Azazeel

by Ziedan, Youssef

  In mid-morning the abbot sent a monk to my room to find out why I had not appeared. I told him I was unwell because of the cold at dawn. In the afternoon Deacon came to check up on me. My throat was dry and my head was ringing. I asked him for news of the ecumenical council and his brief answers aggravated my sickness.

  ‘They began today and the emperor hasn’t arrived yet. The carrier pigeons brought the news,’ he said.

  I closed the door behind me and lay on my back in the darkness, then I curled up on the ground, bent towards the wall with my arms around my head. I was tempted to sleep but I had a recurrent feeling that the same invisible being was with me in the room. My mind wandered and I saw Martha again, now in the form of trails of smoke which formed inside my head. I spoke to her and she did not answer. I moved closer and she moved away. I examined her face and it changed into a face similar to my mother’s face. She moved so close to me that I could feel her breath. She did not smell of my mother, nor of the aromatic oil which Martha wears. Everything has a smell, even stones, but what I saw had no smell. It was a face whose features slowly changed and at every moment took on a new guise.

  At sunset I stood up, overcome with the feeling that I was rising from the dead on the Day of Judgement. I went out of the room trembling and found the monastery wrapped in complete silence. The sun was low in the western sky and the mysterious building had taken on a reddish tinge. As I went down the stairs, the large church nearby seemed distant. I found the descent too tiring so I went back to my room and slept again.

  In the dead of the night the wild ideas came back to haunt me: why don’t I get up now and take Martha far away from here? Or leave everything behind and travel to Ephesus? The Alexandrian monks and bishops there will not know me. I’ll be close to Nestorius in his ordeal and the situation might change in his favour when the emperor and the bishops who support him arrive. The emperor will protect him because he’s the bishop of his capital city, and I’ll go back to Constantinople with him when the ordeal is over.

  ‘Hypa, this ordeal will not end until Nestorius is eliminated.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Don’t you recognize me, really?’

  The mysterious presence had started to speak and when it spoke its face faded and lost its features, which before had vacillated between one face and another. I did not know what to say in response, but I was no longer afraid of having it around me.

  ‘I’m not around you, Hypa. I’m inside you.’

  I assumed that madness had snatched me away from my troubled world and that I was now delirious. I said that perhaps I was asleep and this was just a passing dream. Yes, it’s a passing dream and I will wake up from it and it will be a memory I will soon forget. I’ve started to worry about everything around me and the worry gives rise to fears. I must relieve my anxiety a little.

  ‘You’re worried by what’s inside you, Hypa, because you know what’s going to happen in Ephesus and you know you’re going to lose Martha, just as you lost what was yours before: the dream of excelling in medicine, your hope of deciphering the mystery of religion, love for Octavia, infatuation with Hypatia, peace of mind through ignorance, belief in superstitions.’

  This time the voice was a clearly articulated whisper, then the features of the face appeared again, clearer and more distinct. It looked like me and the voice was my voice. This is another me, other than me, trapped inside me. No harm if I talk to myself a while and say frankly things one should not normally mention: my longing for Martha, my fear for her and my fear of her. I am lost in the wastelands of the self and I am not optimistic about the coup Bishop Cyril is expected to pull off in Ephesus. It will be horrific. Cyril is the head of the church of St Mark in Alexandria and the word of Mark means, among other things, the heavy hammer which in our country we call the mirzabba, the iron rod.

  The Alexandrian hammer will inevitably fall on Nestorius’s head and the walls of this monastery will shake, and of all the monasteries and churches under the diocese of Antioch. Glory will be the destiny of Alexandria alone. Even ancient Rome will decline and die, like every ancient city. I have to escape this world full of the dead.

  ‘Let the dead enjoy their death. Take Martha and go back to your home country.’

  ‘Shut up and go back where you came from, you mysterious and alluring presence!’

  ‘You take me back. It’s you who created me.’

  ‘I didn’t create anyone. I’m dreaming now.’

  ‘In that case your dream will last a long time, Hypa!’

  ‘You’re calling me by my common name, so what’s your name?’

  ‘Azazeel.’

  SCROLL TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Presence

  My mind wandered and I saw trees filling the universe. I saw myself walking through forests with tangled branches and trees. I woke up and found Deacon sitting beside my bed. When I touched the front of my jellaba, I found it soaked in warm water. My mind wandered again and Azazeel came to me with a distinct face, which seemed to shine in the darkness. Then I woke up properly. The door to my room was open and the daylight shone in on me between the cassocks of the monks standing at the door. They were saying words I did not understand. The ceiling of the room seemed to be high, far away from me.

  I heard bells clanging constantly, rattling my bones. Then the bells stopped suddenly and Azazeel came with a smile. He sat down quietly in front of me, then crept towards me. I felt his face with the tips of my fingers and it was moist and slippery. I was afraid to touch it. After a while he stretched out his cold hand to my forehead, and I felt a chill which seeped into my head and relieved my fear. In my dream I slept, and I saw in my dream that I was dreaming.

  ‘Hypa.’

  ‘What do you want, Azazeel?’

  ‘I want you to be strong, to recover from the state you’re in.’

  To recover would be disastrous. To be oblivious is more pleasant, an oblivion illuminated by the many suns and moons that fill the red twilight sky within me. I saw myself wandering around the monastery, alone. I went into the mysterious building from the opening at the top, and roamed from room to room until I reached the bottom. There were no rusty nails shining in the dark and all I found there was darkness piled on darkness. I sat on the spiral staircase and summoned Azazeel to keep me company in my solitude. He came and sat next to me. Together we left the mysterious building, which was no longer mysterious, and we found the monastery hill completely empty. Not a person, not a stone, not even those buildings which had been standing there. Just small pebbles, cypress trees and blue grasses covered the place. Azazeel whispered to me that this was the monastery hill as it was in the distant past, before mankind existed, before God created man.

  Then he asked me, ‘Did God create man, or was it the other way round?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Hypa, in every age man creates a god to his liking, and his god is always his visions, his impossible dreams and his wishes.’

  ‘Stop that talk,’ I said. ‘You know where you stand with God, so don’t mention Him.’

  ‘My name comes up, Hypa, whenever His name comes up.’

  My mind wandered so I let Azazeel say what he wanted and I left. After a while I went back to him and he was talking to himself. I listened, and I heard him say in some strange language something to the effect that God is hidden inside us and mankind is unable to delve deep enough to find Him. In ancient times, when some people thought they had drawn an image of the perfect god, they found out that evil is intrinsic to the world and has always existed. They created me to justify it. So he said...

  I no longer argue with what Azazeel says. I couldn’t argue with him anyway. Several times I felt I was shivering and hungry and he would put in my mouth a spoonful of soup which had neither smell nor flavour. I would swallow the soup, which would hurt my throat. Then I would fall asleep. Sometimes I would see Deacon, not Azazeel, and he would give me the soup and water to drink. The water tasted better.

 
; There are various opinions and accounts of the origins of Azazeel, some of which appear in ancient books, and some of which are borrowed from eastern religions. Not all religions believe he exists and the ancient Egyptian experts did not know of him. It is said that he was born in the delusive imagination of man in the time of Sumer or in the days of the Persians, who worshipped light and darkness together, and that the Babylonians learnt of him from them. The most famous reference to him is in the books of the Old Testament which the scribes wrote after the Jews returned from the Babylonian captivity.

  In Christianity, all denominations assert that he exists and do not allow for any doubt in the matter. He always has the status of enemy of God and enemy of Christ, though his status towards the Holy Spirit is not clear. The ancients say of him that he created the peacock, and it says in an ancient inscription that they accused Azazeel of committing and inciting only abominations. He wanted to prove to them that he was capable of creating beauty, so he created this bird. Once I said that to Azazeel and he smiled and shrugged his right shoulder in surprise.

  I heard the sound of little birds all around me and found the door to my room open, with Azazeel sitting silent at the door. I wanted to hear my voice come from him so I asked him which of his names was his favourite. He replied, ‘They’re all the same to me – Iblis, Satan, Ahriman, Azazeel, Beelzebub, Beelzaboul.’ I told him that in Hebrew Beelzaboul meant the Lord of the Rubbish, and Beelzebub meant the Lord of the Flies, so how could he take no interest in the differences between his various names and see them as all the same? ‘They’re all the same. The differences are in the words, not in the meaning, which is one,’ he said.

  I came to and saw Deacon wringing between my lips a piece of white cloth soaked in cold water. He then opened it out and put it on my forehead. I touched my face and it was covered in beads of sweat, as was the pillow. I asked Azazeel what was the common meaning of his many names and he said: ‘The Antithesis.’

  Azazeel is the antithesis of the deified God. That’s what he told me in a whisper in another language, not the previous language which I did not know. But I understood what he said and I was fascinated with the concept. So he is the antithesis of the God we know and whom we have defined as absolute good, and because everything has its opposite we have assigned as absolute evil an entity that is the antithesis of the one we had initially postulated. We have called it Azazeel and many other names.

  I whispered to him, ‘But Azazeel, you are the cause of evil in the world.’

  ‘Hypa, be sensible. I’m the one who justifies evil. So evil causes me.’

  ‘Have you not sown strife between the bishops? Confess!’

  ‘I perpetrate, I don’t confess, which is what they want from me.’

  ‘And you, don’t you want anything?’ I asked.

  ‘I am you, Hypa, and I am them. You see me at hand whenever you want or whenever they want. I’m always available to bear burdens, ward off sins and exonerate every convict. I am the will, the willer and the willed. I am the servant of mankind, the one who incites believers to pursue the threads of their fancies.’

  I felt dizzy and could not see clearly what was around me. I was in a place like my room and this face staring at me was like the abbot’s face, and the hymns I heard sounded like his voice. The air was stifling and the humidity made it hard to breathe.

  I let myself fall into a faint, just to rest a while, and a shiver shook me inside. I saw the sea at Alexandria and I saw myself circling deep in the water. Then an endless maelstrom swept me away.

  For a time I stayed trapped in the heart of the maelstrom which had taken me, examining the consistency of the water around me.

  ‘He’s woken up and he’s asking for food.’ Deacon’s voice came from behind the open door of the room. I didn’t pay attention to the meaning of what he said until he came in on me, full of cheer, and said, ‘The food will come shortly, father. We thank the Lord you have recovered. It’s a miracle from heaven. Everyone said you would die but I knew you would survive the fever.’

  ‘What fever, Deacon? I don’t understand anything.’

  ‘Don’t exert yourself, father. Relax, and the food will come.’

  I was very hungry and I longed to go outside into the daylight, but I was too weak even to sit up. My strength had completely dwindled. I could hardly say what I wanted and I asked Deacon to help me sit up straight. He lifted me under the arms and leant my back against the wall. I almost fainted but I heard footsteps approaching.

  Pharisee was the first into the room and his eyes were sparkling with delight. After him came a monk with a cup of soup. I took some sips but it hurt my stomach at first. Then the hunger got the better of the pain and I drank the whole cup. The monk went out and Deacon followed. Pharisee stayed at the door. I smiled at him with all the strength I could muster, and he came closer. I could see the tears in his eyes.

  ‘Take me to the library,’ I said.

  ‘Not now, Hypa. The sun is hot. We can go late in the afternoon.’

  Was the midday sun now stronger than I could bear, I whose bare head withstood its fierce rays for years? I wanted to speak to Pharisee but fits of drowsiness made me dizzy, then swept me away into unconsciousness. I hardly felt it when he put a blanket on me, went out and closed the door. When I came round again I had no idea of the time, and I was hungry and thirsty once more. There was no one in the room for me to ask for water. Leaning against the wall, I struggled to my feet, then staggered towards the water jar, which was covered with a round piece of wood. I lifted the lid, filled the copper cup and started to gulp down the water with unusual voracity. Water is the origin of life and my body was dried out, like a piece of land cracked through long drought.

  I leant my head against the wall and tried to gather up my strength. But I was too weak and I sat where I was for a while, until I was finally able to stand up again. When I opened the door, the light of the sun hurt my eyes. I shielded my eyes with my sleeve so that I could stand the light. I walked along, supporting myself against the wall of the corridor which links the monks’ rooms. I breathed deeply, then suddenly remembered Martha and shivered.

  I saw the monks coming out of church after the three o’clock prayers, wearing their holy day cassocks. They saw me and cheered, and most of them came up to me. I met them at the bottom of the stairway, after walking down with great care and with trembling legs. On our way to the library I found out from them that the fever had lasted a full twenty days. I wondered what kind of fever it could be that went on so long, and with such a short gap between successive bouts. Was it the diurnal fever, which brings bouts at night? Or was it the tertian fever, in which the bouts come every other day? It was certainly a severe fever rather than a chronic one, or else it would not have hit me in this violent manner. Twenty days. Acute fevers tend to kill the patient in less time than that. How did I survive? What course of treatment did they follow with me? Where’s Deacon for me to ask him? What happened in Ephesus? What were those visions that came to me during the bouts of fever? Was I really speaking to Azazeel, or was it just my fevered imagination?

  We reached the library with difficulty. One of the monks went ahead and opened the door for us. I found everything covered in dust. Places degenerate if people abandon them. One of the monks quickly found a piece of cloth and wiped the dust from where we were going to sit. About ten monks were hovering around me. I asked them for news about the ecumenical council and they all answered at once. Bishop Cyril had taken the initiative and, cheered on by the Egyptian monks and the general public, convened the council before the emperor arrived. Cyril chaired the meeting and collected signatures from a group of bishops and priests to an ecclesiastical decree deposing and excommunicating Bishop Nestorius. Bishop John of Antioch and Nestorius held another council a few days later in the same town, and also gathered signatures from a group of bishops and priests, to a resolution deposing and excommunicating Bishop Cyril. When the emperor arrived from Constantinople with the bishop
of Rome, they were angry at what had happened and, along with a group of bishops and priests, passed a resolution deposing and excommunicating the two main bishops. So Nestorius and Cyril were both excommunicated and expelled from the ranks of bishops and dismissed from the church.

  What utter madness was this? I looked at Pharisee, who had remained silent throughout the conversation. After a while he shook his head and pursed his lips, without saying anything. The abbot came in and the monks stood up out of respect for him. He indicated that he wanted to be alone with me so they left one by one, delighted that I had recovered from the fever but worried about the news from Ephesus.

  The abbot was about to speak when a servant came in with a square wooden board and on it an old copper cup full of soup and small pieces of chicken meat. He also brought a plate with some fresh fruit. The abbot waited till the servant had gone, then he offered me the soup and I took it with both hands. He urged me to drink it and I did so. He passed me the plate of fruit and insisted that I eat some. I took a piece and put the plate aside. We did not speak for a while, and the abbot was busy reciting prayers under his breath. I could not make out the words. When he had finished his muttering, I asked him, ‘So father, what is it that’s been happening in Ephesus?’

  ‘It was the turmoil and ambitions of the world which won the day.’

  ‘How will it end?’

  ‘Today they are holding the council officially, chaired by the emperor and the pope of Rome, although it’s Easter.’

  ‘Happy Easter, father. But do you think the crisis will pass?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Hypa. Satan is on the rampage in Ephesus.’

  I was perturbed that the abbot mentioned Satan – Azazeel – and I was so distressed at the sorrow which lined his face that I shuddered. The abbot noticed, stood up and advised me to rest until my days of convalescence had ended peacefully. He urged me to go back to my room to rest but I asked his permission to lie in the library, because I felt claustrophobic in my room and thought I could relax more among the bookshelves. He nodded in agreement and prepared to leave, while I prepared to sleep on the bench near the door.