“You said yourself there was no point to all of it, so who cares what we do or don’t do anymore?”
“You betrayed him, Lucifer. He trusted you, and you betrayed him. Why?” The elevator door opened, and I crossed the hallway to my apartment. “Is it because of her?” he said. “Did you do this just to impress a girl?”
“She doesn’t even know about it. I don’t need approval from her or you or Mephistopheles. I just want to be left alone.”
“Okay, Greta Garbo, I’ll leave you alone. You go in there and wallow in your misery and play with your piano and think about how much you hate your poor little self. Meanwhile, the rest of us will be out here trying to accomplish something, or at least have fun trying.” He got back in the elevator. “If this is the way you’re going to be, then we don’t need you. Think about that.”
For the first hour, I sat on my sofa and played with the snow globe Gianna had given me. I tipped it, watched the little white paint flecks drift and fall through the baby oil sky, then shook it so that all the snow fell off the branches of the Christmas tree in the center. Finally, I put it down, picked up the phone and dialed the leader of my armed forces.
“Moloch, it’s Lucifer.”
“Sir!”
“Colonel, I’m sorry I’ve been putting you off for so long. I’d like to take a look at those plans.”
The following morning I drove north into the central Maryland hills, on the outskirts of Camp David, to Moloch’s underground military headquarters.
As I entered the war room, a wave of nostalgia swept over me. Around this long, oval table I had plotted hundreds of revolutions and counterrevolutions. Dozens of maps covered with colored pins lined the walls, remnants of the days before we simulated our wars on a computer screen.
“I want to see that map,” I told Moloch.
“Which one, sir?”
“The one you tried to show me a couple of months ago. The back door to Heaven you said you found.”
“Ah, that one.” Moloch’s stiff face couldn’t restrain a smile. He reached into a drawer at the end of the table and pulled out a large rolled-up sheet of paper.
“Here you are, sir. Since I last spoke with you, we’ve been able to narrow it down to within a few meters.”
He unrolled the map in front of me and secured its corners with paperweights. My eyes were drawn to the star in the center indicating the alleged portal. I scanned the area around it, then spied the name of the nearby river. I looked at Moloch.
“This is a fucking joke, right?”
“I’ve never been known for my sense of humor, sir.”
“But how can this be?” I wrapped my fingers around one of the paperweights. “You’d better be damn sure about this.”
“General, I assure you, we’ve never been this certain about anything.”
“But why there? I don’t get it.”
“Perhaps we’re not meant to get it, if you know what I mean.”
“Moloch, don’t hand me any of that ‘mysterious ways’ bullshit. This just doesn’t make sense.” I grabbed the map and shook it at him. “I want answers, Colonel. I want to know why.”
“Sir, perhaps the answer is simply, because.” He spread his hands. “What does it matter, why? It just is. Be grateful we know that much.”
“I suppose. I just . . . I just always imagined it would be in the Himalayas.” I rolled up the map. “I’ll take this copy.”
“Certainly, sir. Did you want to hear about my invasion strategies?”
“Put them in a report. Right now, I want you to think defensively. Put all the troops on alert.”
“Sir, is everything all right?”
“I’m not sure.” I clutched the map in my hands. “There’s a storm coming, Moloch. Maybe it just wants me, but we should all be careful.”
“Lucifer, you know we’d fight to the death to protect you.”
Moloch seemed so determined and small, like a terrier ready to wrestle a hurricane.
“I know,” I said. “Thank you. I may need you soon.”
“It would be an honor, General.”
I returned his salute and left before I could tell him the truth: that nothing was an honor anymore.
32
Ingemisco Tanquam Reus
I drove back to my office, determined to do some serious work, to prove to myself and the others that I hadn’t become a soft-hearted, ineffectual slug, that I had not only plenty of evil left in me, but also directions in which to send it.
The map bothered me, though, and in between phone calls and advisory meetings I would unfurl it and scrutinize the red star and its surroundings, trying to apprehend the meaning behind the apparent absurdity. I flipped through my address book and collection of business cards for someone I could trust, someone who could give me a piece of the puzzle.
Gianna.
Yes, this map pointed to a truth that she grasped, a truth I hadn’t even begun to reach for. I called her office.
“Gianna, it’s me.”
“What do you want?”
“I need some advice,” I said.
“Legal advice? I thought you had your own team of sharks.”
“No, not that. I need . . . spiritual advice . . . sort of.”
“Is this a trick?”
“No. Gianna, I need answers, and you’re the only one who can help me. There’s something I want to show you.”
The phone was silent for several seconds. “All right. I’ll come by later.”
“This had better be good.”
I stood aside to let Gianna step into my apartment. “Would you like a drink?”
“What did you want to show me?”
“So much for formalities.” I led her into the living room, where the map lay spread on a coffee table.
We sat on the couch, and Gianna examined the map. She pointed to the red star. “What’s that?”
“It’s a back door, a portal. To Heaven.”
Gianna huffed and started to stand up. “I didn’t come here so you could play with my mind, Lou.”
“I’m not kidding,” I said. “Believe me, I wish I were. If I were lying, do you think I’d invent that as a location?”
“Sure, why not? It makes sense.”
I almost fell off the couch. “It does?!”
“If it is what you say it is.”
“Explain it to me. Why there? I expected it to be in a cave on a two-mile-high mountain, or maybe in the Amazon rain forest.”
“No.” She sat down and gestured at the star. “This place is about people. It’s about suffering, and compassion, and death. Seems like an appropriate place to me.”
“But isn’t it a bit . . . lowly? A bit wretched?”
“You can’t buy your way into Heaven,” she said. “Remember? ‘The last shall be first, and the first shall be last.’”
“How could I forget?”
“What I want to know is, how does this exist at all?”
“Physics isn’t exactly my strong suit,” I said, “but the best way to explain it is that there’s this stuff that humans have named exotic matter. It’s got a negative energy density and therefore negative mass and even negative gravity. So it actually repels material and creates a sort of hole. Now a hole big enough to fit an actual human body would create a rip in the space-time fabric and literally cause all Hell to break loose. But anything whose essence is spirit, like a human soul, or an angel, can pop in and out of these entrances—that is, if they vibrate at the right frequencies.”
“What are the right frequencies?”
“It depends on who you are. You need a different quantum password, so to speak, to get into Hell or Heaven. They can’t visit us, we can’t visit them. We can’t even detect each other’s entrances.”
“But you found one of theirs,” she said. “Lou, what if this door was meant for you?”
“You mean as a trap? I’ve thought of that.”
“No, not a trap. An invitation.”
“That�
��s impossible,” I said.
“Why is it impossible?”
“Unforgiven means unforgiven. Forever. Even if it were possible, I wouldn’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d be here.”
“What if this is your only chance? What if this offer expires if you don’t accept it?”
“I don’t care,” I said. “I want to be with you.”
“Lou . . .” She bent her head forward. A lock of hair fell onto her face. I brushed it back and rested my hand on her cheek.
“I love you, Gianna. I’d give up everything to be with you, so please let me be with you.”
I kissed her softly, and felt her wilt beneath my lips. She put her hand against mine. It trembled like an injured bird.
“Marry me, Gianna.”
She jerked back, stifled a choke, then began to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I said.
“Marry you? You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not kidding. You didn’t think it was funny before, on New Year’s Eve.”
“But then you weren’t—I mean, I didn’t know who you were.”
“And now?”
“Come on, Lou, you can’t expect—”
“Can’t expect what?” I lurched off the sofa. “You already said yes once. I know things are different now, but you said you still love me.”
“I do, but—”
“Then marry me, Gianna.”
“Why?” She stood and faced me. “Why would you want to get married? It’s a sacrament.”
“Because I want to have a normal life with you, in the eyes of society, in the eyes of your family. Because I want to have children with you.”
She recoiled. “Children? You want me to have your children?”
“I’ve never had any. Contrary to legend, I don’t run around impregnating every woman I see. You think I like the idea of a bunch of little me’s lurking around the planet? I couldn’t stand the competition.” I moved toward her. “But with you, I think I could create something beautiful.”
“No! I won’t bring more evil into this world.”
“Gianna, listen—”
“No!” She held out her hand to keep me away. “I would have married Louis Carvalho in a second. But I’ll die before I give birth to the spawn of Satan!”
The word stopped my breath on its way out. My lip curled into a snarl.
“I told you NEVER to call me that!” I grabbed the snow globe from the table at my side and hurled it to the floor at her feet. I stepped over the broken glass towards her. The smell of baby oil and paint flecks filled the air between us.
Her face crumpled in fury. “I am not afraid of you!”
“You should be!” I grasped her chin with one hand and burned my eyes into hers. “I sure as hell am.”
“Then let go of me before you do something we’ll both hate you for.”
“As if we don’t both hate me already.” I jerked my hand from her head.
Gianna choked back a sob “What have I done? I should have stayed with Adam. He was a real angel.”
“Stop speaking every thought that enters your head. You might accidentally reveal stupidity.”
She slapped me. I didn’t flinch. She slapped me again and again. Finally I restrained her arms.
“Stop that,” I said. She kicked me in the shin. “Ow!!” I let go of her and bent over in pain.
“Don’t ever call me stupid,” she said.
“I didn’t say you were stupid. What you said was stupid, though.”
“I meant it.”
“No, you didn’t. You have no regrets. If you did, you wouldn’t be here right now.” She was silent. “I’m tired of you running in and out on me, Gianna.” I sat on the floor and rubbed my shin. “Do you think you can’t hurt me? If you do, then you are stupid, and cruel. So either stay or leave, but whatever you do, it has to be for good. If you try to leave . . .”
She took a step backward.
“If you try to leave,” I said, “I’ll let you go. No more arguments. It’s time for the jury to retire.” I got to my feet. “Speaking of retiring, I’m going to bed now. When I wake up, if I sleep, you’ll either be lying beside me or gone forever. It’s your choice. It’s always been your choice.” I limped to the bedroom door and turned to face her. “I love you, Gianna, but you can’t save me. If you stay, it has to be for you, not for me. Look at your life and decide if I belong there.”
I left her standing in the center of my living room. Once I had slipped under the sheets and lay in silence, I could hear her sobs float through the door. The sound compressed the blood vessels in my chest and throat until I could barely breathe. I stared at the doorknob for hours, but it never turned.
I must have fallen asleep, for it was light when my eyes opened again. Afraid to see my solitude, I reached out a hand behind me. Cold sheets met my touch. I closed my eyes and wondered if I could sleep another century until the pain faded.
A sound came from the living room. I leapt out of bed and opened the door. Gianna was lying on the sofa.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her eyes were red and swollen. “The jury’s still out. Forgive me.”
33
Nil Inultum Remanebit
To distract myself from my emotional crisis, I spent the morning brain-deep in the latest astrophysics research. In the last few years, I had become so preoccupied with mundane economic and political “realities” that I had neglected to track human awareness of the largest and smallest questions.
I was so engrossed in this study that I jumped when Gianna burst through my office door.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s good to see—”
“Have you seen this atrocity?” She slapped the morning’s Washington Post onto my desk. The main headline read “Senator Kills Foreign Aid Bill.”
“Redskins are out of the playoffs. Shame about that.”
“No, this.” She pointed to the center of the page. A bloated, balding man—Gianna’s “Senator Scrooge”—stood before Congress, caught in midrant. “Those people are starving, and that monster won’t send food because they’re Communists. As if Communists can’t feel hunger.”
“He knows they feel hunger,” I said. “He’s glad they feel hunger. If people are hungry enough, they’ll start killing each other for resources, and the next thing you know, they’ll be capitalists.”
“Can’t you do something about this?”
“You mean stop the famine? That would involve creation, not destruction. Sorry.” I scanned the article. “However, maybe I could do something about the senator.”
“Is he one of yours?”
“One of mine?” I snickered. “Oh, that’s a good one. No, he’s just some guy.”
“Oh.”
“Some guy with a wife, two kids and a dog. Visits his mother every Sunday. No, wait . . . two dogs now. They just got a new puppy.” I set the paper aside and took another sip of coffee. “But I can have him killed for you. Just say the word.”
“No!”
“That’s not the word, Gianna. The word is ‘yes.’”
“I don’t want you to kill him!”
“Don’t you?” I stood and leaned over my desk to face her at eye level. “Don’t you hate this man?”
“Yes, but—”
“And don’t you think the world would be a better place without him?”
“I—”
“He stands in the way of so much good, doesn’t he? It isn’t fair that someone so despicable, so small-minded, should have so much power.”
She took a half-step backwards, but kept staring at me. “Think about it,” I said. “All the lives that could be saved, the anguish avoided.” I reached out and touched her cheek. “Gianna, let me help you in the only way I know how.”
“Lou, it’s not right.” She took my hand from her face but did not let go of it. “It’s not right.”
“What he does isn’t right, either.” I picked up the phone. “All it takes i
s one call. Seven little digits.” I began to dial. “1-2-3-” I looked at her. “What’s it gonna be?”
“Don’t.”
“4-5-6.” I drew her finger towards the last button. “It could all be fixed.”
She pulled her hand out of mine and placed it on the phone line’s glowing light. The dial tone rose from the receiver.
“You’ve made your point,” she said.
“Good. Wanna have lunch?”
“No, I should go.”
“Why? Do you have a meeting?”
“No.” She backed away. “I just think . . . I need to be away from you for a while.”
“Again? What now?”
“I don’t like what you’re doing to me, Lou.” She pointed to the phone. “I really wanted you to make that call. I still do.”
“And?”
“And I don’t like the part of me that wants that. I don’t know where that came from.”
“And you think it’s my fault?” I moved toward her and saw that, for the first time, she was afraid of me.
“I—I don’t know.” She put her hand on the doorknob. “But if I can just get away from you, maybe it’ll go away.”
She opened the door. I pushed it shut and glared down at her.
“No, Gianna, it won’t go away.”
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“Please, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m not scaring you, Gianna. You’re scaring you.” I grabbed her arm and dragged her to the mirror. “Look.” I clutched her chin. “Look at this self-righteous little face. Look in your own eyes and tell yourself that you are innocent, that it was I who planted these dark impulses in your heart.”
“Lou—”
“Don’t look at me. Look at yourself, because in the end, that’s all you have, and you have to accept everything that you are, the beautiful and the ugly, the noble and the depraved. If you don’t face your sins, they will consume you as they have consumed me.”
“No!” She slipped out of my grip, backed away and pointed at me. “I am not like you!”
“You’re not?” I advanced towards her again, and this time she did not even flinch. “Who are you like, then?” She didn’t answer. I laughed. “Oh, yes, made in his image. You are truly one of his children if you condemn those whose ways you do not understand.” I picked up the newspaper. “Smite the Canaanites, smite the Babylonians . . .” I threw the paper at her feet. “Why not smite the Republicans?”
Requiem for the Devil Page 28
