Anthology.The.Mammoth.Book.of.Angels.And.Demons.2013.Paula.Guran (8 page)

“It was a long time ago, when I was a kid. He was four, I think, and he fell off the balcony. Mother always said he was an angel now, an angel up in heaven. Do dead people really get to be angels if they’re good?”

“I don’t know; it’s an interesting question. There’s a suggestion in the book of Tobit that the Archangel Raphael is actually an ancestor of Tobit’s. Angel means ‘messenger’, as you probably know; so if God were to employ one of the blessed as a messenger, he or she could be regarded as an angel, I’d think.”

“Devils are fallen angels, aren’t they? I mean, if they exist.” She dropped three pieces of chicken into a frying pan, hesitated, and added a fourth. “So if good people really get recycled as angels, shouldn’t the bad ones get to be devils or demons?”

I admitted that it seemed plausible.

She lit the stove with a kitchen match, turning the burner higher than I would have. “You sound like you come here pretty often. You must talk to them at breakfast, or whenever. You ought to know.”

“Since you don’t believe me, wouldn’t it be logical for you to believe my admissions of ignorance?”

“No way!” She turned to face me, a forefinger upraised. “You’ve got to be consistent, and coming here and talking to lots of demons, you’d know.”

I protested that information provided by demons could not be relied upon.

“But what do you think? What’s your best guess? See, I want to find out if there’s any hope for us. You said we’re going to Hell, both of us, and that dude – the Italian—”

“Dante,” I supplied.

“Dante says the sign over the door says don’t hope. I went to a school like that for a couple years, come to think of it.”

“Were they merely strict, or actually sadistic?”

“Mean. But the teachers lived better than we did – a lot better. If there’s a chance of getting to be one yourself, we could always hope for that.”

At that moment, we heard a knock at the front door, and her shoulders sagged. “There goes my free room. I guess I’ve got to be going. It was fun talking to you, it really was.”

I suggested she finish her chicken first.

“Probably I should. I’ll have to find another place to stay, though, and I’d like to get going before they throw me out. It’s pretty late already.” She hesitated. “Would you buy my wedding ring? I’ve got it right here.” Her thumb and forefinger groped the watch pocket of her blue jeans.

I took a final bite of coleslaw and pushed back my plate. “It doesn’t matter, actually, whether I want to buy your ring or not. I can’t afford to. Someone in town might, perhaps.”

A booming voice in the hallway drowned out the old man’s; I knew that the new guest was a demon before I saw him or heard a single intelligible word.

She held up her ring, a white gold band set with two small diamonds. “I had a job, but he never let me keep anything from it and I finally caught on – if I kept waiting till I had some money or someplace to go, I’d never get away. So I split, just walked away with nothing but the clothes I had on.”

“Today?” I enquired.

“Yesterday. Last night I slept in a wrecked truck in a ditch. You probably don’t believe that, but it’s the truth. All night I was afraid somebody’d come to tow it away. There were furniture pads in the back, and I lay on a couple and pulled three more on top of me, and they were pretty warm.”

“If you can sell your ring,” I said, “there’s a Holiday Inn in town. I should warn you that a great many demons stay there, just as you would expect.”

The kitchen door opened. Following the old man was one of the largest I have ever seen, swag-bellied and broad-hipped; he must have stood at least six foot six.

“This’s our kitchen,” the old man told him.

“I know,” the demon boomed. “I stopped off last year. Naturally you don’t remember, Mr Hopsack. But I remembered you and this wonderful place of yours. I’ll scrounge around and make out all right.”

The old man gave Eira a significant look and jerked his head toward the door, at which she nodded almost imperceptibly. I said, “She’s going to stay with me, Len. There’s plenty of room in the bed. You don’t object, I trust?”

He did, of course, though he was much too diffident to say so; at last he managed, “Double’s six dollars more.”

I said, “Certainly,” and handed him the money, at which the demon snickered.

“Just don’t you let Ma find out.”

When the old man had gone, the demon fished business cards from his vest pocket; I did not trouble to read the one that he handed me, knowing that nothing on it would be true. Eira read hers aloud, however, with a good simulation of admiration. “J. Gunderson Foulweather, Broker, Commodities Sales.”

The demon picked up her skillet and tossed her chicken a foot into the air, catching all four pieces with remarkable dexterity. “Soap, dope, rope, or hope. If it’s sold in bulk I’ll buy it, and give you the best price anywhere. If it’s bought in bulk, I sell it cheaper than anybody in the nation. Pleasure to meet you.”

I introduced myself, pretending not to see his hand, and added, “This is Eira Mumble.”

“On your way to St Louis? Lovely city! I know it well.”

I shook my head.

She said, “But you’re going somewhere – home to some city – in the morning, aren’t you? And you’ve got a car. There are cars parked outside. The black Plymouth?”

My vehicle is a gray Honda Civic, and I told her so.

“If I ... you know.”

“Stay in my room tonight.”

“Will you give me a ride in the morning? Just a ride? Let me off downtown, that’s all I ask.”

I do not live in St Louis and had not intended to go there, but I said I would.

She turned to the demon. “He says this’s close to Hell, and the souls of people going there stop off here sometimes. Is that where you’re going?”

His booming laugh shook the kitchen. “Not me! Davenport. Going to do a little business in feed corn if I can.”

Eira looked at me as if to say,
There, you see?

The demon popped the largest piece of chicken into his mouth like a hors d’oeuvre; I have never met one who did not prefer his food smoking hot. “He’s giving you the straight scoop though, Eira. It is.”

“How’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Talk around that chicken like that.”

He grinned, which made him look like a portly crocodile. “Swallowed it, that’s all. I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“Do you mind if I take the others? I was warming them up for myself, and there’s more in the refrigerator.”

He stood aside with a mock bow.

“You’re in this together – this thing about Hell. You and him.” Eira indicated me as she took the frying pan from the stove.

“We met before?” he boomed at me. I said that we had not, to the best of my memory.

“Devils – demons, are what he calls them. He says there are probably demons sleeping here right now, up on the second floor.”

I put in, “I implied that, I suppose. I did not state it.”

“Very likely true,” the demon boomed, adding, “I’m going to make coffee, if anybody wants some.”

“And the damned, they’re going to Hell, but they stop off here.”

He gave me a searching glance. “I’ve been wondering about you to tell the truth. You seem like the type.”

I declared that I was alive for the time being.

“That’s the best anybody can say.”

“But the cars—” Eira began.

“Some drive, some fly.” He had discovered slices of ham in the refrigerator, and he slapped them into the frying pan as though he were dealing blackjack. “I used to wonder what they did with all the cars down there.”

“But you don’t any more.” Eira was going along now, once more willing to play what she thought (or wished me to believe she thought) a rather silly game. “So you found out. What is it?”

“Nope.” He pulled out one of the wooden, yellow-enameled kitchen chairs and sat down with such force I was surprised it did not break. “I quit wondering, that’s all. I’ll find out soon enough, or I won’t. But in places this close – I guess there’s others – you get four kinds of folks.” He displayed thick fingers, each with a ring that looked as if it had cost a great deal more than Eira’s. “There’s guys that’s still alive, like our friend here.” He clenched one finger. “Then there’s staff. You know what I mean?”

Eira looked puzzled. “Devils?”

“J. Gunderson Foulweather—” the demon jerked his thumb at his vest “—doesn’t call anybody racial names unless they hurt him or his, especially when there’s liable to be a few eating breakfast in the morning. Staff, okay? Free angels. Some of them are business contacts of mine. They told me about this place, that’s why I came the first time.”

He clenched a second finger and touched third with the index finger of his free hand. “Then there’s future inmates. You used a word J. Gunderson Foulweather himself wouldn’t say in the presence of a lady, but since you’re the only lady here, no harm done. Colonists, okay?”

“Wait a minute.” Eira looked from him to me. “You both claim they stop off here.”

We nodded.

“On their way to Hell. So why do they go? Why don’t they just go off—” she hesitated, searching for the right word, and finished weakly “—back home or something?”

The demon boomed, “You want to field this one?”

I shook my head. “Your information is superior to mine, I feel certain.”

“Okay, a friend of mine was born and raised in Newark, New Jersey. You ever been to Newark?”

“No,” Eira said.

“Some parts are pretty nice, but it’s not, like, the hub of Creation, see? He went to France when he was twenty-two and stayed twenty years, doing jobs for American magazines around Paris. Learned to speak the language better than the natives. He’s a photographer, a good one.”

The demon’s coffee had begun to perc. He glanced around at it, sniffed appreciatively, and turned back to us, still holding up his ring and little fingers. “Twenty years, then he goes back to Newark. J. Gunderson Foulweather doesn’t stick his nose into other people’s business, but I asked him the same thing you did me, how come? He said he felt he belonged there.”

Eira nodded slowly.

I said, “The staff, as you call them, might hasten the process, I imagine.”

The demon appeared thoughtful. “Could be. Sometimes, anyhow.” He touched the fourth and final finger. “All the first three’s pretty common from what I hear. Only there’s another kind you don’t hardly ever see. The runaways.”

Eira chewed and swallowed. “You mean people escape?”

“That’s what I hear. Down at the bottom, Hell’s pretty rough, you know? Higher up it’s not so bad.”

I put in, “That’s what Dante reported, too.”

“You know him? Nice guy. I never been there myself, but that’s what they say. Up at the top it’s not so bad, sort of like one of those country-club jails for politicians. The guys up there could jump the fence and walk out. Only they don’t, because they know they’d get caught and sent down where things aren’t so nice. Only every so often somebody does. So you got them, too, headed out. Anybody want coffee? I made plenty.”

Long before he had reached his point, I had realized what it was; I found it difficult to speak, but managed to say that I was going up to bed and coffee would keep me awake.

“You, Eira?”

She shook her head. It was at that moment that I at last concluded that she was truly beautiful, not merely attractive in an unconventional way. “I’ve had all I want, really. You can have my toast for your ham.”

I confess that I heaved a sigh of relief when the kitchen door swung shut behind us. As we mounted the steep, carpeted stair, the house seemed so silent that I supposed for a moment that the demon had dematerialized, or whatever it is they do. He began to whistle a hymn in the kitchen, and I looked around sharply.

She said, “He scares you, doesn’t he? He scares me too. I don’t know why.”

I did, or believed I did, though I forbore.

“You probably thought I was going to switch – spend the night with him instead of you, but I’d rather sleep outside in your car.”

I said, “Thank you,” or something of the kind, and Eira took my hand; it was the first physical intimacy of any sort between us.

When we reached the top of the stair, she said, “Maybe you’d like it if I waited out here in the hall till you get undressed? I won’t run away.”

I shook my head. “I told you I take precautions. As long as you’re in my company, those precautions protect you as well to a considerable extent. Out here alone, you’d be completely vulnerable.”

I unlocked the door of my room, opened it, and switched on the light. “Come in, please. There are things in here, enough protection to keep us both safe tonight, I believe. Just don’t touch them. Don’t touch anything you don’t understand.”

“You’re keeping out demons?” She was no longer laughing, I noticed.

“Unwanted guests of every sort.” I endeavored to sound confident, though I have had little proof of the effectiveness of those old spells. I shut and relocked the door behind us.

“I’m going to have to go out to wash up. I’d like to take a bath.”

“The Hopsacks have only two rooms with private baths, but this is one of them.” I pointed. “We’re old friends, you see; their son and I went to Dartmouth together, and I reserved this room in advance.”

“There’s one other thing. Oh, God! I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a jerk.”

“Your period has begun.”

“I’m on the pill. It’s just that I’d like to rinse out my underwear and hang it up to dry overnight, and I don’t have a nightie. Would you turn off the lights in here when I’m ready to come out of the bathroom?”

“Certainly.”

“If you want to look you can, but I’d rather you didn’t. Maybe just that little lamp on the vanity?”

“No lights at all,” I told her. “You divined very quickly that I am a man of no great courage. I wish that you exhibited equal penetration with respect to my probity. I lie only when forced to, and badly as a rule; and my word is as good as any man’s. I will keep any agreement we make, whether expressed or implied, as long as you do.”

“You probably want to use the bathroom too.”

I told her that I would wait, and that I would undress in the bedroom while she bathed, and take my own bath afterward.