In all the country there was never a man considered so pious as one Fibonacci. Even as a young boy was he considered set for priesthood, being so meek and mild and considerate of others. At fifteen he joined the Benedictine monastery on the hill, called St. Valspar’s. He could easily have become a proper priest, rising to the status of bishop or even pope, but the young novice loved the manual labor and quiet contemplation the order offered. So on he stayed, doing the goodly, monkly things one might expect, until he was well advanced in years and had become a sort of living saint to folk in those parts.
Good deeds rarely go without their reward {so far as these sorts of tales go}, and before long God Himself decided to pay his great servant a visit. “Fibonacci,” the Almighty thundered good-naturedly. “Truly art thou my most faithful servant."
The initially-terrified old man was much humbled by his Creator’s interest, and after several minutes of obeisance[i] meekly asked of Him, “Do you intend to test me then, as your servant Job?”
God assured him this was not the case, this being more akin to his visits with Enoch, when men were wont to talk without the use of sarcasm. He was mildly surprised then, when Fibonacci uttered a groan of disappointment. “What doth thy disheartening sounds portend?”
The old man bowed his head, saying “I have lived in your service my entire life, O Holy God Lord. From my very infancy until the very present. I have lived and served and submitted and prayed all these years, separated from this world in anticipation of the next to come.”
The Lord cocked a lordly eyebrow at this, having heard many a similar conversational lead-in. “Dost thou wish to cast off thy brotherly duties for a time, to experience the lay life?”
“Oh, no Lord God Divinest Sir!” the monk cried. “Heaven forfend! I cherish this life more than any other. It’s just… I fear I will never know the threat of Hell, nor the fear of everlasting damnation.”
God was befuddled. “Speakest thou what it is thou desirest, and come to the point.”
“When I die, let my soul know your absence in Hell’s pit for thirty years; a decade for each day Christ suffered.”
God hemmed and hawed for a bit as He pondered this rather unprecedented request. “Verily, thy request is granted. Go thee in peace until we again meet.” And with a flash of light and the wispy after-odor of stale methane, the Lord disapparated. Time came and went as it usually does, and Fibonacci eventually succumbed to the flux, as was then common. His departing thoughts were of the great, horrific promise given him by God, and he was preparing to say something regarding it when he suddenly expired. There was great mourning in all the countryside, and thousands travelled tremendous distances to visit his grave at St. Valspar and purchase reputed pieces of his person.
Meanwhile, beyond the tawdry limits of time and space, Fibonacci found {or perhaps ‘finds,’ given that all tenses no longer have any weight} himself at the golden gates of Heaven itself. “What the hell?” he exclaimed/s. “Where’s Hell?” It was/is/ever-shall-be St. Peter[ii] who responded with great joy that Fibonacci is in Heaven, and should be most goodly-glad at his reward. “But the Lord’s promise!” he wept, and after a brief explanation was referred to the Lord Himself.
“We meetest again, fairest Fibonacci!” the Lord greeted congenially.
“Indeed, Lord, but what became of my thirty years of torment?!”
“Hold thy tongue, and keep thy peace!” the Lord scolded/s. “I have kept my promise to thee, in accordance with thy off-kilter wishes. Forsooth! for the agreed passage of time didst thou experience mine absence in its horrifying form, as annihilation of thy very ego.”
Poor Fibonacci could scarcely believe it. “But Lord, what of Hell, and of the fire and brimstone? What of torment?”
“Utter fabrication. Tis Greek! Now cease thy shrewish whinging and leave thy sarcasm at the gate. Enjoy thee yon Bridal Feast!” And upon entering, {St.} Fibonacci enjoyed the company of other saintly souls. Hobs did they nob for what began to seem an eternity, until at last {St.} Fibonacci began to feel that perhaps he did, in fact, get his wish.
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