Insa, God's Daughter cleans up

By Wolfgang Heithoff

Unlike Jesus in volume 1, Insa is strict, unyielding and goal-orientated. She wants to earn her father's approval and complete her task in a four-year plan. At first, she pursues her goals almost ruthlessly, regardless of the people around her. The daughter of God hungers for the pleasures of human senses. She enjoys being able to smell, taste and feel, and spends her first night of love with Yves, a waiter who later turns out to be an angel. With Yves and Peter, the already well-known crusader, and with the help of the British royal family, Insa founds the ANTENNA DEI broadcasting platform. Here she wants to inform people about Jesus' work and miracles. She is helped in her endeavours by media designer Luzia, with whom she begins an affair after her visit to the Pope. God's daughter survives two attempts on her life by the Pope unscathed and surprisingly calm. And then things really get going...

• Language: English
• Publisher: TWENTYSIX
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9783740761097

Wolfgang Heithoff

I wrote my first poems at the age of 8. Short stories followed. Then novels. Writing has always been something special for me, a kind of self-realisation. Now that I've reached retirement age, I'm gradually starting to publish books, some traditionally with publishers, some self-published.

Book preview

God's daughter in Paris

Plop!

It just goes plop. No thunder and lightning, no storm like the end of the world, no bright light, no choirs of angels, nothing.

It just goes plop, a gentle sound like uncorking a good old bottle of wine. Insa, the daughter of God, comes to earth.

She looks around, somewhat confused. The man in the blue suit stares at her incessantly, but doesn't say a word. It looks like the French president. The other people also seem frozen by her appearance. Or enchanted? Insa smiles to herself. It's not every day you see an apparition like this. She wants to break the ice and takes a step towards the man. He doesn't move.

It takes her a moment to realize that God brought her into the world in the middle of a wax museum. That's right, she's in Paris, in the famous Musée Grévin. Paris, city of love! How beautiful!

Insa looks into one of the large wall mirrors.

'So that's what I look like now? Pretty, really pretty. Divine!' she thinks smugly and fiddles with her clothes a little. She had opted for a pair of tight-fitting jeans, black boots and a white T-shirt with 'Jesus lives' printed on it. A little provocation to start with can't hurt.

Insa bends down and picks up the denim jacket that had fallen to the floor. As she pulls it over her T-shirt, she turns around several times, checking her reflection in the mirror.

'Divine!' she thinks once more with satisfaction, then tightens her body, 'Let's go. I don't want to waste any time. Jesus has wasted far too much time, I'm not going to make that mistake. I'll go straight to the right people and not be fobbed off.

She looks around carefully for a way out of the museum. The two men sitting on a bench there, each holding something made of paper, hasn't someone moved? She takes another closer look and resists the temptation to let the mirrors behind them shatter with a loud bang. Just for fun. She is determined not to use her divine powers as sparingly as Jesus did. But in the beginning, she wants to avoid too much attention.

'Full load, full success' should be their motto. People have had two thousand years to evolve, so it can't be that difficult to guide them along the right path.

She strides casually through the exhibition towards the exit, nodding to the lifeless figures in a friendly manner. With each step of her leather-soled boots, the black and white floor tiles emit a loud Tack! against the mirrored walls, which bravely reflect this sound back. It sounds like a little competition. Insa strides around, visibly enjoying the room-filling noise. A man in a dark blue suit stands next to the woman in the black evening dress and holds a champagne glass out to her. Really deceptively real.

The daughter of God takes the glass from his hand and sips the contents. A champagne, very sparkling. The unfamiliar alcohol immediately goes to her head, which begins to glow slightly red. And she immediately regrets her private little miracle of having turned wax into champagne. She needs a clear head for her plan.

Insa stops abruptly, the tock, tock, tock falls silent. The daughter of God turns around once more and waves to the silent figures in the silence.

One more is missing! she says loudly and looks around scrutinizingly. There! She points to the middle of the foyer with an outstretched finger. Slowly, as if coming out of the ground, a gray mass rises up in four places, like four small columns. Then the columns join together at a height of around 60 cm. The figure slowly takes shape. It is Nikolas, the donkey on which Jesus fled from Jerusalem. As you would expect, a friendly, smiling Jesus is sitting on him.

They owe you that, brother, at least! Insa says, looking up at the sky. She turns around very slowly and walks through the brown, heavy wooden door as if it were fog.

On the other side, the slightly musty air of a Parisian shopping arcade envelops them. On the right, two table lamps shine out of the dark brown of a hotel foyer, the reception desk is unoccupied. It is quiet. A light breeze comes from the corridor on the left, straight ahead down a flight of stairs to the exit. Insa starts to move, tock, tock, tock. She slowly walks down the stairs and curiously passes the stores.

As God's daughter takes her first steps out of the arcade, she is surrounded by the typical Parisian flair. The air is cold, it stinks, a few motorcycles are honking their way through the streets.

It is still early in the day, the sky is slightly overcast. There are only a few people on the sidewalk, no one takes any notice of her. Not exactly the right reception for the daughter of God. Nevertheless, when she thinks of Jesus, in the stable, in the damp straw, among the animals...

Yuck! ... No, she had a much better time there.

She's just 'daddy's daughter'. The old man has put in a bit more effort this time. And now it's up to her to make something of it.

Where was Jesus last seen?

In Münster/Germany, at the Aaseetreppen. Would it be good to pick up where he left off?

Rather not!

Insa reaches into her right trouser pocket, which contains the Vat iPhone. The special edition in gold, of course. And, unlike the Vat-iPhones of priests, pastors and bishops, it hasn't been hacked by the Vatican. And it has Vat-i, the artificial intelligence with the sonorous voice.

No intervention, no thunder and lightning, no forces of nature or sacrifices! That had been her condition when her father had sent her to Earth. She wanted her freedom. He had pushed and bullied Jesus around long enough. Just the thing with the burning bush! Embarrassing! The only connection she had upwards was the golden Vat iPhone. Prepaid for life, of course.

Insa types: I AM HERE! Then she sends her message with a smile and closes her cell phone. She doesn't want God to believe that she'll be answering to him for every step from now on.

So where to? First of all, she needs a base. She reaches for her cell phone again and flips it open elegantly.

Vat-i, where am I exactly?

You are on planet Earth, continent Europe, country France, city Paris, 10 Boulevard Montmartre.

Insa looks around. Paris, the city of love, they say. Her first impression is not overwhelming. Garbage blows across the sidewalk at her feet. With a soft poof, the mixture of plastic bags and empty bottles goes up in smoke. No one takes any notice. There's a gentle breeze and it smells of dust.

Okay, Vat-i. From now on, you call me Insa and you're on first name terms with me, got it? The restless mood on the street has already rubbed off a little on Insa.

I understand. The computer voice replies matter-of-factly and emotionlessly. Insa, she quickly adds. The daughter of God puts the Vat iPhone back in her jeans.

A few meters away, the Hard Rock Café logo shines brightly. This would be the right time and the right place to develop a strategy. And then to go shopping in Passage Jouffroy. Oh yes, the day is off to a good start!

On the few meters she has to walk to the café, Insa looks curiously at the few passers-by. A colorful mixture of faces and clothes, shuffling and hurried steps, street smells and perfume. So this is Paris in the year 2024. She takes another sniff of the city air, then immerses herself in the hushed atmosphere of the café.

None of the tables are occupied yet, two waiters are standing behind the counter and joking with a member of staff. Judging by the white hood on her head, she must have come from the kitchen. One of the two men calls over to Insa: We're still closed!

The door was open! is her short reply. She sits down at a small table so that she can watch the goings-on outside from the window. Insa crosses her legs and looks around. It wasn't the best idea to come in here after all. Everything in dark brown tones, little light. Somehow she feels reminded of hell. The daughter of God smiles and reaches for the map. Lost in thought, she browses through the various drinks as one of the waiters stands next to her. He is tall for a Frenchman, has black hair combed back, pronounced cheekbones and, like the other waiter, wears black trousers and a white shirt with a black tie.

As Insa looks up at him, he pulls out his notepad and says: Bonjour, madame. I'm Yves. What can I do for you?

She looks at him, lost in thought. As if she hadn't understood the question, she hesitates so long with her answer that it becomes rude. Yves assumes she is a tourist (and what a tourist she is!) who doesn't speak French and continues slowly and emphatically: Can - I - help - you? Do - you - want - to - drink - something?

Insa turns the corners of her mouth into a very charming smile and replies in fluent French: Yes, of course. I was just thinking. Are you Breton?

That's right! replies Yves in astonishment. I'm from Locquirec, which is near ...

I know where that is. Insa interrupts him with a smile so that he can't be angry. She puts the drinks menu back on the table.

Morlaix, Yves finishes his sentence anyway. Why do you ask, madame?

You remind me of someone. But that can't be, it was a long time ago. And to answer your spoken question: first of all, I'd like a coffee. Perhaps we can talk about the unspoken question later. Insa turns her chair so that she can see out of the window better and runs her fingers through her hair. The waiter blushes slightly.

He walks slowly back to the counter and wonders whether the woman at table seven can read minds or whether he was staring at her unconsciously. Yes, she is a special woman, he had noticed that as soon as she walked in the door.

While he brews a fresh cup of coffee with the machine, he keeps glancing over at table seven. She seems to be a few years older than him, in her mid-thirties. Nevertheless, she has aroused his interest. Very much so. There's more to this woman than just her good looks, something, an inner glow.

Maybe she's radioactive? Gérard, his colleague, nudges him from behind so that Yves almost drops his cup. My friend, you're talking to yourself! That's not a good sign.

Yves brushes his dark hair back with his left hand, smiles noncommittally and reaches for the cookie tin. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees several different pairs of sunglasses appear and disappear out of nowhere on table seven, until a model with red temples stays in place for longer. The woman smiles and reaches for it, turns and twists the glasses once more before placing them on her nose.

Yves shakes his head in disbelief and accidentally tips the cookie tin over with his right hand. The lid pops open, the tin falls off the counter and the entire contents...

... does not fall to the floor. The cookie tin floats back onto the counter, like in a movie when it is rewound in slow motion. No cookie has fallen out. Yves jumps back a step in shock and bumps into Gérard.

Take it easy, old man! That woman really did it to you, didn't she? He grins and points his head towards table seven by the window.

Yves is still confused and stammers: Yes! Thank you! I'll do that. I'll be right back. Then he tightens his body, takes ONE cookie from the tin WITHOUT tipping it over, places it on the edge of the saucer and brings the coffee to the table. As he elegantly pushes it past Insa from the left onto the table, he asks carefully: Did you just see that, with the cookie tin?

Saw it? Insa pushes her sunglasses down her nose and looks at him insistently with bright blue eyes. You saw that? That was me!

Then she looks down at the coffee cup, reaches for the cookie and says: Would have been a shame about the cookies, wouldn't it? With a hearty crack, she bites the cookie in two, chews one half with relish while holding the other out to the waiter with the words: Do you want some?

Yves is a little overwhelmed by the situation, but then replies glibly: Thanks, no, I already had half a piece of gum. Shaking his head, he goes back behind the counter, where Gérard and Céline, the kitchen assistant, are whispering quietly.

Insa chews her half cookie slowly and with delight. Food! A wonderful pleasure! She grabs the daily newspaper from the next table. June 30th! Last year! But it was her name day. Strange coincidence! Insa! It means the goddess, the guardian or the protected one. Says Wikipedia. So it must be true. Fits somehow, she smiles to herself. Goddess...

As she leafs through the newspaper, she drinks the coffee sip by sip. She enjoys feeling the hot liquid. It's wonderful how it runs down her throat and settles in her stomach. After a few minutes, she sets the empty cup down loudly and waves to the counter. All three look up.

And now I'd like two croissants with butter, an egg, a cappuccino, some paper to write on, a pen and the password for the printer in the little office behind the kitchen.

Gérard and Céline look at each other questioningly and go into the kitchen, shaking their heads. Yves nods to Insa with a smile and sets about preparing a tray. After a few minutes, he returns to the table and sets out the desired breakfast. In the meantime, Insa has taken all the toothpicks out of the bags and made a little pyramid.

Nice! says the waiter briefly, looking at the pyramid. Were you there once?

Oh yes, back in the day. A long time ago. Thank you! I forgot the orange juice, will you bring me that later, Yves?

Yves puts his notepad and pen next to the croissants and slips the note with the password for the printer under the cappuccino cup. Then he grabs half the cookie that is still on the saucer.

I'll do it. Coming right up. And it's for the road. He shoves half the cookie into his mouth, takes the empty coffee cup and walks back to the counter, chewing slowly. Gérard and Céline press their noses against the porthole of the wooden kitchen door to catch everything.

Insa spends the next two hours researching on the Internet. Without being asked, Yves sometimes brings her a few pages from the printer without asking or looking at them. God's daughter sorts, makes notes, scribbles on the paper and types on her cell phone.

Just as she says So!, Céline turns to her two colleagues who are standing at the counter polishing glasses. It's almost lunchtime and we haven't had a single guest yet. Except you there. She nods her head towards table seven. Do you know why that is?

Gérard walks towards the door. He pauses. A large construction fence blocks the entrance to the café on the street. It wasn't there this morning after all.

No! replies Insa. It was me. She slowly approaches the three of them at the counter. I needed some rest. I'm finished now.

She slams a pile of paper onto the wood with a flourish, the glasses clink slightly. Yves catches a glimpse of the top sheet. She has written it down in precise block letters:

Münster: Pastor Jakob and Anna

London: new identity

Vatican: papal audience, demands, clear instructions

Bern: headquarters of the crusaders, handing over the assets

Appoint a deputy on earth (no pope!!!!!)

Glorious return

Insa points to number one on the list with her red-painted right index finger. With her left hand, she nibbles at Yves' white tie and pulls him slightly towards her so that he can see the paper better.

There, that's where I want to go. Are you coming with me?

Yves reaches for her hand on his tie, but suddenly resists the urge to slip it off. He looks up at the ceiling of the café and thinks. Such a crazy day, such a crazy woman, such a crazy offer, why not?

Are two weeks in the Seychelles still in it? He tries to play poker. But to no avail. Joker! I was only thinking about Münster anyway. As a companion to help me settle back in a bit. I'll manage the rest on my own. What's wrong?

Yves remembers his calendar saying from this morning: 'Live now!

Do you even speak German? Insa asks abruptly. No! is the answer, which is already tinged with fear of rejection. I do now! The daughter of God has no intention of using her skills sparingly. Yves feels nauseous for a moment and then replies in fluent German: It's all coming so incredibly quickly, but I have the feeling that if I put the brakes on now, I'll miss the opportunity of a lifetime. So yes, I'm coming with you.

Gérard and Céline have been following the conversation with wide eyes and open mouths. They look alternately at Insa and Yves. Somehow they don't dare to move. The air is full of tension. It is only released when Yves has just agreed.

When do we start? asks Yves, still holding Insa's hand. She takes his hand and places it on the pile of paper.

I have nothing to wear. Take good care of the paper and pack your things. I'll pick you up at your place. And please get the tickets!

She elegantly reaches into her left back pocket and pulls out a gold bank card from the Vatican Bank, which she slides over the scanner at the till. That's right! she says briefly. And I'm sorry about the building site. It's gone again now.

The display on the card reader shows €5,000 as the door squeaks open and the first guests enter. A small group of Japanese, six or seven of them, happily waving little French flags. The three behind the counter look at each other, puzzled, then roll their eyes upwards and put on their business-like welcome faces.

While Insa disappears through the door with a wave, Yves takes off his tie and places it on the tray on the counter with the waiter's wallet. The other two look at him questioningly.

You don't really want to go off with THE now, do you? Gérard looks doubtfully up at Yves and behind Insa.

No, replies Yves and unbuttons the black shirt. I'll get my things first, THEN I'll go off with THE. He puts his shirt on the tray with the other things and goes to the back. Salute! He waves his hand once more and disappears through the swinging door. The small group of Japanese wave their flags wildly and cheer. A half-naked head waiter, cameras flashing.

As Yves puts on his sweatshirt in the office and walks the few meters to his apartment through the back exit, Insa is already strolling along Boulevard Montmartre and looking in the shop windows.

Paris by day

The traffic on the road has become louder, but the daughter of God simply blocks out the noise for herself. She concentrates on the variety of people coming towards her or rushing to overtake her. She absorbs the different nations, smells, builds and behaviors like a sponge. Such wonderful diversity!

The entrance to the metro is on the corner of the street. An escalator and a stone staircase lead down into the large belly of the metro octopus, which directs the life of the city with its tentacled arms. A warm breath of air hits Insa, metal abrasion, sweat, beer fumes. She feels no urge to descend into this hell.

Behind the stairs, in the little olive-green house made of glass and metal, an older man offers newspapers and postcards. His hair is greasy and disheveled, his eyes watery behind dark horn-rimmed glasses, which he keeps pushing up his nose with calloused hands. His dark blue jogging pants with three white stripes hang over his brown sandals as he steps out onto the street. He scratches his stomach, the T-shirt slides up to reveal views that you would rather forget.

The colorful magazines flutter gently in the wind. They invite Insa to come closer. How pleasant the colorful paper feels in her hand. She flicks through a few magazines and her eyes widen.

Hey doll, these aren't for looking at, they're for buying! The salesman is suddenly standing next to her. He smells of sweat, cold coffee and cigarettes. He roughly pushes Insa aside, takes the newspaper from her hand and puts it back in the display. If you want to see something, go to the zoo!

That's too much for the daughter of God. What does he think he's doing? Adrenaline shoots through her body, it tastes bitter on her tongue. For a split second. How pleasant! Then she regains her composure.

I feel like I'm at the zoo here! she says quietly. There's a poof and the rude salesman stands in front of his kiosk without his clothes. A little grey smoke from the vaporized clothes still surrounds him, then the first people on the street start screeching and pointing their fingers at him.

Trembling and struggling for composure, he stumbles into the nearest doorway and covers himself with sheets of newspaper, which the sudden wind blows at him. A really small hurricane comes up, tearing all the newspapers out of the kiosk and hurling them at the naked sales clerk.

Insa, the daughter of God, stands like a rock in the midst of the chaos of waving paper. With a firm voice, she says: Eleventh commandment, you shall not be unkind to your fellow human beings.

From one moment to the next, the wind dies and the paper falls to the ground. It reveals the old man, who is huddled in the doorway, sobbing. The passers-by look at the scene in disbelief, shake their heads and go their way again. Only a small boy in a beret goes up to the newspaper vendor and holds out his jacket. The man nods and accepts it.

The metro octopus beneath the street groans and pushes hot air out of the ventilation grilles in the sidewalk. A few newspapers blow up, then float quietly and elegantly like an autumn leaf back onto the asphalt.

It is eerily quiet as the rumble of thunder can be heard from afar and quickly approaches. The sky closes in. The daughter of God looks up to the sky.

"'Love your neighbor as yourself' doesn't fit, since he doesn't love himself! And besides, I'm supposed to preach your word, aren't I? And, stay out of this, we have an agreement!" There is unmistakable anger on Insa's face, the veins on her temples become visible and she struggles to suppress the impulse to raise her fist threateningly.

The dark clouds quietly and swiftly recede, Paris is once again the bustling city where everyone goes about their business and doesn't care about the others.

'That will