Sarayu Jones and the lost angelologist

Sarayu Jones is having trouble with her time machine, so she has asked me to post this communication, which I received this morning.

Before leaving Burgundy with the time machine I had typed Montpellier and Nostradamus into the search engine, only to discover that instead of taking me back to 1529 in order to find out why the good doctor had been expelled from medical school, as well as perhaps being able to ask him if he had a cure for memory loss and long sentences, I was instead issued with a 2011 TGV ticket and an error message. Upon arrival at the Gare Saint-Roch I received a text message from a Sister Quarantine, requesting that I meet her in le Bookshop on the rue du Bras de Fer for a coffee, to discuss a matter of some urgency. The good sister turned out to be much younger and prettier than I expected, and claimed to have information concerning the murder case I had been involved in, in Amsterdam. Apparently the creepy Church of Aum Baba was a front for the Nephilim, a bunch of hybrid fallen angels who had been causing mayhem on Planet Earth since Noah's flood. They had corrupted humanity with Nietzsche and Darwin, and were the original master race. Sister Quarantine belonged to a New York convent that had been praying for humanity for over 200 years, apart from Australia, which somehow had got confused with Austria. Perhaps that could explain Sturm und Drang, and all those famous Vienna composers? Quarantine explained that there was no time to lose, as the Nephilim were on her tail. At any time the men in black, in black SUVs, with black Ray Bans and black guns, could arrive and take her out. When I asked why she explained that she was an angelologist, used to footnotes and long lunch breaks, and when I asked when she said in about 600 pages, including the footnotes. The Flatland of Fiction seemed to be getting weirder with every passing moment. I tried to point out that hybrids were connected with clades and taxa, and that Ernst Mayer had shown that pre-zygotic and post-zygotic mechanisms probably made the Nephilim impossible in spite of Genesis 6, whereupon Sister Quarantine looked gutted and started to cry, saying that hundreds of years of research had just gone down the drain. Never mind, I said. We could always pop out for a baguette, some goat's cheese, and a bottle of Gevrey-Chambertin, whereupon her eyes lit up. Lunch, she did lunch she said, and after all we did still have 600 pages to go.

Love Sarayu

...to be continued (with footnotes).

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