Requiem for the Devil

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “I love you,” I heard myself say.

  She blinked hard. “What?”

  “I love you, Gianna,” I said again, this time with all my breath. “I’ve never said that to anyone before.” Her eyes darted away from my face. “I’ve never even thought it until just this moment, but it sounds right. It sounds more honest than anything I’ve ever—”

  “How dare you?” she said.

  My mouth hung open, empty and dry.

  “How dare you ruin a perfect moment like this by saying that? Louis, I just got out of a nine-year relationship. The last thing I need right now is for someone to love me. I don’t want to sink into that quicksand again. I can’t!”

  “Gianna, this is me we’re talking about here, not some loser who doesn’t have a clue about what you need.”

  “That’s not the point. I’m just not ready.”

  “You’re not ready? You think I was prepared for this? Believe me, if I’d known I’d end up feeling this way about you, I would have run screaming the moment I first saw you.” She turned away and hid her face in her arms. “You love me, too, Gianna. Admit it.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Look at me when you say that.”

  “No! I don’t take orders from you. I’ll do what I want, and if I don’t want to love you—”

  I grabbed her and turned her to face me. “Gianna, tell me you love me, or I’ll throw you into the canyon.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not kidding. I hate hypocrites.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “I am now.” I dragged her to the edge of the boulder until we were teetering halfway into the air. She shrieked and latched one hand onto my shirt and one hand in my hair.

  “I’ll take you down with me, I swear,” she said. “We’ll both die.”

  “That’s the idea. Now tell me you love me.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I shifted us forward another inch. “Any last wishes?” I said.

  “Yes, I wish you wouldn’t kill me.”

  “I’ll consider it, if you consider telling me the truth.”

  “You’re a fucking maniac, Louis.”

  “And that’s why you love me.”

  “No!” We slipped another inch. “Aren’t you afraid?!”

  “If being in love is a ten on the terror scale, then being pulverized on the floor of the Grand Canyon is about a two-point-four.”

  “Please, Louis. I don’t want to die. Not now.”

  Her eyes begged my mercy. I shifted us back from the edge of the boulder to safety and let go of her. She clutched at the rock and gasped for breath.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “You son of a bitch. I can’t believe you just did that.”

  “I’m sorry. I got carried away. Let’s forget about the whole issue, okay?” She nodded, still short of breath. I stood and helped her up, then began to walk back to the car.

  “Louis?”

  “Yes?” I turned to her. She punched me. I spun and fell onto the icy gravel. While I lay there, my jaw throbbing, Gianna fished the keys out of my coat pocket, climbed in the car, and drove away.

  13

  Culpa Rubet Vultus Meus

  The snow fell harder during the hour it took me to walk the four miles back to the Grand Canyon Village. I found our car outside the lodge near the restaurant entrance. I gathered all the dignity a soggy man could carry, and entered.

  She was sitting by the window looking out over the canyon, though it was impossible to see farther than a hundred feet. The clouds had shuffled in and covered most of the canyon walls. I approached her table. She turned and saw me, then gestured to an empty coffee cup at the seat across from her. I sat down and wiped my hair away from my face so as not to drip ice water in the coffee she was pouring me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She refilled her own cup. “So, Louis, what did you learn in relationship school today?”

  “Not to almost kill you?”

  “Very good.” She tore open a pack of sugar and snapped the contents into her coffee. “That was an important lesson. There’ll be a quiz later.”

  “You were never in any real danger, you know.” I took a sip of coffee. “Of course I wouldn’t have let you fall.” She didn’t answer. “So what did you learn?” I said.

  Her eyes flashed. “What?”

  “I said, what did you learn, Gianna, in relationship school today?”

  She glared at me over her cup, then set it down with a clatter, as if she’d lost the strength to hold it up.

  “I learned that I need to go back to kindergarten, because none of this is making sense anymore.”

  My smile came too quickly to thwart.

  “Don’t give me that look,” she said. “This is not funny.”

  I picked up my water glass and clinked it against hers. “We rock each other’s world, don’t we?”

  “And you probably think that’s a good thing.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Conflict begets growth.”

  “No, conflict begets more conflict. What’s wrong with a little peace?”

  “Peace is overrated.”

  “You only say that because you’ve never felt it.”

  A cold drop of water trickled from my temple to my jaw and plopped onto the table. “Sometimes you see me so clearly, Gianna, it’s like you . . .” I stood up. “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  I held out my still-clammy hand to her. “To look for peace.”

  Gianna built a fire in our room while I changed into warm dry clothes. Then I stretched out on the bed, surrounded by softness.

  “Come here,” I said.

  “Lou, I’m really not in the mood.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Take off your shoes and lie down,” I said.

  “Fine. Whatever.” She lay beside me with her back to me. I slid my arm around her waist and laid my cheek on her hair. “Now what?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated, then placed her hand over mine. Her fingertips rested on my knuckles.

  We lay together in silence for many minutes, while the logs in the fire shifted and hissed, and the snow skipped across our balcony. Our breathing synchronized and lulled me into a place somewhere between peace and sleep.

  Finally Gianna stirred a little and spoke.

  “Lou, if I had told you I loved you out there on the cliff, would you have believed me? Or would you have considered it a confession given under duress?”

  I thought for a moment. “I don’t know.”

  “You wouldn’t have believed me,” she said. “Even afterwards, if I’d sworn that I loved you, you would have always wondered if I were just piling one lie on top of another.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “That’s the real reason why I wouldn’t say it. Because it wouldn’t have been a lie.” She turned to me. My stomach tightened.

  “Whether it’s because you’re a maniac,” she said, “or because you make me feel like one, I don’t know.” She moved her mouth close to mine, and I inhaled her next words. “I love you.”

  As she kissed me, my brains felt like they had broken loose from my skull and were sloshing around inside my head. I pulled away from her and sat up.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “I . . . I suddenly don’t feel well. I think I need to . . . take a walk.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No . . . not a walk. I need . . .” I stood and lurched into the bathroom, where my stomach convulsed its contents into the toilet. I continued to vomit long after there was anything to offer besides panic.

  As I sponged my face with cold water, I studied my reflection in the mirror. Somehow I had thought love would ennoble my appearance. Instead I looked pallid and confused.

  When I returned to our room, Gianna was sitting cross-legged in the middle of th
e bed.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “I doubt I’ll forget this day any time soon.”

  “It’s just that . . . no one’s ever said that to me before, and I wasn’t expecting it to . . . I didn’t expect my reaction to be . . .”

  “You didn’t think it would make you puke.”

  “I know this looks bad.”

  “No one’s ever told you they loved you before?” she said. I shook my head. She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, why didn’t I check your emotional baggage at Customs?”

  “It’s a heavy load. This is just the beginning.”

  She got off the bed and opened the tiny refrigerator. “Want some ginger ale?”

  “No, I think I really do need to take a walk now.”

  Gianna crossed her arms in front of her chest and nodded, not looking at me. “Okay. Have a good walk.”

  I put on my boots. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Right.”

  I turned to leave.

  “Louis?”

  “Yes?”

  “You forgot your coat.”

  “I’m leaving it here so you know I’m coming back.”

  “I have no doubt you’re coming back, but thanks.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t need it, anyway. The sun’s coming out.”

  Besides, my body felt like it was on fire. Snow melted in a six-foot diameter around me as I crossed the lodge’s parking lot to the closest overlook. The metal railing was ecstatically cold, and I leaned my forehead against it.

  A raven squawked above my head. Its heavy wings thumped the air to my right as it alighted on the railing. I turned my head to admire it. The feathers on its thick throat rippled in the breeze like fur as the bird peered back at me. We stared at each other for a minute, then it took off with a leap and a rush of wings. A black feather fell to the pavement at my feet as the raven circled once overhead, then flew into the canyon.

  As my eyes followed the bird, I noticed a moving figure on the wall of a section of the South Rim that jutted outward to my left. It was over a mile away, but I could tell it was human, and alone. The hiker strode along the trail without stumbling, probably whistling a happy, confident little tune.

  The raven returned to the railing next to me, this time only a foot from my shoulder. It cocked its head at me as if it were waiting, expecting.

  “Go beg some potato chips off the tourists,” I said. “I don’t have any food for you.”

  The bird shuffled back and forth a few steps, its talons scraping the steel railing. I looked at the hiker again, then glanced around to make sure I was alone.

  “Pretty stupid to hike by oneself like that,” I said to the raven. “One could get hurt.” The hiker headed into a switchback that led him underneath a snow-covered cliff. “After all, with the sun coming out, a large chunk of ice might just melt enough to fall on one, mightn’t it?” The excess heat was leaving my body already. My mind grew calm. I turned to the raven.

  “What the hell. It would be a tragic waste to come to the Grand Canyon and not throw anyone in. Besides, you need lunch.” And I need to feel like me again.

  I focused my attention on the ledge above the hiker. “Just a small one first.” A baseball-size nugget of ice broke from the cliff and tumbled to the trail in front of the hiker. He stopped and looked up briefly, then continued his ascent. A larger fragment fell in front of him again, cracking on the trail and spinning off into the canyon. He repeated his previous movements, but this time his pace quickened.

  “That’s it, little one. Ponder the possibilities for a few moments.” Another ice slab crashed behind him, and he began to run. I glanced at the raven, who seemed to be watching the spectacle with his own midnight blue eyes.

  The hiker scrambled up the path. When he reached a narrow, treacherous portion of the trail, a chunk of ice the size of a bowling ball fell from the cliff and grazed his head. He staggered, then toppled over the edge. The raven hollered a triumphant caw and took flight.

  My lips twitched. Then I noticed that the hiker was clinging to a juniper bush a few feet below the trail where he had fallen.

  “Tenacious little bugger, aren’t you?” I focused on the ice bank one last time.

  “What are you staring at?”

  I started with a gut-wrenching shudder and whirled to face Gianna.

  “What?”

  “I said, what are you staring at?” She tucked her pine green scarf under her chin and peered in the direction of the hiker.

  “Nothing.” I stepped between her and the railing, forgetting for a moment that she couldn’t possibly see the hiker from this distance. “I was just staring.”

  “You looked like you were focusing on something pretty hard.”

  I looked into the canyon and gestured at the raven, who was surfing the wind, spiraling towards a late breakfast.

  “Ravens are the most beautiful birds,” she said. “You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Some of the northwestern native tribes believe that the Raven brought light to a world of darkness. One story says that he was originally the brightest of all the birds and had wings like rainbows, but that carrying the sun in his beak burned his feathers to black.” She leaned against the railing and watched the bird descend. “To me, the raven’s darkness is like a symbol of a tragic nobility, of one who would sacrifice his own beauty in the name of truth.”

  I bent down to pick up the raven’s fallen feather and presented it to Gianna.

  “Wow,” she said. “What a souvenir. Not as exotic as your condor feather, of course.”

  “This one’s in better shape.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I brought you your coat, and I’m going to grab lunch now. I wanted to let you know where I was, so you didn’t think I’d run away again.”

  “Thanks.” I took my coat from her and put it on, in need of extra warmth now. “I think I’ll join you.”

  “You actually feel like eating?”

  I put my arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple. “I’m starving.”

  Before we left the overlook, I peeked into the canyon. My hapless hiker had pulled himself back onto the trail, where he lay face down, panting and praising whatever god he believed in, for surely he believed that something other than coincidence had saved his puny life. I watched Gianna caress the soft fibers of the feather and thought that perhaps coincidence was an insufficient god.

  14

  Quantus Tremor Est Futurus

  “A toast . . . to a day that will live in infamy.”

  Gianna and I clinked our champagne glasses together. We sat at the table in our room and looked out over the dark canyon. Stars carpeted the sky, bright enough to view through the thick window. A single candle burned on the table between us, and a fire crackled in the fireplace. I had never felt such ecstatic contentment.

  I set my glass down. “Gianna, I want to tell you . . .”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I want to tell you the most romantic, eloquent things you’ve ever heard in your life, I want to say words that will make you wilt with joy, but when I look at you, I lose all my ability to . . . to . . .”

  “To what?”

  “Speak.”

  She laughed. “That’s already the most romantic, eloquent thing I’ve ever heard.” She caressed my cheek. “How’s your jaw? Still sore?”

  “It’s a gentle reminder to be a good boy.”

  “Let’s not get carried away. If I was looking for a good boy, you’d be quite a disappointment.”

  I turned my head to kiss the inside of her fingers, at the soft place where they met her palm. She closed her eyes.

  “I remember the first time you kissed my hand,” she said. “On the Metro. I thought I was going to collapse on the platform right then. I almost got back on the train with you.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t, though.”

  “Why?” My lips moved down to her wrist.

  �
��I liked the suspense,” she said. “It gave me time to think about what it might be like. What did you do that night after our first date?”

  My mouth hesitated for a moment. “I hung out with some friends.” I neglected to mention that after that raucous evening with Beelzebub and Mephistopheles, I could barely remember her name.

  “I went to bed early that night, for all the good it did me. Sleep eluded me, as it seems to have done almost every night for the last month.”

  “You must be exhausted.” My hand swirled over her knee and began to travel up her thigh. “Perhaps we should go to bed early tonight.”

  Gianna took both my hands in hers and led me to sit on the bed next to her.

  “Do you believe that I love you?” I said.

  “I believe that you believe that you love me, and that’s good enough for right now. Some day you’ll convince me that it’s true.”

  “How can I convince you?”

  “Not by what you say, but by the choices you make. You’ll know when the time comes, when you’re faced with a pivotal decision and realize that love leaves you only one choice.” She wrapped her arms around my neck. “But until then, I’ll savor your confessions in all their naive sweetness.”

  I held her as tightly as I could without breaking her. “I love you, Gianna. Someday I’ll prove it to you, but for now, just listen to the words.” I repeated the phrase as I caressed her body, but in a corner of my mind I was thinking of the hiker I had almost killed, and of all the other choices I would face that could make a liar out of me.

  In my dream I held an engraved invitation. My fingers traced the smooth gold lettering until the strange, blurry letters congealed into words:

  Lucifer,

  Please come home.

  All is forgiven.

  Love, Dad

  “This is a joke, right?” I said to St. Peter, who had materialized in front of me, a white feather pen tucked behind his ear. We appeared to be standing (or hovering) on the outskirts of the Orion Nebula.

  Peter sighed. “Hang on a second.” He licked his forefinger and paged backwards through a tiny black book. He stopped when he reached the first entry. “It figures. It’s on the last page I look. Huh. It says ‘eternal damnation’ in your entry, but it’s crossed out. Let me see that.”