Dan Simmons - Vanni Fucci is Well and Living in Hell

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Vanni Fucci Is Alive and Well and Living in

Hell

by Dan Simmons

Introduction

In America as we enter the "discount decade" of the Twentieth Century

($19.90-$19.95, etc.), one is so used to thinking that progress equals improvement

that it is almost heresy to be confronted with the absolute refutation of that premise.

For instance, take current theology. Please.

One can view Dante Alighieri's Inferno section of his Comedy as a personal venting

of spleen mixed with a lib-eral dose of S&M, but to do so would be to see it only

from our current, somewhat obsessed point of view. Dante was also obsessed, but

his objects of obsession—besides the lovely, lost Beatrice—centered around

Virgil's Aeneid and Aquinas's Summa Theologica. Little wonder then that the

Inferno is a staggeringly complex theology, at once an exploration of cosmic

structure and of the all too personal fear of death—that fear "so bitter—death is

hardly more severe" (Inferno, 1,7).

Dante saw that fear of death as the one sure source of poetic and creative energy. In

that respect, little has changed since the early 14th Century.

But let's turn on the TV and see what passes for theol-ogy these six and a half

centuries later. In lieu of the po-etry of the Aeneid, we have the south-baked howl of

the sweating televangelist. In the stead of the intellectual ca-thedrals of the Summa

Theologica, we have the entire cathode-ray-tubed, satellite-relayed, hair-sprayed and

cosmetic-troweled message boiled down -to two words: Send money.

Agreed, televangelists aren't the theologians of this century, and they are excessively

easy targets after the rev-elations of the last few years—the Jimmy Swaggart

vulgar-ities, the Rex Humbolt absurdities, and the Jimmy Bakker adulteries and

breakdowns. If it's any excuse, the follow-ing story was written before these

sideshows.

But the revelations were to be expected. As long as we live in a world where

"theology" has become a mixture of P.T. Barnum and Johnny Carson, where we

invite these parasites into our home via cable TV and satellite dish and radio ... well,

as the kid said in the classic New Yorker cartoon, "I say it's spinach, and I say to hell

with it."

* * *

On his last day on earth, Brother Freddy rose early, showered, shaved his chins,

sprayed his hair, put on his television make-up, dressed in his trademark three-piece

white suit with white shoes, pink shirt, and black string tie, and went down to his

office to have his pre-Hallelujah Breakfast Club breakfast with Sister Donna Lou,

Sister Betty Jo, Brother Billy Bob, and George.

The four munched on sweet rolls and sipped coffee as the slate-gray sky began to

lighten beyond the thirty-foot wall of bulletproof, heavily tinted glass. Clusters of tall,

brick buildings comprising the campus of Brother Freddy's Hallelujah Bible College

and Graduate School of Christian Economics seemed to solidify out of the predawn

Alabama gloom. Far to the east, just visible above the pecan groves, rose the

artificial mountain of the Mount Sinai Mad Mouse Ride in the Bible Land section of

Brother Freddy's Born Again Family Amusement Complex and Christian

Con-vention Center. Much closer, the great dish of a Holy Beamer, one of six huge

satellite dishes on the grounds of Brother Freddy's Bible Broadcast Center, sliced a

black arc from the cloud-laden sky. Brother Freddy glanced at the rain-sullen

weather and smiled. It did not matter what the real world beyond his office window

offered. The large "bay window" on the homey set of the Hallelujah Break-fast Club

was actually a $38,000 rear-projection television screen which played the same

fifty-two minute tape of a glorious May sunrise each morning. On Brother Freddy's

Hallelujah Breakfast Club, it was always spring.

"What's the line-up like?" asked Brother Freddy as he took a sip of his coffee, his

little finger lifted delicately, the pinky ring gleaming in the light of the overhead spots.

It was eight minutes until air time.

"First half hour you got the usual lead-in from Brother Beau, your opening talk and

Prayer Partner plea, six-and-a-half minutes of the Hallelujah Breakfast Club Choir

doing "We're On the Brink of a Miracle" and a medley of off-Broadway Christian

hits, and then your Breakfast Guests come on," said Brother Billy Bob Grimes, the

floor director.

"Who we got today?" asked Brother Freddy.

Brother Billy Bob read from his clipboard. "You've got Matt, Mark, and Luke the

Miracle Triplet Evangelists, Bubba Deeters who says he wants to tell the story again

how the Lord told him to throw himself on a grenade in 'Nam, Brother Frank Flinsey

who's pushing his new book After the Final Days, and Dale Evans."

Brother Freddy frowned slightly. "I thought we were going to have Pat Boone

today," he said softly. "I like Pat."

Brother Billy Bob blushed and made a notation on his thick sheath of forms.

"Yessir," he said. "Pat wanted to be here today but he did Swaggart's show last

night, he has a personal appearance with Paul and Jan at the Bakersfield Revival this

afternoon, and he has to be up at tomorrow's Senate hearing testifying about those

Satanic messages you can hear on CDs when you aim the laser between the

grooves."

Brother Freddy sighed. It was four minutes until air time. "All right," he said. "But

try to get him for next Monday. I like Pat. Donna Lou? How're we doing with the

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Dan Simmons - Vanni Fucci is Well and Living in Hell

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