A Visitation

A Visitation

by Kelp

On my living room couch– they were there, suddenly there – three of them.  Not quite sitting, although it looked like sitting. More like hovering. Hovering over my couch, in a sitting position. No wings, no halos, they could have been anyone from the neighborhood, they looked like regular people, except they weren’t.

I let them do the talking. I just stood at a distance and looked at them in silence. 

Only one of them talked. The other two just sat, hoveringly, with their hands folded on their chests, the hint of a smile on their faces. The one who talked said something that I couldn’t understand.  Maybe a different language, or possibly English with a French accent.

I responded with a “thank you” in any case. “I am honored by your presence,” I said. “I feel really – ” I couldn’t think of the word I wanted. I said, “important. I feel really important to be visited by you.” It wasn’t the right word, but it kind of expressed what I meant.

“For God, every person is important, every neshama is precious,” he said. This time I understood him.

And then, after a few moments, he added, “Everyone is important, clearly, but there is nevertheless an order of importance.”

“An order?  What do you mean?”

“There’s a list,” he said. “A list of people. In order of importance.”

“A list?”

“A list of all the people in the world in order of importance. Yes, we have such a list.”

“Well,” I said, “I must be pretty high up on the list to warrant such a visit.”

They all looked at me – all three of them – the hint of a smile never leaving their faces.

“Well,” I said. “are you able to tell me, where am I on the list?”

They shook their heads. “We don’t give out that information.”

“Aw, come on,” I said. 

“No, we don’t actually share that information. And anyway you don’t want to know. Now I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Come on, of course I want to know. Of course I want to know how important I am. Come on … give me a ballpark.”

“Well …”

I waited for some kind of response, but none was forthcoming. “Where is this list?” I asked.

“It’s up here, man.” He pointed to his forehead. He closed his eyes. He seemed to be calculating in his head.

“So?”

“So … you’re good. You’re pretty high up.”

“How far up?”

“It goes by number.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are currently eight billion, one hundred and eighteen million, eight hundred and thirty-five thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine people on the list. You are ummm – not bad, not bad – you are number three billion, two hundred and eighty-two million, one hundred and eighty-five thousand, seven hundred and fourteen. It’s not quite in the top quartile – that’s tough to get into -- but you are definitely – I mean very safely -- in the top 50%.  I mean, you do the math, but I believe you’re in the top forty percentile. That makes you quite important in the scheme of things.  Nothing to sneeze at.”

“Are you kidding? That’s terrible. There are almost four billion people out there that are more important than me! How could that be? I’m – I’m – I’m profoundly disappointed in myself. How did I get to be so unimportant?”

“No, no. You’re more important that you think. Mind you, your importance is waning by the minute. Every time a new baby is born, you drop just a little bit.  But that stands to reason, don’t you think?”

“I can’t talk.  I am devastated.”

“Nahh,” he said.  “Don’t be devastated.  Come on, cheer up.  I’ll tell you what, you can ask me some questions – I’ll give you three questions – and I will tell you the definitive answers to your questions. How does that sound? That’ll make you a whole lot smarter pretty quickly. Might even make you a bit more important as well. So go ahead, ask away …”

I sighed. “Oh, I don’t know what to ask.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” he said.

“Say, why did you come here in the first place?  Obviously I’m not so important.  What prompted you to come to see me in the first place?”

“It’s a good question,” he said.  “You keep saying you’re not important, but you are. We come here every day. We sit here – right here on your couch – every day. It’s just that you never saw us until today.”

“Is it just my couch you come to, or do you sit on everybody’s couch?”

“We go everywhere. Why wouldn’t we? M’lo chol ha’aretz k’vodo!”

“Why are there three of you, by the way? Wouldn’t one be enough?”

“We like traveling in threes.”

I noticed – I hadn’t noticed it before -- the filigree on the wall behind them – tiny silver twisted threads of filigree from floor to ceiling on the wall.   

“Unfortunately you’ve run out of questions,” he said. “I said I’d answer three.  You’re on your fourth one now.”

“But who’s counting?” I said.

“We are. We count everything.”

“Well, why did you come today? Why did you come to visit me?”

“I already told you. We’re here every day.”

“But what did I do today that made me see you, that made me become aware that you are here?”

“Ah, finally, a really good question. But I’m going to let you work that one out on your own. Give it some serious thought, man. I think you might figure it out.”