triumphantly.
“He’s not hiding. I’ll take ye to him and ye can talk to him yerself if my explanations don’t suit yer noble arse. ‘Assimilation mentor’ they said. ‘It will be fun,’ they said. Aye, no appreciation,” Sisyphus complained.
“He’d see me?” asked Bill suspiciously.
“Aye,” replied Sisyphus, veering them off the stony path, “He’s got all the time in the world. In a jar, I’d think. He won’t let ye see that, though,” he said as he poked Bill in the chest, “He keeps that prize locked up pre-tty well, yes sir. We lost a lot of good men to secure that one. A glorious battle it was when we stormed—”
“Conquering Heaven. Despicable. Unspeakable. I can almost see it, the dreadful moment when Satan dug his claws into the throne of the mighty Lord,” Bill snarled.
“We didn’t conquer Heaven—we aren’t at war with God,” laughed Sisyphus, “He left on his own. Last I heard he was in Anchorage disguised as a dog-sled captain. Never lost a race, they say. Not fair if ye ask me, but I suppose crime is down…” Sisyphus rambled.
Bill and Sisyphus ambled along the cobblestone path until they reached an angel sitting at a worn wooden desk.
“Here we are now,” said Sisyphus, “say yer piece w’thim and be done w’thit, I say.”
Bill puffed his chest out and strode forward to the desk, “I’m here to see—hey, didn’t I—”
The wiry old angel with the droopy nose looked up from his scrolls, “What is it now, spit it out. You’re here to see Lucifer, is that it?”
Bill stared at the angel wide eyed, “Why, you were at the gate—How did you—”
“’E’s a busy man you know, on with you then!” cracked the sharp voice of the hunched angel. He immediately went back to his scrolls.
Bill eyed the old angel warily, keeping a safe distance as he passed.
Bill opened—with some difficulty—the heaviest door he had ever encountered and strode into the largest room he had ever seen. The floor was rough concrete and the walls appeared to be corrugated sheet metal. At the far end of the wall was a small desk and a man sitting at it, though he was too far away to discern clearly. Bill strode across the vaulted room, taking in the high ceiling and small windows that lined the upper walls. After several minutes of plodding, Bill reached the other end to see a man intently running his fingers along a number of scrolls on his desk and murmuring under his breath.
“You must be Lucifer,” accused Bill. The man looked up, startled.
“How rude of me—yes that’s me. I’m dreadfully sorry, I didn’t even hear you. It’s these high ceilings you see, the acoustics—”
“Do you really need a warehouse for an office?” challenged Bill, immediately on the offensive in an attempt to prove his faith. I shall not fail this test. I have come too far.
Lucifer cast his eyes down, “I know, it’s dreadful. But with elections coming up, my marketing team insists it’s more impressive. Industrialize. Optimize. Synergize,” reflected Lucifer with a tinge of sadness.
“You hold elections here? Ha, and how often are these so-called elections?” asked Bill.
“Why, every day, obviously. In fact, the results are just coming in…” Lucifer’s sentence fell off as he put one finger to his ear, “…And it seems I’ve been re-elected. This calls for celebration, wouldn’t you say?” he remarked cheerfully as he removed the lid from a glass container on his desk. The rich smell of single malt scotch filled the room. He poured himself a glass and offered one to Bill.
“Don’t touch the stuff,” Bill sniffed. Man, I could use a drink. Outside of a dream, this was to be the first time Bill ever consciously told a lie.
“A pity. Suit yourself,” said Lucifer as he brought the glass to his lips and took a delicate sniff with closed eyes, followed by a sip. “Ah,” he exhaled.
“How often do you get re-elected?” asked Bill suspiciously.
“Nearly every day,” Lucifer remarked proudly.
“Imposs—Wait a second, are you wearing Google glasses? Those haven’t even been released yet! How do you have those here?” asked Bill.
“My boy, you don’t get as good as Google without a little ‘outside help’, if you know what I mean,” Lucifer said with a wink.
“I’m sure I’d rather not,” said Bill.
“Well, how can I help you today…Err, haven’t been pleased to make the acquaintance—”
“Bill. You can help me by releasing your grip on Heaven and delivering it back to God,” said Bill, ever the faithful servant.
“We all know that’s not going to happen. Last I heard he’s in Siberia breeding hounds for bird-dog hunting competitions. Surely one can argue it’s dishonest to win every time, but I suppose crime is down—”
“Enough!” The confrontation was not going according to plan. Bill cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted to the ceiling, “I’ve clearly demonstrated my loyalty to God, but this test is simply ridiculous. Can I go to Heaven already?” The deafening echo reverberated several times before the cavernous office fell quiet again.
“Look,” said Lucifer impatiently, “you have my blessing if you’d like to run for Governor, but if that’s all, I’ve got a war to fight so if you’d please—”
“And just who are you at war with?” demanded Bill.
“We are at war with Father Time, of course,” said Lucifer.
“Ah, picking on an old man eh?” nodded Bill.
Lucifer looked at him with a hint of impatience. “Father Time is not one to play games. He passed The Glorious Legislative Bill of Gravitationally-Influenced Temporal Dilation Bill of Legislative Glory over fourteen billion years ago that legalized slowing down time closer to a gravity well. Being well above Earth, that is a direct attack on Heaven. Have they begun teaching phyziks on Earth yet? The old curmudgeon is playing with us.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it. I’d sooner trust Father Time than a man with horns,” countered Bill, his patience thinning.
“I don’t have horns…” said Lucifer as he felt the top of his head nervously.
“Nonsense, you’re a shapeshifter,” asserted Bill.
“I should hope not,” said Lucifer with horror, “I was born how I am, the same as you,” defended Lucifer.
“Impossible. Only humans were crafted in the image of God!” Bill bellowed overly loud in hopes that God would hear Bill’s noble defense.
“Humans made in God’s image?” Lucifer laughed, “Please, that’s dogs.”
“What do you mean that’s dogs?” demanded Bill uncertainly.
“You didn’t actually think…you’re serious? Well, yes, dogs were crafted in God’s image. Isn’t it obvious? Dog is jus God backwards. God loves dogs so much, he even created an entire planet dedicated to them,” explained Lucifer.
Bill gaped, “There’s no way…”
“It’s true. God created humans to serve them. God only cares about dogs,” said Lucifer as he examined one of the scrolls dutifully.
“I refuse to believe that. God watches over all living things with love,” objected Bill.
“Well, I suppose that’s true if you’re in the Siberia, or Alaska, or wherever he is now…” mused Lucifer as he opened a new scroll.
“Exactly! Like the town of Nome in 1925. God saved those people from the epidemic with that sled team, what was the name?” Bill fell into deep thought.
“Balto?” asked Lucifer.
“That’s the one! You’ve gone and proven my point. Balto was a wolf,” said Bill.
“Half wolf,” Lucifer pointed out, “and he didn’t do it for the people, he just couldn’t bear to see the dog fail, not with a rich furry coat like Balto’s. He wouldn’t shut up about that coat.”
Bill’s mouth twisted in disgust at being outmaneuvered and he fumed silently for a moment. Then it hit him.
“If God only watches over dogs, how can you explain when The Lord delivered the Hebrews out of Egypt?” Bill stated triumphantly.
“Ah, you’re not
going to like this,” said Lucifer carefully.
“Well go on, spit it out,” said Bill impatiently.
“You see,” began Lucifer delicately, “the Pharaohs were quite fond of cats, and dogs aren’t kosher in the Hebrew diet…it was the natural choice, you see.”
“You’re telling me that God favors dogs, but the seven billion humans on Earth is a mere coincidence?” questioned Bill.
Lucifer shook his head, “Can you name a society in which the elite class is the majority, Bill?”
Bill’s eyes fell in despair and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “This isn’t a test, is it? The Devil is really in charge here,” moaned Bill.
“That is quite offensive you know. In my own office, no less,” said a bewildered Lucifer, “If there was ever a nickname that stuck like glue…” he grumbled bitterly.
“Ahem,” a crackly voice peeped out of the shadows. Lucifer peered at the wiry old angel with the droopy nose, his spindly legs and hunched back giving the impression of a sprouting lima bean, “They’re calling for a recount, m’Lord.”
“Don’t m’Lord me, give them a recount. And please, for the love of God, don’t cheat this time.”
The wiry angel bobbed his head and retreated back into the shadows, shuffling his feet backwards noisily.
“If we’re really in Heaven, which God created, where are all the dogs?” asked Bill in defeat.
The crackly voiced peeped out of the shadows once again. Bill and Lucifer turned to look at the wiry old angel with the droopy nose. “Ah, Lucifer is more fond of scales. In truth, it gives him a bad reputation, but reptiles do metabolize more efficiently.
Transcripts from the Other Side Page 2