Interesting reading...

This is an excerpt taken from Piers Anthony’s With a Tangled Skein – Book 3 of Incarnations of Immortality. ‘They’ below is Gaea and Lachesis. Gaea is ‘Nature’, a role, or job, performed by a human, temporarily immortal and unchanging. Lachesis is one of three ‘Aspects’ of Fate, another role, only this one needs three in one body. One, Clotho, is young and spins the threads which are lives. The middle aged one is Lachesis who weaves the threads into the ‘tapestry’. Atropos is the grandmotherly who cuts the threads to their proper length. Whoever is in control of the body, that is who the body looks like, while the other two can communicate with her in her mind (or through the mouth if no one else is around). They are going to try and convince a girl, a satanist, to not take some sort of bomb to the UN, so they can foil a plan of satan’s.
I read these books many years ago and have always remembered this particular scene, although not in enough detail to truly share it with others. It is very thought-provoking. It hit me even before I had/knew I had overeating as a trial and temptation in my life.
Also let me just say that I’m sorry for any typos, and anywhere that the word satan or anything having to do with him is capitalized, I just copied it directly from the book’s text. It wasn’t my idea to copy it.
Even though the things described in here may not be literal in our world, in a sense they are. If I stuff myself with ‘junk’ food it damages my body and makes me sick. Well, just read on and I hope you enjoy.

They arrived at an industrialized section of Connecticut, near a large mall. They entered and walked to a small booth set between an ice cream parlor and a mini-dozen movie theater. Above the booth was a banner saying TO HELL WITH YOU! Inside it was a bored-looking woman of about Niobe’s own physical age. “That’s the one,” Niobe murmured. “Elsa Mira, Santanist recruiter.”
“Well, we shall allow her to recruit us,” Gaea agreed. “Call me Ge; I’ll call you Lack.” She smiled faintly, as if the sun were masked by haze, and suddenly Niobe suspected that Gaea did indeed recognize her. But the Green Mother could keep a secret as well as any creature of the world.
They approached the booth. “We really aren’t interested in going to Hell,” Niobe said. “Out in fairness we thought we’d look at your literature.”
“Why, certainly,” the woman said, coming alive. “Hell has had a very bad press, but we are working to alleviate that.” She brought out a colorful brochure.
Niobe looked at the cover. Two cute baby devils were on it: the Hellfire trademarks, Dee and Dee. One was male, the other female. As she looked, the male Dee lifted one little red hand and solemnly beckoned. She was startled, though she knew she shouldn’t have been; naturally the minions of Hell had magic to splurge.
“Perhaps you can read the print more clearly with your glasses, Lack,” Gaea murmured.
“Oh, thank you, Ge” Niobe said. “I keep forgetting.’ She raised the lorgnette and peered through the lenses.
She stiffened. Instead of the cute picture, she saw a lens. She was being recorded on video!
She moved the lorgnette aside. The little devil was beckoning her again.
Now she realized why Gaea had asked her to use the glasses. They were enchanted to penetrate illusion! Already she knew that the Santanists were not merely showing their literature, they were getting a direct line on anyone who inquired. They were a good deal more professional than they cared to seem. That lens could be making a record of the complete encounter, and storing her picture in a computer file, complete with the retinal prints. Hell intended to have her number, all the way!
Fortunately, she had never had her retinal prints taken. She had existed, as a mortal, in the country, where such things were not common. Hell would not be able to trace down her true identity by this device.
Gaea opened the brochure. Niobe glanced through the glasses again, and saw that the pages were mere frames; the sinister lens remained. But without the glasses, she saw the inner material: scenes of happy, healthy people swimming, playing tennis, skiing, and watching the sunset. GO TO HELL, the print proclaimed, AND LIVE YOUR AFTERLIFE TO THE FULLEST!
“Is there skiing in Hell?” Niobe asked doubtfully. “I thought it was hot.”
“Indeed there is skiing!” the recruiter said encouragingly. “Hell is large; it has climates exactly as the mortal realm does. Some regions are in perpetual snow.”
Actually, Niobe had known that, because of her prior experience as in Incarnation. She also knew that poor sinful souls were frozen as solid as spirits could be, in that snow, and that the only skiers were demons who delighted in skidding over perpetually horrified frozen faces. As with many of hell’s claims, the snow was a half-truth: it existed, but was not used as represented. The whole of Hell’s recruitment campaign was spurious, and only sadly deluded people could fall for it. Unfortunately, it was evident that many people did.
But she was not here to show off her information about Hell. She was here to talk Mira out of delivering the bomb to the UN complex, thus eliminating the last of the potential couriers. She had to act like an ignorant skeptic until she had a better notion how to achieve her design.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Skiing, swimming-I thought Hell was a place of punishment.”
“Oh, that’s not so!” Mira exclaimed. “Hell is a place of rehabilitation! The evil-soiled souls are reprocessed to be good again. There are many incentives for a positive attitude.”
And many tortures for the damned, Atropos thought sourly.
“But if people aren’t good in life, why should they be good in the Afterlife?” Niobe asked. She knew the answer, but had to play the part.
“Many people don’t really think about it,” Mira said. “They just go their way until it’s too late. Those are the ones we are catering to-the ordinary, mixed people who are too busy to be absolutely good all the time. I mean, it’s a lot of work to be good all the time, and frankly pretty dull, and probably unnecessary, too. We feel that most people would really be better off worrying less about the Afterlife and just getting their mortal lives in shape. Then, in Hell, they can sort it all out at leisure.”
Leisure? Eternity! Atropos snorted mentally. What a crock!
“But shouldn’t they be good in life?” Niobe asked.
“Well, yes, of course. But it can be very difficult. Take the man whose wife is ignoring him and won’t let him touch her. But she won’t give him a divorce, either. Now if he finds an attractive young woman who likes him, is it really wrong for him to have an affair? His soul may suffer an accumulation of evil, but is it wrong? We Satanists think we should do what is natural and atone later.”
Niobe hadn’t heard this one before. “Are you married?” she asked.
Mira laughed. “Me? Of course not! Not anymore! I wouldn’t put up with that sort of-that is, all the ridiculous things men demand. But the principle remains-“
“Pleasure first, mortality last,” Niobe finished.
“Anyway,” Mira said quickly. “We want you to see for yourself what kind of place Hell is. Why don’t you come to our demonstration complex?”
“We have set up a working mini-model of Hell, so that folk like you can tour it or sample it and see for yourselves what it offers. We Satanists want to spread the truth about hell.”
“Well,” Niobe said, glancing at Gaea. “I suppose we might just look-to be fair.”
Mira jumped up. “Right this way! I’ll guide you on the tour myself!”
This was exactly what they wanted: a long enough association with the woman to talk her out of what she was otherwise apt to do.
I bet they get bonuses for each recruit they sign, Atropos thought cynically.
Such as a trip to the United Nations building? Clotho thought. She had been fairly quiet, recovering from her experience of the prior evening; she was in the first flush of something like love, and the warmth of it tended to spill over and buoy the other two Aspects. But she had not forgotten their mission.
“Keep your glasses handy, dear,” Gaea murmured like a fussy old lady as they followed Mira through the door in back of the booth.
They found themselves in an elevator. There was a wrench. Then the door slid open, and they stepped out into an amusement park. Obviously magic had been used to transport them to the model Hell; there was no telling where on Earth it had been constructed.
Niobe stared. Directly ahead was a towering Ferris wheel, grandly rotating. To one side was a bump-car enclosure, with children squealing happily as the little vehicles crashed harmlessly into each other. Elsewhere were miniature choo-choo trains, zoom-rides, and toy airplanes whirling about a pole. “This is Hell?” Niobe asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, the top level,” Mira said. “Very mild entertainments, for those who are just waiting for friends, or for the children of those on tour. The ones who really don’t have much sin to indulge.
“What’s it like for those who do have significant sin on their souls?” Gaea asked.
“I’ll show you,” Mira said eagerly, leading the way to stairs descending below the pavement. These led to a large hall, well-lighted, filled with tables. People were clustered around the tables, intent on what was there.
They approached the nearest. On it was a giant roulette wheel. “Oh-gambling,” Niobe said disapprovingly.
“You don’t understand,” Mira said. “Watch for a moment.”
They watched. The wheels turned; the ball rolled and landed in a numbered pocket. A man made an exclamation of joy. “I won! I won!”
There was a smattering of applause from the other gamblers. The man collected his winnings and bet them on the next spin. And won again.
“What?” Niobe asked. “Twice in succession? The odds against that-“
“People can be very fortunate here,” Mira said. “They usually do win.”
Gaea nudged her. Niobe lifted the lorgnette and peered at the scene.
The roulette table was genuine-but little else was. Most of the players were bored park employees in grubby uniforms, not the well-dressed visitors they had appeared to be. There was a control panel at the croupier’s place. When the spin commenced, the croupier’s fingers touched buttons. This time the gambler bet on number 19, and that was the number the croupier punched. Sure enough, the ball rolled into that slot. The game was rigged.
Now Niobe looked at the chips the gambler had piled before him. They were genuine. Where, then, was the catch? Surely the Satanists were not really going to let a mark walk out wealthy!
Well, she could inquire, without giving anything away. “How can you stay in business, if you let people win too much money?”
“Oh, the chips don’t stand for money,” Mira said as they moved on to another table. “They stand for points. One thousand points entitles the player to enter the next level, where the real action is.”
“But it seems guaranteed he’ll make it.”
“No, it’s not guaranteed. Only those people we feel are suitable prospects are admitted.”
“Then you admit it’s fixed!”
Mira turned a surprised gaze on her. “My dear, what do you expect of Hell? Of course it’s fixed!”
Ask a silly question,” Gaea murmured.
“But you’re giving us a tour, and we’re not gambling,” Niobe persisted.
“Precisely. If you don’t gamble, you can’t win. That’s the fundamental principle. You are merely looking-but I’m sure that after you’ve seen what we have to offer, you’ll be eager to participate.”
“But isn’t there an admittance price?”
“I am glad you asked that question,” Mira said. “Now we are very candid about this. Everything is quite clear. To participate in our entertainments you must sign a standard contract-“
“In blood?”
“It’s only a pinprick. You’ll hardly feel it.”
“A contract saying what?”
“Well, everyone knows what Hell requires. It isn’t as if we’re concealing anything.”
“You’re after my soul!”
“Merely a portion of it, since this is only a model of hell. Technically, all we require is a nominal attribution of evil. Only one percent, actually. If you are seventy percent good, our contract would cause you to be sixty-nine percent good. That’s hardly enough to cost you anything in the Afterlife, or to change your designation. Considering what we offer, it’s a bargain.”
They were at the next table. This one was for blackjack. Again, the mark was winning; again, the enchanted lenses showed that the game was rigged. Hell wanted the marks to win.
All of the tables were like that. The methods of gambling differed, but the system was the same.
“Well, I never did like to gamble,” Niobe said.
“But all of life is a gamble,” Mira said enthusiastically. “Still, there are other routes to Hell. Let me show you the next level.” She led the way to another set of stairs.
Niobe paused. “I see the others use the elevator.”
“Well, yes, but they have to sign for it.”
“Sign for it?”
“Another contract,” Gaea said.
“Merely an amendment,” Mira put in quickly.
“Another one percent of their souls?” Niobe asked. “I thought that was a general admittance fee. What’s the point in gambling for points, if you still have to pay to reach the next stage?”
“Well, the general admittance fee gets a person into the park, and then he plays to determine his eligibility to advance to other levels, but that’s a matter of qualification, not payment. If there weren’t qualification, some unsuitable people would get into inappropriate levels, and if there weren’t payment, we should not, as you pointed out a moment ago, be able to stay in business very long. It’s a dual system, perfectly straightforward. Naturally the deeper levels have to be financed too.”
“Just how many levels are there?”
“Well, I really don’t know the exact number. But no one goes to them all.”
Because, Niobe realized, at one percent per level, that person would lose more than half his soul before he completed the experience, tipping into Hell for real.
What a system! Atropos thought.
What a Hellish system, indeed! Only a fool would fall into that trap-but there were plenty of fools in the process.
The next level seemed to be a monstrous warehouse for money. Tables were piled with currency of many nations, with ingots of gold and silver and platinum, and with bins of precious stones. Wealth galore!
Drawn as by a magnet, Niobe went to a vat of sparkling rubies. “May I?” she asked.
“By all means examine the merchandise,” Mira said generously. “Of course you can’t keep any of it, as a tourist, but if you decide to join as a participant-“
For one or two percent of the goodness in her soul! Niobe grimaced. Still, the gems were lovely!
She picked up a ruby. It was a faceted stone, a deep and glorious red, just about the most beautiful thing she had seen in her life. She turned it between her fingers, half-entranced by its luster. She began to understand the nature of the temptation. Such a fine gem, for so little soul!
“Perhaps if you examined it more closely,” Gaea remarked.
Oh. Niobe lifted the lorgnette and looked again.
The ruby was nothing more than a cherry pit.
Niobe made her face a mask, lest she give herself away. All the rubies were cherrystones! The diamonds of the next table were rough lumps of quartz.
Morbidly curious, she verified one of the stacks of gold coins. It was made of round slices of carrot.
Now Clotho had to laugh. Carrots-instead or carats! That Satan has a devilish sense of humor!
“Devilish,” Niobe agreed.
“What’s that?” Mira asked.
“Devilishly tempting,” Niobe said. She moved on to a table of green bills.
They were leaves of lettuce.
Lettuce! Atropos thought, mentally doubling over with mirth. Literal lettuce That Satan’s a card!
“Yes, anyone would be tempted by that,” Mira said, mistaking the nature of Niobe’s smile. “It was this room that convinced me to join. When I saw all the jewelry-“She gestured to a table strung with elaborate and precious necklaces.
“But you’re not a player, are you?” Niobe asked.
“No, I’m Staff. But I started as a player. Then, when I wanted too much-“She bit her lip. “That is-“
So she had been seduced into giving up too much of her goodness! The operation of the system was becoming clearer. Just as a drug-user became an addict, and the addict had to become a dealer to support his habit, so those who flirted with the trinkets of Hell got drawn ever more deeply in. It was, as Mira said, all perfectly open-except that the actual goods were fakes. Anyone who believed the Father of Lies deserved what he got!
That brought her up short. If the marks deserved to go to Hell for their greed-Wasn’t Satan actually performing a service to the Cosmos in ridding the world of them?
But she knew the answer. Satan did not rid the world of them; he used his converts to facilitate his further dirty work. All the shills at the gaming tables upstairs-all overextended gamblers who now had to work for the house. How much joy did they have here, today?
And this is only a prettified model of Hell, Atropos thought. Think what the real thing must be like!
It was indeed a sobering thought.
“I-know that jewelry will not cure what’s wrong with me,” Niobe said, letting her tummy sag. “I have eaten too much, for too many years.”
“Then you will love the feasting level!” Mira exclaimed. “Right this way!”
The next level down was indeed a temptation to a woman who liked to eat. It was an enormous self-service restaurant. The tables were piled with pastries and cakes and fancy desserts. Many women were here, and not a few men and children. All were seated at tables, stuffing themselves with their favorite repasts.
Niobe paused near a fat man who was cramming cake into his face. “But this is horribly fattening!” she protested.
“No it isn’t” Mira said, pleased. “Our food is absolutely nonfattening and nonfilling. The taste and texture are there, but all the calories are empty-I mean there are no calories. You can eat all you want and never be satiated.”
Now that’s a kind of hell in itself, if the fools only realized, Atropos thought.
Endless stuffing without consequence. Niobe could appreciate the temptation, but knew that a person did not have to flirt with Hell for it; regular food companies were advertising ONE CALORIE PER BOTTLE, making a seeming virtue of both gluttony and vacuous food-while elsewhere in the world, people were starving. A little self-discipline would be better.
Then she lifted the lorgnette. And made a stifled squeak of revulsion.
It wasn’t cake the man was eating. It was moldy garbage-literally. Most of it managed to shunt itself down his face and front instead of going into his mouth, which explained why he wasn’t getting full, but still it was an appalling mess.
Mira caught her reaction. “What’s the matter?”
Niobe pondered momentarily, then handed the glasses to her.
The woman looked through them-and gagged.
“You didn’t know?” Niobe asked.
“I-this can’t be-it’s horrible!” Mira exclaimed. She walked to the next table where a child was swilling ice cream sodas, and looked through the glasses. Her face turned greenish.
Gaea took the lorgnette from her hand before her slackening grip let the glasses drop to the floor. She returned the magical instrument to Niobe.
Niobe looked at the boy’s drink. It was a swirling concoction of sewage. As with the man, most of the stuff dribbled down the lad’s chin instead of being swallowed, but some did get in. Probably just enough to feed him.
“It’s a lie!” Mira gasped. “Magic lenses that distort-“
“No lie,” Gaea said. “I am able to see the truth without glasses. The food is garbage. The jewelry on the other floor was junk.”
“But I’ve got a pass to eat all I want-it’s one of the benefits of being staff-“ Mira turned and vomited on the floor beside the boy. It hardly mattered, for the area was already littered with garbage.
Niobe wrenched the lorgnette away from her eyes. She saw Mira standing by the table, eyes downcast as if glancing approvingly at the boy. There was no sign of vomit. Still, she did not look well.
After a moment the woman recovered herself somewhat. “Where did you get these glasses?”
Again, Niobe considered rapidly. “From-Nature.”
“The-incarnation of Nature?”
“Yes. She thought I would need them, here.”
“I-may I borrow them a moment more?”
Niobe gave her the glasses. “When you’re satisfied, I would like to talk to you.”
Mira hurried to another stairway. “There’s one level I’ve never indulged myself in, but I just want to see-“
They followed her down the stairs, almost running. Niobe was surprised to learn that the woman really had not known about the deceit, but realized it made sense. Satan could accomplish much more evil, much more efficiently, if his own helpers were deluded. How many would consider and all-you-can-eat pass to be an inducement, if they knew the food was garbage?
That’s Satan, he’s one sharp liar, Atropos agreed.
The new level appeared to be an elaborate brothel. Extraordinarily voluptuous young women in scanty clothing danced slowly on a stage at one side, their breasts and hips moving suggestively. This did not do anything special for Niobe, other than cause her a gentle wash of jealousy and regret for her own beauty lost, but she saw the effect it had on two men just emerging from the elevator. Both charged forward, their mouths literally drooling.
What pigs men are! Clotho thought. Then she reconsidered. Except for Samurai…
Mira was peering through the magic lenses. “No,” she said unbelievingly. “They wouldn’t!”
One man dashed up to the stage. “Hey, honey, you for sale?” he demanded, groping for her. The woman gazed down at him, a languorous smile crossing her bright lips. Then she jumped down to the floor, her anatomy bobbing in several places as she landed. She took the man’s hand and led him to a curtained alcove. Evidently she was not for sale; she was free.
Now Niobe could hear urgent grunting from other alcoves. It seemed there were a number of clients busy.
Mira shook her head. “They are-they really are!” she exclaimed. Then she started laughing. “And to think my ex-husband, the pig, sold his soul for a permanent pass to this level!” Her laughter became so violent that Gaea had to take the lorgnette from her again.
Niobe, perplexed, took the glasses. She could understand how plain or even homely women could be recruited, just as Mira had been, to be enhanced by illusion to serve the passions of potential recruits-but what was so funny about that? It was, at best, sad.
She lifted the lorgnette. And gasped.
There were no young women dancing on the stage. It was a corral of pigs. Genuine swine, rooting about in the muck.