My co-worker at the diamond exchange on West 47th Street is a born-again Christian. Ava sits behind me. She listens to Brazilian Jesus music at a low-volume. I don't understand the lyrics, but the word 'Jesus' is repeated of often. Ava goes to church on Saturdays and Sundays. She believes in the 2nd Coming of the Messiah. The Judgment Day is a tangible date in the near-future.
"Do you think I'm heading to heaven?" I was joking with her. My non-belief is well-known on 47th Street.
"No." Ava shook her head vehemently without condemnation. "You're not going to heaven?"
"I'm not?" My concept of the afterlife consists of coming back as a skinny blonde go-go dancer, so I can control the destiny of men. Ava's version was more traditional and I said, "What if I repent at the last moment?"
"Then you go to purgatory after you die?" Ava was convinced on this fate.
"That's better than hell." The fiery pit was legendary for its lack of cold beer, although the only beverage in limbo was a grey flagon of regrets and heaven's fountains are not spraying lager.
"Only if you truly repent."
"And who decides that?" I had a feeling that the arbiter of eternal salvation would not be fooled by my last-minute re-conversion to my old faith.
"God."
"He has to have too much to do to bother with me."
"That attitude will send you to hell." Ava exercised no sense of humor on the subject of eternal damnation.
"Well, could you tell me when the Day of Judgment is coming?"
"Why?" The Brazilian was puzzled by this question.
"So I can drink cold beer for a month before I go burn in Hell."
"Damned. You're damned."
At least I won't be alone.
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