quinta-feira, agosto 07, 2008

A bowl of Martian fatworm soup

«... He crossed the waiting room to the Padre booth; seated inside he put a dime into the slot and dialed at random. The marker came to rest at Zen.
"Tell me your torments," the Padre said, in an elderly voice marked with compassion. And slowly; it spoke as if there were no rush, no pressure. All was timeless.
Joe said, "I haven't worked for seven months and now I've got a job that takes me out of the Solar System entirely, and I'm afraid. What if I can't do it?
The Padre's weightless voice floated reassuringly back to him. "You have worked and not worked. Not working is the hardest work of all."
That's what I get for dialling Zen, Joe said to himself. Before the Padre could intone further he switched to Puritan Ethic.
"Without work," the Padre said, in a somewhat more forceful voice, "a man is nothing. He ceases to exist."
Rapidly, Joe dialled Roman Catholic.
"God and God's love will accept you," the Padre said in a faraway and gentle voice. "You are safe in his arms. He will never - "
Joe dialled Allah.
"Kill your foe," the Padre said.
"I have no foe," Joe said. "Except for my ownweariness and fear of failure."
"Those are enemies," the Padre said, "which you must overcome in a jihad." (...)
Joe dialed Judaism.
"A bowl of Martian fatworm soup_" the Padre began soothingly, and then Joe's money wore out.»

(Philip K. Dick, Galactic Pot-Healer)

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