A Hideous Beauty

by Jack Cavanaugh

  Granite angel’s response was swift. An invisible fist reached past my lapel and into my upper chest, fastening onto my windpipe, cutting off my breath, forcing me to my knees.

  “ENOUGH!”

  A second invisible hand broke granite angel’s grip. It was Abdiel. I could breathe again. But another threat quickly surfaced as a scuffle broke out with me in the middle.

  “I SAID ENOUGH!”

  The tower trembled with the force of the voice.

  Both sides backed away.

  “I will not tolerate this human’s insolence,” granite angel boomed. “It disrespects the lives of the warriors we lost today.”

  “Both sides lost friends today,” Abdiel replied.

  “And why? Because of him!” Granite angel’s finger singled me out in case anyone had any doubt. “He isn’t worth it.”

  “I agree. He isn’t worth it,” Abdiel said, a little too quickly for my taste. “But if we fight we will lose only more friends and deepen our sorrow.”

  “Let’s be done with it, then,” granite angel said.

  Semyaza took that as his cue. He stepped forward. “Grant Austin, do you understand the purpose of this tribunal?”

  I was rubbing my throat, though it did little to massage the pain, which was much deeper. My voice was raspy when I spoke. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I am here to declare my allegiance,” I said. “But before I do, I have a request.”

  The circle crackled with dissension.

  Before anyone could deny the request, I stated it. “I would like to ask if my grandfather, Azazel, is present. If he is, I’d like to meet him.”

  “He is.”

  The voice came from near the middle of the rogue-angel side. To my relief, it wasn’t granite angel.

  Azazel resumed normal size and stepped forward. I turned to meet him, not knowing what I would do or say. I hadn’t planned this. The thought had just occurred to me and I acted on it.

  The being standing before me was attractive by any standards, with sparkling eyes, a strong jaw, and confident presence. He reminded me of Douglas Fairbanks, or any number of dashing leading men of the black-and-white film era.

  I wondered what he thought when he looked at me, his grandson. Was he proud? Ashamed? Indifferent? I couldn’t tell from looking at him.

  How did I feel when I looked at him? It was hard to say. If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be alive. But then, if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be condemned to live for eternity as a tormented demon.

  Looking him in the eye, I said, “A few moments ago, I was blamed for what happened today, for the loss of life, both angel and human. But it’s not my fault, is it? It’s yours. Everything that happened today happened because you couldn’t control your lust.”

  Within seconds of Lieutenant Noonan’s rockets hitting the bridge, a tsunami of phone calls hit the San Diego Police Department. Now, after midnight, things were finally beginning to calm down. Marie Klesko, an attractive, single woman in her twenties, slumped in her chair, having survived a month’s worth of activity in one shift, coordinating police units with fire and federal agencies as the city stepped to the brink of panic and threatened to jump.

  With the activity on her computer screens looking almost normal again, she anticipated the end of her shift and driving home to her apartment, where she would make herself a bowl of nachos, play with her dog Beelzebub, and watch old episodes of Friends.

  With only ten minutes remaining on her shift, the weird calls started coming in. She dismissed the first calls as pranks. But the calls kept coming. Unhooking her headset, she walked to the window. The fourth floor provided her with a panoramic view of the city.

  “What’s up?” Her supervisor came up behind her.

  “I’m getting crazy calls about the Emerald Plaza.”

  “What kind of crazy?”

  “That there’s some sort of green thunderstorm on the top of one of the towers.”

  “Thunderstorm? It’s a clear night.”

  “Yeah . . . so how do you explain that?”

  In the distance they could see the Emerald Plaza. The top of the tallest tower was capped with smoke that pulsed with a green light.

  “Should I send someone to investigate?” Marie asked.

  “That’s really weird,” the supervisor said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I hate sending someone after everything that’s happened today. Besides, what do I tell them? Investigate a possible atmospheric disturbance atop the Emerald Plaza?”

  The supervisor cracked her gum. “Send Sharki,” she said. “He’s into weird.”

  Once again I found myself kissing gravel for my insolence. Once again a scuffle of heavyweights threatened to steamroll over me.

  There had been a time in my life when I thought that if I ever found angels to the left of me and angels to the right of me I’d be in heaven. But that was before I learned heaven’s gate was locked to me and nobody had a key.

  Once order was restored I was back on my feet in the center of the circle. I felt like a man alone on a bridge surrounded by twenty-four FA-18 Hornets.

  “You have a statement to make,” Semyaza snapped.

  I took a ragged breath. The fight had gone out of me. Semyaza was right. I was overmatched. I couldn’t win. A heavy weariness came over me. I wore it like a shroud.

  But before I could speak, company came.

  I don’t know why I was surprised. If I was going to pledge allegiance to him, it was only right that Lucifer would be there to receive it.

  Of greater surprise than his coming was his appearance. He didn’t come as a roaring lion. A soft glow preceded him, and when he materialized his beauty was stunning.

  Naturally every angel in the circle recognized him and afforded him the respect due a powerful leader. I’ve been in rooms when charismatic world leaders were announced. Heads turn. A hush falls over the room in anticipation.

  So it was now. To say his coming took my breath away doesn’t begin to describe what I felt. I found myself in the presence of beauty incarnate.

  My lips wanted to sing his praises. My feet wanted to dance and my hands wave in adoration. My knees . . . my knees almost betrayed me. Never have I been so overwhelmed by such wondrous glory. I wanted to bow down to him. I started to bow down to him.

  And then Abdiel said, “Lucifer.”

  I caught myself.

  I couldn’t believe what I had almost done. Lucifer was so alluring, I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was almost too late. So attracted was I to his radiance, I nearly offered him an eternity of torment for a moment of it.

  Does true beauty demand a price? What kind of beauty enslaves the worshipper, hurts you and leaves you poorer for the experience, and exchanges a moment of pleasure for a lifetime of regret?

  A hideous beauty.

  That’s how the professor described it, didn’t he?

  Lucifer did not join the circle. He remained at an elevated distance.

  Semyaza said, “The time has come, Grant Austin.”

  All eyes turned to me. I fought to keep from looking at Lucifer, afraid that if I did I’d sell myself out. Even then I wasn’t sure how much longer I could resist. His allure went beyond visual. I could feel its tug on me.

  “You’ve convinced me,” I said to the circle. “Your argument was overwhelming. How can I compete against powers and authorities that can do the things you do? While others are protected by the Holy Spirit, because of who I am, that protection has been denied me. I stand alone.”

  “All you need do is bend your knee and pledge your allegiance to Lucifer and this tribunal is adjourned,” Semyaza said. “Afterward we’ll go someplace and begin planning the life you’ve always wanted.”

  “The presidential suite of the U.S. Grant Hotel?”

  “If that is your wish.”

  I couldn’t help but grin. The life I’ve always wanted. And they could do it too. After what I’d seen this afternoon, I was convinc
ed of it.

  “By the way,” I said, “that was quite a demonstration you put on for me today—”

  “Just kneel and pledge,” granite angel barked.

  “Yeah, well about that . . . no. It isn’t going to happen. The thing about making choices is to know your options, not only what you’re choosing, but what you’re giving up. And so, at the recommendation of a friend, I did a little reading in the Gospels about your competition. And I have to say, while your demonstration was powerful and flashy, when I compared it to the three-year demonstration of the Son . . . well, let me put it this way . . . I would rather be on the side that builds than destroys, that edifies rather than deceives, that heals rather than hurts. I want to spend whatever days are granted me making people happy rather than trying to figure out ways they can make me happy.”

  “Fool!” Semyaza shouted. “Without Lucifer, you have no life, only torment.”

  Lucifer stepped forward, instantly commanding attention. He addressed me directly. “You would choose to serve the Father who has denied salvation to you and your kind, thus condemning you to eternal torment?”

  Speaking to the gravel, for I dared not look up, I replied, “It’s true. The Son cannot be my Savior. But where does it say that prevents me from serving him? That is my choice whether in this world, or in a world of torment. If I am destined to be a missionary to the demons, so be it.”

  “Look at me!” Lucifer thundered.

  I took a deep breath. He was right. If I was going to choose against him, I should be man enough to look him in the eye when I did it.

  Slowly, I raised my head, focusing hard on what I had to say, not on him.

  When our eyes met, I nearly lost it. I saw every dream, every hope, every promise of happiness reflected in his eyes. And I wanted to believe him.

  A memory flashed of how I had imagined it would be like to be chosen by the prettiest, most popular girl on campus. How one look in her eyes conquered me. How her smile melted me. Take that memory and multiply by infinity and you have an understanding of what I felt at that moment gazing into Lucifer’s eyes.

  Somehow, I managed to say, “In ages past, you made your choice. Respect my right to make mine. If there is any doubt as to where I stand, hear this: I will serve the Son. Though you slay me, I will serve him; though he condemns me to torment, I will serve him.”

  Lucifer made no reply. He didn’t fly into a rage. Why should he? What was I to him? He vanished, leaving me in the hands of the tribunal.

  Semyaza was beside himself.

  Overhead the assembled demons became agitated, anxious for what was to happen next.

  “You ungrateful wretch,” Semyaza spat. “Arrogance has always been your blind side. How many times have I used your pigheadedness to lure you to do my bidding? And now it will be your undoing. You underestimate the agony that awaits you. Reconsider, before it’s too late.”

  I turned to him and said, “You know, for some reason, you look smaller. What you call pigheadedness, I call free will. You’ve heard my choice. Do what you will.”

  Semyaza grinned that insufferable grin of his. “With pleasure,” he said.

  When I was a child I would sometimes watch old westerns on Saturday afternoons. A standard scene was when the cowboy in the black hat, the bad guy, finally got his due and was riddled with bullets. Replace bullets with demons and you have a picture of what happened to me next.

  Demons hit me from every direction, clawing their way into my chest and back and face and throat and arms and legs. Penetrating my heart. Filling my mind. They squeezed my optic nerves until I became blind and clamped my vocal chords so that I was mute. I filled up quickly, still they came, elbowing and bickering for space. A myriad of anguished voices screamed in my head.

  Vaguely I felt myself dropping to my knees, then my hands. The pain was incredible, but I had no voice to express it. I wanted to pass out, but they wouldn’t let me. With every second I was losing control. They flopped me onto my back, racking my body with convulsions.

  Though I couldn’t see them, I fought to stretch a pleading hand in the direction of the faithful angels, praying that one of them might touch it and out of pity give me a measure of relief. My hand clutched air.

  The next thing I knew my arm was flopping against the gravel. I’d lost control of it. But there was a greater concern. I was being trampled to death from the inside.

  How to fight them? If I struck them, I bruised myself. If I clawed at them I tore my own flesh. How do you fight an enemy you can’t see . . . can’t touch? How do you do battle with spirit beings?

  For our struggle is not against flesh and blood . . .

  I was writhing on the floor.

  . . . but against spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

  You fight a spiritual battle with spiritual weapons.

  My father was in me possessing me. I could feel him.

  . . . so that when the day of evil comes . . .

  My chest was so full of demons I could barely breathe.

  . . . you may be able to stand . . .

  The voices! I couldn’t think for all the voices! Covering my ears couldn’t shut them out. Fight them. Think. Don’t let them take your mind.

  . . . and after you have done everything . . .

  There were too many of them. And they were too strong. I couldn’t . . . but I had to . . . I couldn’t let them take my mind. Think! After you have done everything . . . what? What comes next?

  They were too strong.

  After you have done everything . . . to stand.

  Yes!

  To stand . . . to stand!

  They tried to rip the thought away. I wouldn’t let them. I clutched it. Protected it. Pushed them away.

  Stand firm, then . . .

  I fought them for control of my arms and legs. Ignoring other areas, I concentrated on my arms and legs. There were too many of them. And they were too strong.

  It was no use. I couldn’t do it. I tried. God knows I tried. But they were too strong. And there were too many of them. It was humanly impossible.

  Stand firm then.

  Humanly impossible . . . humanly . . . but I was only part human. The other part of me was angel.

  On the bay hadn’t I seen the angelic realm? I didn’t know I could do that, but I did it. I saw with angel eyes.

  I clung to that thought. I was part angel. What else could I do?

  Standing over me, the circle of angels chatted as though they were at a cocktail party. Renewing old acquaintances. Exchanging stories about business, swapping stock tips. One of them laughed. They were oblivious to my torment.

  It infuriated me.

  Somewhere inside of me was angel and I was going to find it. I reached deep, summoning strength I never knew I had. Summoning angel strength . . .

  To stand. Stand firm, then.

  I clenched a fist. Then another. It was a heady experience. With excruciating effort I managed to do what most six-month- old babies can do, I rolled over onto my stomach. Then, winning the tug-of-war for my arms, I placed my palms against the gravel.

  . . . and after you have done everything, to stand.

  The demons rallied. But they fought each other as much as they fought me and my determination was greater. I pushed myself up onto my knees.

  . . . so that when the day of evil comes . . .

  One foot hit the gravel.

  To stand.

  The battle for control of the second foot took longer. A surge of strength came to me when I realized I was kneeling. I couldn’t stay like this. I hadn’t fought this hard to kneel. I was going to stand. My second foot hit the gravel.

  Screaming with exertion, I managed to straighten up. Screaming. I heard it. I had my voice. I wanted sight as well. If they were going to kill me, they’d have to do it while I was standing and looking them in the eyes.

  My chest heaving, sweat streaming down my temples and cheeks, holding off counterattacks of demons who wanted my arms and legs,
I fought the battle for my optic nerves.

  I saw angels. Blurred. Standing as trees. Then clearer.

  The chatter stopped. They were looking at me. I looked at them.

  Abdiel.

  Semyaza.

  Azazel.

  Granite angel.

  All of them.

  I knew that at any moment any one of them could strike me dead and end the feast of demons. But for this moment I had their attention. I stood in the center of their circle.

  With voices screaming in my head, with demons tearing at my insides, fighting for every breath, every heartbeat, somehow, I managed to speak.

  Fighting to form each word, I said, “Hi-ho, the derry-o, the cheese stands alone.”

  There was stunned silence.

  Fuming, the granite angel said, “Enough of this foolishness. Finish him.”

  The next moment the darkness hid and the night became light all around us. A ring of angels, larger than the tribunal, encircled us, a hundred count at least. Then circle upon circle filled the sky, until there were thousands of them, ten thousand upon ten thousand.

  With one voice they were singing.

  Great is the Lord and worthy of his praise

  His kingdom endures forever.

  Let the seas resound and the rivers rejoice,

  On the day of the Father’s visitation.

  I felt a presence of such magnitude and weight, I could stand no longer. I sank to my knees. All around me the angels of the tribunal knelt and bowed their heads. Not out of duty, nor of fear, but out of the sheer energy of His nearness. Every inch of my being, every molecule came alive, charged with new life as it had never been before.

  Time could not encompass Him. It bowed to its creator. In reverence, the universe ceased to tick.

  The Spirit of the Father drew intimately near and entered me. The demons within me hushed and trembled at his presence.

  Leave him.

  At the Father’s command the demons skittered like cockroaches in a sudden light. I was free of them. I breathed freely. My mind was uncluttered. My muscles relaxed, weary from the fight.