Requiem for the Devil

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “Nah, I had enough last night to last me a week,” he said.

  “And when did you become the patron saint of moderation?” I lifted my glass towards him. “My New Year’s resolution: never to be sober again. It’s just not worth it.” I downed the rest of the glass and tossed it at him. “Fill ’er up, won’t you?” He poured me another drink. “How did you know I was alone? How did you know she wasn’t here?”

  “Why, Lucifer, I can feel it. I can sense when you’re alone, when you’re in agony, from all the way uptown.”

  “Really?”

  “No.” He handed me the glass of whiskey. “I saw Gianna at the grocery store with that redheaded friend of hers. She looked like she’d been crying. I figured it had something to do with you.”

  “Yes, I would imagine. What with her boyfriend being the Devil and all.”

  He stared at me. “She knows?”

  “She knows.” I gave him a brief account of the previous evening’s events. “Call me paranoid,” I said, “but I have this feeling that You-Know-Who was behind it.”

  “You mean her ex-boyfriend is some kind of angelic hit man?”

  “No, nothing that blatant. Our father is more subtle than that, working inside people’s hearts. I don’t think he wanted Gianna dead, but he knew I’d have to reveal myself if her life were threatened.”

  “I think it’s a stretch, but believe what you wanna believe. What I can’t get over is the fact that she knows you’re the Devil, and you didn’t kill her.”

  “Of course not.”

  “You could have wiped her memory.” He stood and began to pace. “She would have thought she just blacked out from drinking too much. Lucifer, why didn’t you do that?”

  “You know that’s not completely harmless, especially when they’re awake.”

  “It is when you’re good at it, like I am. You want me to do it for you? I’ll go over there right now.”

  “No! It’s too late to do it without hurting her.”

  “I’ll be gentle, I promise. You want her back or not?”

  I considered his question. Her absence was already slicing larger and larger voids within me. Maybe we could start over . . .

  “No,” I said finally. “I don’t want her like that.”

  “You want to do it the hard way, suit yourself. I’d have to say the odds are pretty bad, though, right down there with the Cubs winning the World Series.”

  “But I thought . . . I thought maybe who I was wouldn’t matter to her.”

  “Wouldn’t matter?” Beelzebub cackled. “These are humans we’re talking about here. Stupid creatures scared pantless of what might be lurking under their beds and in their closets. You think any of them wouldn’t mind if they were sleeping with the Devil?”

  I slouched further down on the couch and put my fingers to my temple. “Please stop shouting at me. Get me something to eat, would you?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Toast. Dry toast.”

  He walked back into the kitchen. I got up and searched his coat pocket for his cigarettes, lit one, and returned to the couch.

  When Beelzebub reentered with a plate of toast, he snickered at the cigarette. “You’re smoking. Does that mean you—?”

  “Not since Christmas night.”

  “Whoa. A week without sex? I’m surprised you’re not setting things on fire by now.” He handed me the plate and sat down in the chair again. “I could fix that for you, if you need me to.”

  I shot him as withering a look as I could muster with a faceful of crumbs. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I was just joking.” He watched me inhale his offering of food. “So I disgust you now, is that it?”

  “No.” I set the empty plate on the coffee table and took another drag off the cigarette. “I disgust me.”

  “But when you look at me, you see everything you hate about yourself.”

  I didn’t reply, only finished my cigarette and dropped it in the now-empty bottle of scotch. “Okay,” I said. “Come here, and I’ll show you how much you don’t disgust me.”

  “Now you’re really drunk.”

  “My thoughts are very clear. And you know what I’m thinking right now?” I licked my lips and stroked his body with my eyes.

  Beelzebub hesitated, then shook his head. “I changed my mind, Lucifer. I won’t be your consolation prize.”

  “Oh, really?” I chuckled a little, then turned serious. “Yes, you will.” I placed my hand on the sofa next to me. “Now come here.”

  He winced a little, then slowly stood and crossed the room toward me. When he was within reach, I grabbed him and shoved him face down on the couch.

  “Hey!” he yelped as I pounced on him and pressed my weight on his back.

  “What’s wrong, Beelzebub? This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? Gianna out of the picture and me on top of you again?”

  “It’s not like that! This isn’t some sick love triangle.”

  “Oh, yes it is,” I said. “It is, because I love Gianna, and because I love you.”

  “No!” He squirmed to cover his ears. With one hand I seized his arm and held it to his side; my other hand grabbed his hair and twisted his face so that I could reach it with my mouth.

  “I don’t love you the way I love Gianna. I wouldn’t kill for you, or die for you, or even bare my true soul to you. But Beelzebub, my darling little cherub . . . I do love you.” I planted a soft, sweet kiss on his cheek to finalize the insult.

  “How dare you?!” His shrieks rippled through our bodies. “How dare you say that to me, you pervert!”

  I leapt off of him and stood laughing the deep, throaty cackle usually reserved for my most fiendish acts against What’s-His-Face. Beelzebub sat up slowly, then rubbed his arms.

  “There.” I collapsed in the chair facing him. “Now I disgust you, too.”

  Without a word he stood and put on his jacket. He stopped when he reached my chair.

  “Why did you let me go just now?” he said.

  “Like you said the other day, rape isn’t as much fun as it used to be.”

  He lowered his eyes and moved on behind me towards the door.

  “Don’t leave,” I said.

  “Fuck you.”

  “I mean it. I’d rather you . . . I’d rather you stay.”

  He stopped. “What if she comes back?”

  The possibility of Gianna’s return, perhaps even tonight, hadn’t occurred to me. In the depths of my wallowing I had forgotten to be prepared for that event.

  “Okay, leave.”

  Before the front door had slammed behind him, I was in my bedroom, stripping off the pants and socks I’d been wearing for over twenty-four hours. With some trepidation, I entered the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

  The bright light stung my bloodshot eyes, and when I was finally able to focus on my own image, I had to laugh. Even if I were included in a lineup of gangsters, dictators, and politicians, anyone could easily finger me as the Author of All Evil. The two vertical creases between my eyebrows had become entrenched in my skin. I tried to massage them into obscurity, to no avail. A thick shadow of stubble and a mangled mop of hair completed the beastly picture. I looked as if I should be crawling on all fours through the forest, biting the heads off baby bunnies.

  Ahhh . . . baby bunny heads. Maybe another wilderness sabbatical was in order.

  Or perhaps a hot shower would be more appropriate.

  Once clean, I got dressed and sat in my living room to wait. She’d be back. Soon.

  29

  Benedictus Qui Venit in Nomine Domini

  A week later I sat in my office, still waiting. I had spent the first days of the new year moving stacks of paper from one side of my desk to another, canceling appointments, and staring out the window. My nights had consisted of moving furniture from one side of my living room to another, canceling social activities, and staring out the window.

  This particular morning I was sorting my
pen collection in alphabetical order according to their color name in Swedish when someone knocked on my door.

  “Just a second.” I crushed out my half-smoked cigarette and hid the ashtray in my desk drawer, then ran a comb through my hair. “Come in.”

  Beelzebub entered.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Again, only me.”

  “Did we have an appointment?” I buried my face in my calendar to avoid looking at him.

  “It’s been more than two weeks since we met. In your office, at least.” He sat in the chair across from my desk and held up a brown paper bag. “Bagel?”

  “Not hungry.” I pulled out the ashtray and lit another cigarette. “Go ahead. What do you have for me?”

  Beelzebub opened his briefcase and handed me a stack of clipped articles. “Things are looking pretty gnarly in the Middle East,” he said in a voice that lacked enthusiasm. “We’ve hardly had to lift a finger there to make them scream for each other’s blood.” While he spoke, I let my gaze travel over his hands, his hair, and finally his face. “Forget the Oslo accords, forget any peace talks over the last—what are you looking at, Lou?”

  I blinked slowly, then sighed and lowered my eyes to stare through the papers in front of me again.

  “I know you’ve always liked to brood,” he said, “but I haven’t seen you this depressed since Waterloo.” He shut his briefcase. “She’ll be back, okay? I’m sure you’re the best lay she’s ever had.”

  “Humans care about more than sex, Beelzebub.”

  “Of course they do. They also care about money. And since you’ve got that going for you, too, I wouldn’t worry.” He pulled a bagel out of the paper bag. “Anyway, if that’s what it takes to get you functioning again, then I hope she comes back. You’re starting to depress me, and that’s not an easy thing to do.”

  “I know.” I pushed the papers to the side of my desk. “Look, Bub, I’m sorry about the other night. What I said to you . . .”

  “Hey, it’s cool,” he said, though he turned away from me slightly. “You were piss drunk, and in a foul mood. I’ve forgotten it already. I know you didn’t mean it.”

  I wanted to tell him that I did mean it, that I did love him, that the only thing scarier than loving one is loving two, because it could grow from there, and where would I ever draw the line?

  “I had a dream about you and me Christmas morning,” I said.

  “Yeah, what happened?”

  “We fucked.”

  “Yeah, I have that dream a lot.” He picked a sesame seed off the bagel and popped it into his mouth. “That’s all it is anymore, just a dream, since you—”

  “Like demons, Bub. We fucked like demons.”

  He froze. A lock of hair dropped onto his forehead. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “You mean . . . full body penetration and everything?”

  I swallowed hard. “Uh-huh.”

  “Wow.” He sat back in his chair. “How long has it been since we did that?”

  “Maybe a hundred years.”

  “I think maybe ninety-eight years, two months, and three days,” he said.

  “And at least twice as long since the time before that.”

  “When we accidentally set that one city on fire.”

  “London.”

  “Right.”

  We stared at each other in silence.

  “When did you say you had that dream?” he said.

  “Christmas. Two weeks ago today.”

  Beelzebub peered toward the ceiling as if he were calculating something in his head. Suddenly his eyes widened.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “Nothing. I’d better go.” He shoved his uneaten bagel back in the bag and stood up.

  “You had the same dream the same morning, didn’t you?”

  He moved toward the door. “This is some weird shit, Lou.”

  “You did, didn’t you?”

  “Not that I don’t like weird shit.” He rested his hand on the doorknob. “But this is just too . . . I don’t know what to do with all this. I’ll see you around, okay?”

  Beelzebub left me covered in a fresh sheen of sweat.

  Later that day I sat by the Reflecting Pool, on the bench where I first found Gianna reading The Nation. It was the first time since she left me that I’d ventured out of my apartment other than to go to work.

  I stared at the half-frozen water through the clouds of my breath, thick with steam and smoke. A deepening pile of cigarette butts lay at my feet. I removed my gloves to open a new pack.

  Out of nowhere a man appeared to my left, careening toward me. He tripped over my outstretched feet and fell to the sidewalk screaming.

  “I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up!” He turned to me and said, “Quick, who am I? Too slow. I’m you! Get it? I’ve fallen . . . and I can’t get up!”

  “You forgot your banana peel and rubber chicken, Raphael.”

  “Hey, I thought you quit smoking.” Raphael sat up and laughed. “But then again, you never really do quit smoking, do you?” He touched my knee and made a sizzling noise.

  “What do you want?”

  “I don’t want anything. Although I could go for a cheeseburger.” He sat next to me on the bench. “I thought you could use a friendly face.”

  I looked at the angel’s soft cheeks and round brown eyes. “Yours is one of the few truly friendly faces I’ve ever known. It’s good to see you.” We shook hands. “So how’s life in Heaven?”

  “Oh, it’s . . . you know . . .” Raphael nodded.

  “You can’t say, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Is he dead yet?”

  “Now you’re the funny one. No, last time I checked, the universe was still humming along, pleased as punch with itself.”

  “Who sent you?”

  “No one,” he said. “This is an unofficial visit. They don’t even know I’m here. Well, I’m sure the Creator knows, being omniscient and all. So technically, I suppose God wants me to be here, otherwise I probably would have been sucked into a black hole or something. I hate when that happens. It takes forever, literally, to find myself again.” He put his arm around my shoulder. His touch was cool and light, like a spring breeze. “Wanna grab some lunch?”

  “I haven’t eaten in a week.”

  “You’re lucky. I haven’t eaten in thirty years.” He reached in the pocket of his ratty brown coat and pulled out a quarter and a clump of lint. “What’s a burger cost these days?”

  “I’ll treat,” I said. “On one condition.”

  “With you, always conditions. You’re not getting my soul.”

  “Tone down the holiness vibes. You heavenly entities give me splitting headaches.”

  “No problem. I would ask you to do the same with your evil, but you already have.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Right,” Raphael said.

  “So Jesus is hanging on the cross, and he whispers, ‘Peterrrrr,’ and Peter steps forward and says, ‘What is it, Rabbi?,’ and Jesus says, ‘Come closer.’ So Peter steps a little closer and says, ‘Speak to me, master,’ and Jesus says, ‘Peter . . . come closer.’ Peter gets right to the foot of the cross, and Jesus says, ‘Peter . . .’, and Peter says, ‘I’m here, what is it you wish to tell me?’ and Jesus says, ‘Peter . . . I can see your house from here.’”

  The angel giggled and spread a knifeful of horseradish sauce on his cheeseburger.

  “That’s a real knee-slapper, Raphael,” I said. “So what are you doing here?”

  “I want to help you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Okay, not really. But I am curious.”

  “Curious about what?”

  “I heard about the woman,” he said, “the one that you’re in love with.”

  “I wish you would all stop spying on me. Besides, you’re reading yesterday’s news. She left me. I’m starting to think she’s not coming back.”

  “
So what are you doing here?”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Waiting. Uh-huh.” He wiped his chin with a paper napkin. “Man, they don’t make cheeseburgers like this in Heaven. Corporeality has its advantages, as I’m sure you’re aware.” He put his burger down. “Of course, it has its disadvantages, too. Excuse me.” He got up and headed for the men’s room.

  I looked out the diner window through the ghost of my reflection in the glass. Somewhere, amidst the teeming throngs of people, Gianna was out there. I could find her if I wanted to, pick up her trail and track her down like a bloodhound after a criminal. She could make it easy or difficult for me to find her, based on her feelings toward me and the energy she sent out.

  “Have you seen those automatic faucets?” Raphael said as he sat down again. “Of course you have. You live here. And the hand dryers, too. I can’t wait until they make a machine that’ll take a pee for you. Think of the increase in productivity.”

  “Did you know that Michael paid me a visit last month?”

  “He told me. He went on and on about having to resterilize himself after being mired in so much filth.”

  “He seemed pretty sterile to me,” I said.

  “I know. As totally buff as Michael is, he can be such a priss.” Raphael licked the ketchup from his thumb. “You’ve no need to fear him, though. He can’t touch you. None of us can.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re protected. We’re under strict orders never to harm you personally. Kind of like the mark of Cain.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess He’s saving you for something really nasty, wants to have the pleasure of direct punishment. I’ve learned not to question.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I like you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t get excited. I like everybody.” He sipped his iced tea. “What I said before only applies to you, though. Everyone around you, everyone you care about, is fair game.”

  “Fair game for what?”

  “You saw what happened to Belial.”

  “Belial?” I slammed my fork down. “I knew it. It was you. You tricked him.”

  “Not a trick. He was beckoned.”