More About God

     Many years ago my friend KO caught venereal disease from a woman he met in the Philippines while he was working as a merchant seaman. He then married her. He sent part of his pay to her every month, had his VD treated and wrote romantic letters. Her rare responses always included a clause that reminded him of his spousal financial duties. He knew she was working as a prostitute, but he kept up the charade for two years before he sobered up long enough to realize he was acting like a schmuck and stopped writing and sending money.

     We were sitting in Jean’s Bit o’ Bohemian one night while he was between ships. He had lots of money and was buying the drinks, talking loudly. He was almost at the point where he would soon step outside, climb into an empty parked car and sleep comfortably until the owner appeared, outraged, and dragged poor KO into the street and drove away, leaving my friend to sleep it off in a doorway.

     KO was drunk and philosophical.

     “You know why there is no God?”

     “Why?”

     “Venereal disease and tooth decay.”

     “?”

     “Think about it. All the stupid Christians say that God is a benign father figure, a loving guy who watches after his flock. Bullshit. I understand punishment for crimes and bad behavior, in fact I agree with that, but sex is terrific fun, full of delight and drama and danger; why would an all-powerful being inflict such a torment on his children? ‘I grant you the great gift of erotic pleasure, but then I’m going to plant the random Easter egg of disease somewhere in that enchanted garden.’  No supreme being, if it truly existed, would do that. It’s completely unnecessary. There are enough roadblocks to a satisfying sex life without adding disgusting, embarrassing and hard-to-cure infections. He’s supposed to be smart. That’s not smart; it’s just mean.”

     “Why tooth decay?”

     “Well, shit, it’s sort of similar. We eat, we have to eat, we enjoy eating, and then, BLAM, a germ that eats its way through the gum, into the tooth, into the nerve system and causes misery, pain and disfigurement. Thanks God. Thanks a lot.”

     “How about flossing and brushing?”

     “Horse crap. My brother is from the exact same gene pool; same parents and grandparents, ate the same food, used the same toothpaste and went to the same frigging sadistic dentist and he has never, never had a cavity. Me? Nothing but holes and fillings and root canals and crowns. I’ll have full dentures by the time I’m thirty. God. A lie, a joke. Dimbulbs who say God exists because I can’t prove he doesn’t exist are dead wrong. Venereal disease and tooth decay. Proof that God does not exist.”

     Since January first, when I returned home from Paris, maintenance and repairs have taken all of my attention. Home, car, teeth.  I’ve gotten used to living indoors, and am grateful to be able to do so, but the heating in the house was unstable and there were areas that were freezing cold and the temperatures were an unseasonable minus 20 degrees Fahrenheit (-20 F). So far this month, the heating system has required five visits from a heating specialist and I think (I think) it’s working. Now all I have to sweat is the goddamn propane bill, which can run upwards of $300 a month in winter. With all the screwups, frigid weather, loose wires and component failures, I expect the bill to be much more than that. I hope I’m wrong. I always hope I’m wrong.

     Icy driveways are a drag and a danger but, fortunately, I’ve never had a problem driving in the snow. A few close calls, but nothing damaged. A couple weeks ago, when it was minus fifteen degrees (-15 F) and hard-frozen, I entered my driveway, cautiously, slow, steering gently, and softly slid into the rear bumper of S’s car. Tap. Nearly inaudible. It didn’t even rock the car. Four hundred dollars for her bumper, a plastic affair that had frozen and cracked. It would never have been a problem in the summer, according to the friendly auto-body people. My vehicle lost a headlight, a lens, and a fender. One thousand four hundred and change. I’ve never used my auto insurance. Never. Now I imagine my premium will increase because I expect them to do the job I pay them for and they have the option of raising my rates. Again, I hope I’m wrong.

     Three visits so far for a replacement of a broken tooth. One of the last good teeth; unfilled, root-canal-less, free of decay. It cracked down the middle and now I’ve been to the dentist three times and it looks like another two weeks of appointments before I’m able to chew painlessly. And, once more, I hope I’m wrong, really mistaken, incorrect, way wide of the mark and off the beam, but dentistry is expensive, no matter how you slice it, cut it or drill it.

     So, when I run into friends and they ask if I’m glad to be back and do I miss Paris? I hesitate before answering. I have to remember that I’m living in a nice house in a good place, I have a decent car, though dented, and the majority of my teeth are holding up with the help of Dr. T. So, when they ask if I’m happy to be home, they seem confused by my reasoned answer.

      “Well, thank God I don’t have venereal disease.”