VAG spent most of his life opening doors-generally for other people. He lived his life peacefully: his children respected him and his grandchildren loved him. There was very little for him to be ashamed of...oh he'd been young once too, but nothing more than a few harmless pranks which he recalled sometimes with a guilty chuckle. What mattered was intentions, he thought. As long as you try to be good...Vag was very tolerant of youth and high spirits: he understood human feelings and he believed in a merciful God.

Accordingly, he was not afraid of death and lived long and happily. He would have eaten cyclamates without a qualm, but he was not concerned about being fat either. And so, puffing gently at his pipe and sipping his whisky, he lived on, chatting with other old men, much too contented to die.

One evening he had a dream-the first to trouble his sleep in many years-of doors: big doors, little doors, children waiting in front of doors. He held the door for a lady with A and P shopping bags. He opened a door marked "opportunity" to a young black, he held aside a swinging plywood door for a sleek, house-trained Great Dane, he helped a bride over a threshold. Suddenly a huge door appeared, enticingly half-opened, but with no one before it.

"This is for you. Vag." a gentle voice said. "Come in."

Vag blushed, and gingerly pushed at the heavy oak paneling-the kind he had always wanted for his study.

The next morning Vag's sorrowing family called up the family lawyer, the family mortician, and the family minister. His son wanted to write the memorial: "He will be remembered as fondly as he remembered us.... Gentle, but not lacking in character...he lived his life not for himself but for the benefit of others..."

The room opened out behind the door, spacious and modern. Vag examined the beige rug beneath his feet, then diffidently raised his eyes to the light blue-and-green sofa and the shining desk and the blue-and-green tinted lamps. This was like the house of one of his daughters-in-law: it made him nervous but of course he complimented her on her good taste. In a light-green armchair sat a pleasant, youngish man holding a small book. Vag looked at him curiously. He felt obliged to state his business, but he had none.

"Yes, this is the right place." the man said. "You are Vag, aren't you? Then everything's okay." He waited for this reassurance to reach Vag, then added. "I am God."

Vag looked at the young man with a slight annoyance. "Curiouser and curiouser." he muttered.

The man smiled understandingly. "I know: I'm not quite what you expected. That's okay-it's only natural, the way you've been brought up and all." Vag regarded the young man suspiciously. The man smiled again, gestured to a couch. "Sit down, won't you? It's quite all right," he said, smiling. "I really am God."

"Well if you are," said Vag. "I-I-I uh reckon I'm honored sir." He finished in a rush of breath.

"Oh now don't be nervous," God said. "We're all equals here." He looked at Vag sharply. "You're dead-you realize that, don't you?" Vag nodded. "Good. Then let's begin. I'll explain the procedure. This book here-"

Vag looked at it eagerly. "The judgment book!" he exclaimed. "Of course!"

God shook his head. "Not quite," That's a bit old-fashioned, don't you think? Sort of an old-wives' tale, perhaps?"

Vag decided he had perhaps been a sucker. "Now look here, young man. I can take a joke as well as the next man: in fact, I always see the other man's side, but this pointless fool ishness..." He tried to rise from his seat on the couch, but he had sunk far down into the plush and his feebleness slowed him.

"Now, now," cooed God. "Lie-uh. sit back down. This little green notebook here-"