‘Where is God?’ he cried; ‘I’ll tell you! We have killed him—you and I!’
—Nietzsche, The Gay Science

“Botheration!”

Next to Ralph’s name on the duty roster were the letters DP&D—death: pickup and delivery. It was his least favorite work. “Dearly departed” souls are frequently unhappy when you arrive to pick them up. Regularly, there are timing or destination complaints.

“I’m not ready yet,” one might say.

“Sorry, but you have to come anyway; that’s the rule.” Or, “Hell? It doesn’t exist…does it?”

“Uhh…you’re in for a bit of a shock.”

Ralph walked to the DP&D office as slowly as possible. By the time he arrived, there was a long line of angels waiting. That’s good, he thought. It betters my chance of getting only one pickup. The line moved quickly. As Ralph worked his way to the front, he thought hard about how to get out of the day’s assignment. He decided to tell the assignments sergeant that he was sick and exhausted, could barely drag himself out of bed.

When his turn came, he stepped forward, hunched over a bit, covered his mouth with one hand, and produced a series of high-pitched, rapid-fire, coughing sounds. The sergeant was not impressed. He’s worked in the Death Office for over three and a half centuries; he enjoyed his work. He’d declined opportunities for promotion to continue doing the job he loved. Smiling, smartly clicking his heels together, he nodded his head slightly and handed Ralph his assignment clipboard with the pickup and delivery instructions.

“Weimar, Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach, German Empire,” he said. “First-rate! You’re going to love this one, corporal. I envy you. All that gemütlichkeit! Mmm, I have such fond memories of Germany. The scenery is stunning. Bavaria is like the set of a grand opera. The Commander-in- Chief outdid himself in Germany—the Black Forest, the Harz Mountains, the Königssee. By the way,” he said, leaning forward and whispering, “if you have time, you should stop and take a look at the Königssee. The view from Malerwinkel is divine, simply divine.”

“Excuse me, but I’m sorry to report that I’m not feeling well today, a bit under the weather.”

“Poppycock, my boy! The air of Germany will kill whatever ails you. Besides, a charge of malingering is a poor witness on any promotion papers.”

Ralph realized his cause was lost and that he might as well resign himself to the task before him. He started making his way to the Departure Slides. At least, as Ralph had hoped, there was only one assignment. He looked at the P&D form – Name: Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche; Age: 55; Sex: Male; Occupation: Philosopher, Philologist. “Fifty-five—not the Bible’s three-score and ten,” Ralph thought, “but decent.”

He remembered when he’d had kitchen duty at the same time as his friend, Karen. During a break, Karen told him about a young girl’s soul she’d picked up in ’51. She was only ten years old. Scarlet fever killed her. Karen said when she arrived, her client’s soul was ready to go. But as she bent to pick her up, the girl’s father let out such a wail of grief it caused her to hesitate.

Karen quickly regained her composure and departed with the young girl’s soul. At least, Mr. Nietzsche was not a child. Ralph was grateful for that.

He checked the location map to get an idea of where Weimar was: Thuringia, Central Germany. He flipped to the Delivery sheet; the destination was blank. That’s odd. He walked back to the Pickup and Delivery office. When he stepped inside, the duty sergeant asked, “Can I help you?”

“I certainly hope so,” Ralph replied. “I’m supposed to pick up the soul of one Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche in Germany today. I’ve reviewed the pickup instructions, and I’m confident I can find him, but there’s no delivery information. It doesn’t say where I’m to take him.”

“Let me see your forms.” Ralph handed the sergeant his clipboard. “Humph! You’re right.

Let me check with the Duty Officer. I’ll be right back. Take a seat over there,” he said, pointing to some white plastic chairs under the room’s noisy air conditioner.

About a quarter of an hour later, the man returned.

“Well, we have a bit of a conundrum here,” he said. “Your client once claimed that God is dead or something like that. But it’s unclear if he intended to pronounce God’s death or to report it. The tribunal couldn’t reach a verdict before the subject’s death date. The DO says the best thing to do would be to stop by Satan’s Office. See what he has to say. At least on the surface, it seems he may have an interest in this one.”

“But, should I have to… “

“Off with you. Can’t you see I’m a busy man?” “But, really,… “

Pointing at the door, the sergeant said, “The exit’s over there.”

Ralph left and headed to Satan’s Office. Satan’s gate guard was reclining in a hammock under a spreading chestnut tree, reading. Ralph walked up to him and cleared his throat. The guard looked up.

“The Decameron, fascinating reading,” he said, showing Ralph the book’s cover. “Have you read it?”

“Uhh…no.”

“Well, you should. It’s excellent! How busy we were in those days. The Black Death was rampant.” He returned to his reading. Ralph cleared his throat again.

“Excuse me.”

The guard looked up. “You’re still here?”

“Yes, I’m hoping you can help me. I’m on Death detail today and have an assignment which doesn’t specify where I’m to deliver the soul I pick up.”

“You’ve got the wrong department,” the guard replied. “You need the DP&D office.” “I was there. They sent me here.”

“Slackers. Here, we don’t make delivery decisions. We only welcome arrivals.”

Ignoring this, Ralph continued, “The charge sheet states that the subject claimed that God is dead. It seems, based on that, that this is where I should bring him. DP&D suggested he might be the kind of soul your boss is interested in.”

“Well, clearly, this client of yours, let me see your forms…this…uh, Nietzsche fellow was dead wrong,” he said, laughing, “on this ‘God is dead’ thing.” He handed the forms back to Ralph. “There’s nothing I can do to help you.”

Ralph turned and walked away. He found a spot to sit in the shade and think about what to do. He looked again at the charge sheet. The man claimed that God is dead in two books: Die fröhliche Wissenschaft and Also Sprach Zarathustra. Ralph decided his best bet was to stop by the Main Library, take a quick look at the books, and see if he could figure out where his subject’s soul belonged.

He handed a form to the librarian at the front desk with the two books’ names. The attendant looked at the paper and said, “These items are classified. I will need to check your clearance. What are the last four digits of your serial number and your beginning date of service?”

Ralph told her. She entered the information into the computer system. “Perfect! Ralph?”

“Yes.”

“Everything seems to be in order. It will take a few minutes to retrieve the books. If you have a seat at the table by the front window, I’ll bring them to you as soon as they arrive.”

Shortly, the librarian brought the two books to Ralph. “When you’re done with them, please return them to the front desk. We ask that you not leave them on the table.”

Ralph checked the books’ title pages and publication dates to ensure he had the right books and the correct author. He placed the first one in front of him, put his right hand on it, palm down. He lightly pressed the fingers of his left hand against the middle of his forehead and closed his eyes.

“Search,” he whispered, “God is dead.” Section 125 of the book appeared in Ralph’s mind’s eye. He read it several times. He kept returning to one sentence, “The holiest and the mightiest thing the world has ever possessed has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood from us?”

He moved the book aside and placed the other one in front of him. He repeated the search procedure with the second one. He quickly found what he was looking for in section 2 of the book’s Prologue.

He went to the Charge Sheet in his client’s forms and jotted down some notes. He returned the books to the front desk and left the library. He headed to the Departure Slide – Europe.

If Ralph enjoyed anything about Death duty, it was this, speeding down a departure slide, wings folded tightly behind him. On the way back, the wings served their purpose, but that would come later. In a short time, he found himself slipping off the end of the slide into the earth’s atmosphere, Europe beneath him. He unfolded his wings and headed to Germany.

He soon found Weimar, then Nietzsche’s sister’s house, where his client was to die. He looked at his watch; it was a few minutes before noon. He stood in front of the house for a few moments. He always hated this next part, but there was no getting around it. He slipped through the front door, went to Nietzsche’s bedroom, and entered.

Nietzsche’s soul was sitting on the end of the bed, leaning forward, his hands resting on his knees. He turned to face Ralph.

“Am I late?” Ralph asked.

“No. Not really. It happened only a moment ago. The family doesn’t know yet.” “Sorry. I got held up a bit.”

“No problem. I’m glad to see you.”

Ralph relaxed. No complaints. The soul seemed happy that the time had come. “May I ask you a question?” the soul said.

“Of course.”

“Can you tell me where we’re going? I know we’ll be there soon enough, but….” “I can,” Ralph said, “but I’d like to ask you a question first.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. After all, you knew him better than anyone else. You know all the feelings he had, the thoughts he had but never told anyone, his secret fears, his dreams. Where do you think I should take his soul? Where do you think you belong? I must tell you that the decision has been made. What you say won’t change that. But I am curious. I want to know what you think.”

“I’m prejudiced, you know.”

“I know. You should be.”

“Well, many people say he was an atheist. They contrast him with that Danish fellow; I forget his name now.”

Ralph didn’t say anything.

“But those early years, when he was still healthy…what a mind he had! He was, the only word for it is, blessed. But then came the mental breakdown, strokes, partial paralysis. He couldn’t walk or speak anymore. Do you know what it is for a philosopher not to be able to speak? Pneumonia, then last night, another stroke. No regrets here. Death is welcome, wherever you take me.”

He paused.

“If it was up to me, and, I know, every soul tells you this, I think I belong in heaven.” They could hear people coming up the stairs.

“Stand up,” Ralph said. The soul did. Ralph walked over and stood beside it. “Relax,” he said. “Lean into me.”

Nietzsche’s soul obeyed. Ralph bent slightly forward, picked up Nietzsche’s soul, and folded it gently to his chest. As the door opened, Ralph flexed his wings and flew out the bedroom window.

– Gershon Ben-Avraham