I, Lucifer: Finally, the Other Side of the Story (33 page)

`I can see you're not taking this seriously.'

`I'm sorry,' I said. Really. Sorry. Let nie get a hold of ...
It's my mind, you see. Ever since that ill-advised trip up to
Manchester . . .' I composed myself. It was, however, hellishly difficult to keep stoppered the bubbles of laughter that
would insist on tickling my insides.

`Lucifer. Do you understand me? The evil in the world -
your purpose, the thing that's kept you going has been the
thought that you could at the very least get in amongst the
Mortals and lead them astray. This has been your identity, has
it not? Your essence? Your raison d'ctre?'

`I like to think of it as a necessary hobby.'

`However you've thought of it, my dear, you've been
wrong. The evil that men do - and I know there's no preparing you for this - is nothing to do with you. Am I getting
through to you? Is it becoming clear?'

`Oh as a bell. What is this? We're all existentialists now?'

`I know you're afraid. Don't be. Don't - please don't -
think the laughter in any way disguises the fear. You and I
know it doesn't. The Mortals are free, Lucifer. What they've
done they've done from within themselves. You think you've
spoken volumes to them. You imagine the transcript of your
temptations would fill libraries the size of galaxies - and so
they would. But not one word of them has reached the
Mortals. Your words, my dearest Lucifer, have fallen on deaf
ears.'

`In which case you've got to take your hat off to what
they've achieved, really.!

`Please, old friend, believe me. I know this causes you
pain. But your time is running out. I begged Heaven to
release me so that I could help you.'

'Help me what?'

`Make the right decision.'

`Meaning?'

`Take the offer of forgiveness'

I lit another cigarette, chuckling. `Raphael, Raphael, my
dear, silly Raphael. And have you forfeited your wings to
run such a fruitless errand?'

`Somebody had to warn you:

`Well, I'll consider myself warned:

'Nelchael will find no scribe's soul in Limbo, Lucifer.'

Now that, I'll admit, did bring me up sharp a bit. But I'm
good for nought if not dissemblance. I inhaled, deeply, and
blew a couple of muscular smoke-rings. The first light was
above the horizon, now. Somewhere nearby someone was
leading a horse over the cobbles. I heard a man cough, hawk
up phlegm, spit, clear his throat, walk on.

`I see you're surprised,' Raphael said.

`You do do you, Well you may also have noticed that
I'm -' tipping the last of the ouzo down my tingling
gullet - `in need of a refreshed glass. Rather good, this
ridiculous drink. Those Greeks, eh? Bumming, syllogisms,
cracking good yarns ... Be a good fellow now and pour
me another. You have, after all, just given me some distressing news.'

Can't say hour I felt, really. (The writer's condition, for ever
and ever, amen ...) Certainly there was some deflation. Not
the it's-been-nothing-to-do-with-you nonsense - but ...
Well. You hope, you know? I mean you sort of know you're
dreaming, but still, you hope .. .

`And what did you think you were going to do with
Gunn's soul if he found it?' he asked, having returned from
the cool interior accompanied by the tinkling of freshly iced
drinks.

I did laugh, then, with the honest generosity of the
unmasked rascal. `Oh I don't know,' I said. `Get it into Hell,
somehow. Back-door it into Heaven. You think you can't
grease the odd palm up there? You live in a dream world,
Raffs. In any case it would have left a body vacant. I'm sure
even you can see the appeal. The luxury second home and
so on? It's not bad down here, is it? Eh? I mean you've a
shadow or two around your eyes, Mr Theo Calamari
Mandros, if you don't mind my saying so. Doesn't look like
you've spent your sojourn illuminating manuscripts and
saving spires.

He exhaled, heavily. `You haven't listened to a word I've
said.'

`I have.'

`You seriously thought you could do any of that without
Him knowing?'

`Not really, no. But look at it from my point of view. I
mean you've got to try these things, you know? There is such
a thing as morale building, when all's said and done. You know,
the boys Downstairs would have loved it. I was thinking
timeshare, you see?'

`I doubt, my dear, you intended to share your treasure
with anyone.'

`Oh you old cynic.'

`Lucifer please. Will you listen to me?'

`I am listening. I just wish you'd say something sensible.'

`Do you know what Judgement Day means?'

I yawned and rubbed my eyes. Pressed my thumb and
forefinger either side of the top of my nose in the manner of
those anticipating a headache. `Would you mind awfully if I
took a brief nap?' I said.

He put his face in his long-fingered hands. `What a waste,'
he said, as if to an invisible third party.

`Look Raffles I know this is all horribly important and all
the rest of it but if I don't get just a little sleep now I'll be
absolutely useless tomorrow. I had thought we might go
paragliding.'

For a few charged moments he just looked at me. The sun
was well and truly up, now, and I did unequivocally want to
get out of it. His face was filled with sadness and longing. It
made me feel quite unwell.

He did that roan-visibly-containing-his-emotion jawtwitch thing, then said, `I'll show you to your room.'

It was dark when I woke. Dreams of fire, flashbacks to the first,
empty conflagrations of Hell. I'd mumbled myself awake in a
sweat. I was lying in the recovery position and had drooled on
the pillow. There was an open volume on the bed beside me
with a hand-written note of dreadful handwriting:

Dear L,

Thought I'd let you sleep. I have to go to Spetses to see
one of my managers. Be back this evening around nine.
Help yourself to whatever you need. My clothes should
fit you. I know you were upset last night, but I want
you to know how good it is to see you again after so
long. Please don't do anything rash, there is still much
to be said.

R.

I felt terrible. The ouzo had landed its rowdy militia in my
skull, and a lively bivouac they were making of it. Of course
the book wasn't random. Rilke's Duino Elegies. Somehow I
knew this was the sort of twattish human behaviour the incarnate Raphael would go in for. Notes, Greek islands, poetry.
Course, you know me. Had to go and read the blessed thing:

Preise dem Engel die Welt -

Oh, sorry. I mean:

Praise this World to the Angel: not some world
transcendental, unsayable; you cannot impress him
with what is sublimely experienced ...
In this cosmos you are but recent and he
feels with more feeling ... so, show him something
straightforward. Some simple thing fashioned
by one generation after another;
some object of ours - something
accustomed to living under our eyes and our hands.
Tell him things. He will stand in amazement

With a curse I threw the volume at the wall. A moment
arrived - you've had a few of these yourself I dare say - in
which every detail of my current situation clung to every
other in a great, suddenly perceived bogey of unbearable
consciousness and I just couldn't stand it a moment longer.
With a retch and a groan I tore myself there and then from
Gunn's sleep-crumpled body with every intention of quitting this absurd nightmare once and for all to return to the
familiar - if fiery - precincts of Hell, where at least things
made painful sense.

I had known, even in the heat of my irritated moment,
that it was going to hurt. I had known that I was going to be
surprised by the pain of my spirit undressed of its borrowed
flesh. I had, I thought, prepared myself to grin (or grimace)
and bear it.

But - by the sizzling knob-hole of Bata jal! - I wasn't prepared for what hit me. Could it really have been this bad?
Could I really have been existing in so furious a forge of rage
and pain all those fucking years? It defied belief. It hit me then
for the first time with a terrible clarity just how long it was
going to take me to get used to the pain again. And my spirit
writhed upon the face of the waters.

It was no good. I wasn't ready. I'd need longer to prepare.
Warta up with some physical pain in Gunn's apparatus,
maybe. A stroll over hot coals. Amateur dentistry. Self-electrocution. An acid bath. Something to get me back into
shape. Either way incorporeity over the Aegean right then
was out of the question. Imagine returning to the basement
crew in that state! Christ I'd be laughed out. I could just
imagine what fucking Astaroth would make of it.

Raphael found me in the open air cinema. Schindler's List.
Not that I paid much attention to the sounds or images. It
was just that I needed the darkness and the silent presence of other flesh and blood. He came in near the end, Mr
Mandros, Theo, patron of the museum and provider of
Greek victuals. Some lardy Hydran matron with a gigantic
head of dark hair shooed her gnat-sized sprog to free-up a
seat for him. He's liked here, respected. It's a life. I knew why
he'd come. He couldn't follow me into Hell all those millennia ago, but he could follow me, with the Old Man's
blessing, apparently, onto Earth.

He who saves a single life,' Ben Kingsley said to Liam
Neeson, 'saves the world entire.'

I got up and slouched out in disgust.

'Lucifer, wait.'

He caught me up in the street. I was heading for an
appealingly dark and invitingly empty taverna at the fork of
two cobbled ways, and I didn't stop. He fell into step alongside and said not a word until we were seated at a booth
within. Dark wood panelling; absurd maritime accoutrements; smell of shellfish and burnt cooking oil; a jukebox
that looked like it might run on gas. Quadruple Jack Daniels
for me - on the house when the barkeep, a small red-eyed
bandit with a Zapata moustache and hairy forearms, realised
who I was with; Mr Mandros took ouzo and called for olives
and pistachios. I sat and glared at him after their prompt
arrival.

`This is all shit,' I said. `Two weeks ago - no, wait - three
weeks ago I get a message from your friend and mine that
the Old Man wants to cut me a deal. The Human show's
coming to its close and I'm a loose end He wants tied up. I
get a shot at redemption. All I've got to do is live out the rest
of this sad sack's miserable life without doing anything
heinous. Say my prayers at night, go to Mass Easter and
Christmas, love people, the usual bullshit. Big challenge for
me, obviously, what with my pride and all, what with me being the second most powerful entity in the universe, what
with me having developed this habit of being Absolutely Evil.
So I think, what the fuck? I'll take the month's money back
offer, live it up in the flesh, then tell Him come August 1 He
can shove His redemption where it smells. Now you show
up with a kebab empire and a Bogart suit and tell me my
entire existence has been a delusion, and that the Hell I
know isn't the Hell I'm going to.'

`Yes!

`And I'm supposed to take this seriously??

'Yes. You know I'm not lying.!

`No, you're not lying, Raphael, but you're definitely not all
there, either.' He gave me a sad and slightly sheepish smile.
`Okay, Mr Theo Moussaka Mandros,' I continued. `Tell me
what it is you think I need to know.'

`He knew what you were going to do. He knew you
weren't going to take the mortal road.!

'Yeah well that's omniscience for you.'

'We all knew. We've all been watching.!

`And whacking off, I don't doubt.'

Funny little pause there, while he stared at his ouzo and I
torched a Silk Cut.

`He knows Hell has no fear for you. The mortal John's
words were all words that stood for words unsayable. He
knows you, Lucifer, though you think He does not. He
knows you.'

'Not in the biblical sense.'

It was his turn to rub his eyes. He did it rapidly, as if fighting off a sudden attack of sleep. `Hell is to be destroyed,' he
said. `Utterly and forever. No trace of the world you know,
nor your Fallen brethren will remain. Do you understand?'

'Yes, I understand.'

Poor Raphael. Torn in two. He put his hand across the table and covered mine with it. His fingers were oily from
the olives. `You don't think you've been missed, Lucifer,' he
said, his eyes welling up. `But you have.'

Well, I didn't like the way that made me feel. The Jack
Daniels was kicking in and somewhere in the bowels of the
tavern a woolly speaker was releasing a surreal Greek instrumental version of `Stairway to Heaven'. I started swallowing,
emptily. Oh fucking great.

`Okay, Mr Mandros,' I said, mastering myself with a sameagain gesture to the dozing barman, `if you've got all the
answers, tell nie this: if everything you say is true, if
Judgement Day is coming and with it the destruction of my
Kingdom, if Sariel, Thammuz, Kennel, Astaroth, Moloch,
Belphegor, Nelchael, Azazel, Gabreel, Lucifer and all the
glorious legions of Hell are to be annihilated forever, then
why should I not embrace oblivion? Better to reign in Hell
than to serve in Heaven, yes. Better even not to be than to be
and serve. What fear of death is there in me?'

Poor Raphael's eyes, unable to quite meet mine. When he
spoke, he spoke as if to the beer-stained table. His voice
came in a flat incantation.

`God will take unto Himself the souls of the righteous
and the angelic host. The world, the Universe, matter, the
whole of Creation will be unmade. Only God in Heaven will
remain. Hell and all its Fallen will be destroyed. In its place,
a nothingness utterly separate from Him. Eternal nothingness,
Lucifer. A state from which nothing comes and into which
nothing enters. Without exception, nothi►iq. The inhabitant of
such a state would exist in absolute aloneness and singularity.
For eternity. Alone. Forever. In nothingness.'