Hell Can Wait

by Theodore Judson

  Maternus humbly allowed he did.

  They came to a cluster of structures that were taller than the residential houses and built one upon the other as city tenements had been in Maternus’ day. A sign in front of the structures read Upland Luxury Efficiency Apartments.

  “If luxury and efficiency are found here,” said Maternus, “this must be where Aurora’s wealthy dwell.”

  “Not really,” said Mr. Worthy. “The second lesson you must learn concerning modern American cities — after you have mastered the bit about space and structure — is that the people here are not exact in what they say and write. I think this is partly so because the English language was not theirs to begin with; they borrowed it from the inhabitants of Britain.”

  “It’s a Celtic tongue?” asked Maternus.

  “No, English has a difficult history,” said the angel. “I would need more time to explain the matter in full. The island of Britain is named after a Celtic tribe, that is true. What we are speaking actually has Germanic origins. Anyway, this borrowed tongue in this vast nation can often get altered in different places by different people. A word can mean one thing in Kansas and quite another thing in California. In addition, you must understand that Americans are a very ambitious and a very hopeful people; such hopeful people believe they can create new definitions for words anytime they wish, and that they have every right to do so. This sign is a handy example of one such idiosyncratic usage; it speaks of ‘luxury’ and ‘efficiency,’ when what the sign is advertising are in fact tiny, cramped apartments created for unmarried men and women who cannot yet afford their own furniture.”

  “I can’t imagine I will fit in here in America,” said Maternus, shaking his head at yet another confusing facet of his new homeland. “In a nation where words have no set meaning, I am bound to say something that will bring offense to someone, whether I mean to or not, and I will thereafter become embroiled in a conflict, perhaps even in a sudden bloodletting. After that, I will be sent back to Hell.”

  “Don’t give up at the beginning, my friend,” said Mr. Worthy. “America is not nearly as baffling a place as it may seem. People here, like people everywhere, are essentially good, albeit tainted by sin, and while you may not be able to judge Americans by their words, you still can judge them by their actions. As for giving unintended offense by saying the wrong thing, that is something that almost never happens in this land. When words have no meaning, one can scarce say anything offensive.”

  “I am ignorant of higher matters,” admitted the still confused Maternus.

  “You worry too much,” said the angel. “The language, like the people, depends entirely upon its context. You will understand over time.”

  The angel took Maternus inside the apartment complex’s office and instructed him on how to rent a flat. The soldier only had to show the middle-aged woman in the sparse office the two cards he had in his wallet and surrender to her six of the Franklin bills before she gave to him a key. The woman struck Maternus as officious and strange, as she was in remarkably good health for her age and was dressed in a long pink and yellow gown that was as showy as any a patrician matron had ever worn in Rome. She was cold to him when he entered her office, but became surprisingly pleasant to Maternus after she saw how many Franklins he had in his wallet.

  “Are you from here in Denver, Mr. August?” she asked Maternus as she made out a receipt for him.

  “I am new to the city,” said Maternus.

  “Tell her no one is really from Denver,” whispered the angel.

  “No one is really from Denver,” said Maternus, and for some reason the woman agreed with him and narrated a long tale involving her mother’s sister Madeline and that woman’s recent move to Modesto, California.

  “No one is really from California, either,” said the woman with a smile.

  “What did she mean?” Maternus asked the angel when they went with the key to look at the apartment the Roman had rented. “I could not place her words into context. How can everyone not be from a specific place? Surely someone is from here?”

  “It’s another pleasantry Americans exchange with each other,” explained Mr. Worthy. “Like fashion advice or motion picture criticism, the phrase has no meaning whatsoever.”

  Once inside the small flat, the angel showed Maternus where the kitchen and the bathroom were and explained their functions.

  “Look, the bed is in the wall,” the angel informed Maternus and made the contraption unfold from its hiding place with a wave of his hand.

  The abrupt appearance of the bare mattress startled Maternus for a moment. Sudden movements in his world had usually heralded attacks. He jumped back into the middle of the room, his right leg stuck behind him, and only until his eyes focused on the bed did he realize the wall was not assaulting him.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Mr. Worthy advised him. “Nearly everything happens quickly here, including the happy outcomes.”

  After inspecting the Roman’s new quarters — which took less than five minutes — the angel and Maternus walked to an enormous building consisting of interconnected shops that made up an entire marketplace under a single roof. Thousands of the self-propelled machines called automobiles were stationed silently around the massive structure. Maternus touched several of them to check if he could rouse them from their somnolent condition, and he was pleased to find the mechanisms were indeed lifeless objects of metal and glass.

  “You see, they are quite dead,” Mr. Worthy assured him.

  Inside the enormous building they exchanged some more of Maternus’s Franklins for some more of the odd clothing, sheets, bed covers, pillows, and kitchen utensils the angel informed the Roman he would need in his new apartment. They purchased too much for them to carry, but the merchants in the shops promised they would deliver the merchandise to the Matthew August residence.

  “This is an exceedingly wealthy land to build a domed market this large and fill it with a million lights,” marveled Maternus as he gazed upward at the ceiling over the mall’s central walkway.

  “Wealthy beyond your ancient capacity for knowing,” said Mr. Worthy. “There are a dozen shopping malls of at least this size — or larger — in the greater Denver area. Bear in mind this is but a provincial city. In the bigger urban centers there are buildings as tall as mountains and sports arenas as large as islands in your Mediterranean.”

  “A true land of marvels,” whispered the overawed Maternus, still fixing his eyes upon the high ceiling. “If the Americans can build a market this spectacular, an entire city under one roof, dedicated to mere buying and selling, what wonders must be the temples they have made for their gods!”

  “In point of fact,” said the angel, sounding less enthusiastic than he usually did, “their temples, as you call them, are not as impressive as this is. But then, some of my fellow angels say this building and others like it are the true American temples.”

  “I fear I don’t understand that, either.”

  “You don’t have to. You will not live here long enough to fret over this fact of American life any more than you will have to fret over their abuse of language. One matter you will have to worry about is the dwindling number of green papers you have in your wallet. They need to be replaced, you see. You must get yourself a job.”

  In the middle of the afternoon they walked together across some more strikingly similar suburban streets to another large building that did not appear nearly as inviting as the shopping mall had been. Judging from the heavy brick walls of its exterior, the narrow window slits that were the only openings on that bleak exterior, other than a single central doorway, and the open but unoccupied courtyard that encircled the entire structure, Maternus decided this must be either a fortress or a prison, and looked for the armed guards as he and the angel drew nearer to the structure.

  “This is Susan B. Anthony Middle School,” explained Mr. Worthy. “They have an opening here for an evening janitor. You will inquire at the front office. Fill out an a
pplication. You will find it a simple process; we have prepared the way for you.”

  At the shopping mall, the sales clerks had been slightly taken aback upon first getting an eyeful of Maternus’s unique appearance, but their moods had immediately brightened when they saw the many Franklins he owned. Money could not put the Roman in a more favorable light for the secretaries at the middle school; to the secretaries in the school office Maternus — with his battle-ravaged face and twisted fingers — simply looked frightening. His unhurried yet tense mannerisms made him seem mentally defective. The three women working in the office and the two children sent there for misbehaving all gathered by the front desk just to watch the singular man fill out his application.

  “So, Mr. August,” said the personal secretary to the principal, who was half-expecting the angular, coiled man to strike at her and swallow her whole while she was looking over the application form, “I see some gaps in your employment record. That part of your life before right now, I mean. You haven’t written anything about it.”

  “Tell her you were in the army,” said Mr. Worthy, who was ever at the Roman’s side and remained invisible to everyone else. “She and her coworkers will think better of you once they know you were a soldier.”

  “I was in the army,” said Maternus, which brought a nod from the other two women and both of the wayward children.

  “We figured it was either that, or you wrestled mountain lions for a living,” said the principal’s secretary and laughed merrily for several seconds. When the somber Roman made no reaction, her laughter quickly turned to awkward silence.

  “Tell them you fought in Mesopotamia,” said Mr. Worthy, for Maternus had indeed fought there during a retaliatory campaign against the Parthians.

  “I fought in Mesopotamia,” said Maternus to the secretaries, and they nodded again.

  “Were you — I hope you don’t mind me asking — were you wounded there?” asked the principal’s secretary.

  “Yes. Yes, I was,” said Maternus and automatically touched the long scar across his forehead, a mark he had gotten from a Parthian lance. “How did you know?”

  “That explains a lot,” said the principal’s secretary, and she and the others in the office assumed a new attitude toward Maternus. The principal’s secretary tenderly patted the soldier’s hand, and one of the other women commented that her husband’s cousin Walter was also over there.

  “Sometimes I think the war there will go on forever,” said the woman.

  “Apparently, it nearly has,” said Maternus.

  He was hired without having to endure an interview. As he walked outside Maternus asked the angel why the women in the office had all at once become sympathetic toward him.

  “People who have never seen combat have odd ideas about soldiers,” said Mr. Worthy. “We have used those odd ideas to get you the job. If you are wondering, yes, Matthew August does have a military record for those ladies to access. When they look you up on their computers — those are the machines with the display screens — they will find you are an army veteran.”

  “America is at war?”

  “All great nations are constantly at war, or else getting ready for the next war,” said Mr. Worthy. “That is one of the iron laws of history.”

  “Why would your God make it thus?” asked Maternus.

  “To teach mankind humility,” said the angel.

  “Mankind obviously is a slow learner,” commented Maternus, still amazed there was yet a war in Mesopotamia.

  “You misunderstand,” said Mr. Worthy. “God does not instruct humanity so you and your kind can perfect the world. God teaches you so you might learn that the world cannot be perfected. But my time here grows too limited for even short explanations, and there are two more places I need to show you before I leave you on your own.”

  The first building they visited was a narrow structure that had a single high tower, atop which was a symbol the Roman recognized only too quickly.

  “A cross?” he asked Mr. Worthy. “Is this a place of execution?”

  “This house belongs to God,” said the angel. “You, I think, have heard of the Christians. They were already active in your lifetime.”

  “I only know we in the army were forbidden to join their practices. They had their services at night, away from everyone else, because they were outlawed. They were a cult from the East, some type of renegade Jews. The emperor killed some of them in Rome, I believe.”

  “True enough, as far you know,” said Mr. Worthy. “There is more to the story, which you will know after you have come here every Sunday morning for the next six months. This is where you will go anytime you wish to talk to me.”

  “Why? Surely there are religions more appropriate for a soldier than some minor belief started by those who had to hide from emperor’s agents just to survive?”

  Mr. Worthy gave him a disapproving look, such as an adult might give a child who has just said something very foolish. The angel did not admonish the soldiers in words. He instead led Maternus to a final building that was as unattractive as the middle school had been. Once inside, Mr. Worthy instructed Maternus how to obtain another laminated card for his wallet from a woman behind a long counter in the heart of the building’s vast interior space.

  “This card will permit you to borrow any book in this library, or any other library in Arapahoe County,” explained the angel. “You may come here every day but Sunday, and read anytime you wish, so long as anytime is between eight in the morning and nine at night. Here you will glean a better understanding of your new home than I can give you in a single afternoon.”

  “Coming here will teach me everything I want to know?” asked Maternus, intrigued by the row upon row of book shelves in the big room.

  “Of course not,” said Mr. Worthy. “Knowledge and reason, like wealth and power, have limited scopes. You will learn more than you know now, though one of the first lessons you will learn is that one man is capable of knowing only so much. You will, however, learn enough to make yourself happy.”

  Together they walked through the rows of books, reading the titles of every section as Maternus planned his course of study.

  “I once had an officer, a man of equestrian rank who could read both Latin and Greek,” said the soldier, “and I overheard him say a man should read philosophy first if he wanted to be truly educated.”

  “A little philosophy, a little history, a bit of science, some literature — dabble in some of each to start,” suggested the angel. “However, first I think you should read how to operate a floor buffer. Then you can move on to Plato and Aristotle.”

  III

  Born of Mars and Suckled by the Wolf

  Mr. Worthy left Maternus as soon as they returned to the Upland Apartments from the library. The angel’s last words to the Roman had been a further admonition not to give himself over to rage.

  “Never react to anything that befalls you until you have reflected upon what you should do for five full seconds,” Mr. Worthy had counseled him. “Remember: lash out at a single living soul, and you will be saying farewell to all hope for an eternity. Never, never surrender yourself to the anger you have fostered within your heart for these many years. I wish I could tell you the sentiments you have cultivated since your brutal childhood will soon wither and disappear. That is not possible. I can promise you the feelings will go away, my friend, but this will happen only after considerable time has passed. Only after you have behaved well one day after another for many days will the rage within you begin to abate. Until that happens, you must be conscientious in everything you do. Never let your guard down, my friend — not even once. Again become the furious man who perished in the Circus Maximus so long ago, and you will have put yourself beyond the reach of our compassion. Do not forget that.”

  The angel had then drawn his hands over his head a second time, and a blinding light filled the small apartment. When the light went away, Maternus was alone.

  Any doubts he had that
he had not been set in an earthly paradise were banished that first night when he slept on the apartment bed. The soldier had never felt such comfort in his previous life, when he had slept on the open ground while on campaign and on a dirt floor when posted in a military station. Nor had Maternus hoped for such sensual bliss while he was in Hell. “Like lying on a cloud,” he told himself and, simultaneously wished he could think of a more original way of describing how the mattress seemed to embrace the entirety of his weary back.

  Mr. Worthy had shown him how to operate the electric range in his small apartment, although in the morning when he started to make his breakfast he devoured the can of peaches he opened without stopping to heat anything. Then he did the same to a can of fruit cocktail, and to another of cranberry sauce. The nectar Ganymede had served the gods on Olympus could not been more delicious or more appreciated than that simple breakfast was. To a man fed throughout his life on barley meal and dried horse meat, the canned fruit was a revelation. He wept a flood of tears when he passed the first sweet section of peach over the back of his tongue and felt how that organ arched toward the top of his palette in reaction to that unfamiliar sensation. No wonder most of the Americans he had seen were so fat! They could feast upon these divine fruits anytime they desired, even though the garden that bore the divine ambrosia might be on the other side of the world. As he ate, Maternus had to remind himself he was not already in Heaven; at the same time he did tell himself this must be how the food in Heaven tasted. Since he was not yet schooled in the use of modern dining utensils, he ate as he always had, that is, with his fingers and a vast and noisy gusto.