over to us in order to break faith with them.”
    Tibor looked away. “I could give them back the money,” he said.
    “True,” said Dr. Abernathy, “as it is commanded, ‘Thou shalt not steal.’ This applies to the SOWs, as well as anyone else—so it is only just that either you give it back or keep your promise and paint the mural. On the other hand, what is it they have really asked you to do?”
    “A mural involving the God of Wrath,” said Tibor.
    “Just so,” said Dr. Abernathy. “And where does God live?”
    “I do not understand,” said Tibor, sipping his coffee.
    “Is it not true that He dwells in all places and all times, as eternity is His home?” asked Dr. Abernathy. “I think the SOWs and the Christians both agree on this point.”
    “I believe so,” said Tibor. “Only, as God of This World—”
    “Well, He might be found anywhere,” said Dr. Abernathy.
    “Father, I fail to follow you,” said Tibor.
    “What if you do not succeed in locating Him?” asked Dr. Abernathy.
    “Then I should be unable to complete the mural,” said Tibor.
    “And what would you do then?” asked Dr. Abernathy.
    “Continue with what I’ve been doing,” said Tibor, “painting signs, painting houses. I’d give back the money, of course—”
    “Why need you resort to this extreme? Since God—if
he
be God—may be found anywhere, this being his world, it would seem you might properly seek him there,” said Dr. Abernathy.
    With a certain uneasiness, and yet a glimmer of fascination, Tibor said, “I’m afraid I still don’t see what you mean, sir.”
    “What if you saw his face in a cloud?” said Dr. Abernathy. “Or in the shiftings of the Great Salt Lake, at night, under the stars? Or in a fine mist descending just as the heat of day departed?”
    “Then it would only be a guess,” said Tibor, “a—a fake.”
    “Why?” asked Dr. Abernathy.
    “Because I’m only mortal,” said Tibor, “and therefore liable to error. If I were to guess, I might guess wrong.”
    “Yet if it be his will that this thing be done, would he allow this error?” asked Dr. Abernathy in a strong, measured voice. “Would he allow you to paint the wrong face?”
    “I don’t know,” said Tibor. “I don’t think so. But—”
    “Then why don’t you save yourself much time, effort, and grief,” said Dr. Abernathy, “and proceed in this manner?”
    After a pause, Tibor murmured, “I don’t feel it would be right.”
    “Why not?” said Dr. Abernathy. “He could really be anyone, you know. Chances are, you’ll never find the real Carl Lufteufel.”
    “Why not?” said Tibor. “Because it wouldn’t be right, that’s why. I’ve been commissioned to paint the God of Wrath in the center of the mural—in appropriate lifelike authentic colors—so it is therefore important to know him as he really is.”
    “
Is
it all that important?” said Dr. Abernathy. “How many people knew his appearance in the old days? And if they are living, how many of them would recognize him today—
if
he be still living, that is?”
    “It’s not that,” said Tibor. “I know I could fake it, that I could manufacture a face—just from the repro I’ve seen. The thing of it is, though, it wouldn’t be true.”
    “True?”