Azazeel (44 page)

At sunset I stood up, overcome with the feeling that I was rising from the dead on the Day of Judgement. I went out of the room trembling and found the monastery wrapped in complete silence. The
sun was low in the western sky and the mysterious building had taken on a reddish tinge. As I went down the stairs, the large church nearby seemed distant. I found the descent too tiring so I went
back to my room and slept again.

In the dead of the night the wild ideas came back to haunt me: why don’t I get up now and take Martha far away from here? Or leave everything behind and travel to Ephesus? The Alexandrian
monks and bishops there will not know me. I’ll be close to Nestorius in his ordeal and the situation might change in his favour when the emperor and the bishops who support him arrive. The
emperor will protect him because he’s the bishop of his capital city, and I’ll go back to Constantinople with him when the ordeal is over.

‘Hypa, this ordeal will not end until Nestorius is eliminated.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Don’t you recognize me, really?’

The mysterious presence had started to speak and when it spoke its face faded and lost its features, which before had vacillated between one face and another. I did not know what to say in
response, but I was no longer afraid of having it around me.

‘I’m not around you, Hypa. I’m inside you.’

I assumed that madness had snatched me away from my troubled world and that I was now delirious. I said that perhaps I was asleep and this was just a passing dream. Yes, it’s a passing
dream and I will wake up from it and it will be a memory I will soon forget. I’ve started to worry about everything around me and the worry gives rise to fears. I must relieve my anxiety a
little.

‘You’re worried by what’s inside you, Hypa, because you know what’s going to happen in Ephesus and you know you’re going to lose Martha, just as you lost what was
yours before: the dream of excelling in medicine, your hope of deciphering the mystery of religion, love for Octavia, infatuation with Hypatia, peace of mind through ignorance, belief in
superstitions.’

This time the voice was a clearly articulated whisper, then the features of the face appeared again, clearer and more distinct. It looked like me and the voice was my voice. This is another me,
other than me, trapped inside me. No harm if I talk to myself a while and say frankly things one should not normally mention: my longing for Martha, my fear for her and my fear of her. I am lost in
the wastelands of the self and I am not optimistic about the coup Bishop Cyril is expected to pull off in Ephesus. It will be horrific. Cyril is the head of the church of St Mark in Alexandria and
the word of Mark means, among other things, the heavy hammer which in our country we call the mirzabba, the iron rod.

The Alexandrian hammer will inevitably fall on Nestorius’s head and the walls of this monastery will shake, and of all the monasteries and churches under the diocese of Antioch. Glory will
be the destiny of Alexandria alone. Even ancient Rome will decline and die, like every ancient city. I have to escape this world full of the dead.

‘Let the dead enjoy their death. Take Martha and go back to your home country.’

‘Shut up and go back where you came from, you mysterious and alluring presence!’

‘You take me back. It’s you who created me.’

‘I didn’t create anyone. I’m dreaming now.’

‘In that case your dream will last a long time, Hypa!’

‘You’re calling me by my common name, so what’s your name?’

‘Azazeel.’

SCROLL TWENTY-EIGHT

M
y mind wandered and I saw trees filling the universe. I saw myself walking through forests with tangled branches and trees. I woke up and found
Deacon sitting beside my bed. When I touched the front of my jellaba, I found it soaked in warm water. My mind wandered again and Azazeel came to me with a distinct face, which seemed to shine in
the darkness. Then I woke up properly. The door to my room was open and the daylight shone in on me between the cassocks of the monks standing at the door. They were saying words I did not
understand. The ceiling of the room seemed to be high, far away from me.

I heard bells clanging constantly, rattling my bones. Then the bells stopped suddenly and Azazeel came with a smile. He sat down quietly in front of me, then crept towards me. I felt his face
with the tips of my fingers and it was moist and slippery. I was afraid to touch it. After a while he stretched out his cold hand to my forehead, and I felt a chill which seeped into my head and
relieved my fear. In my dream I slept, and I saw in my dream that I was dreaming.

‘Hypa.’

‘What do you want, Azazeel?’

‘I want you to be strong, to recover from the state you’re in.’

To recover would be disastrous. To be oblivious is more pleasant, an oblivion illuminated by the many suns and moons that fill the red twilight sky within me. I saw myself wandering around the
monastery, alone. I went into the mysterious building from the opening at the top, and roamed from room to room until I reached the bottom. There were no rusty nails shining in the dark and all I
found there was darkness piled on darkness. I sat on the spiral staircase and summoned Azazeel to keep me company in my solitude. He came and sat next to me. Together we left the mysterious
building, which was no longer mysterious, and we found the monastery hill completely empty. Not a person, not a stone, not even those buildings which had been standing there. Just small pebbles,
cypress trees and blue grasses covered the place. Azazeel whispered to me that this was the monastery hill as it was in the distant past, before mankind existed, before God created man.

Then he asked me, ‘Did God create man, or was it the other way round?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Hypa, in every age man creates a god to his liking, and his god is always his visions, his impossible dreams and his wishes.’

‘Stop that talk,’ I said. ‘You know where you stand with God, so don’t mention Him.’

‘My name comes up, Hypa, whenever His name comes up.’

My mind wandered so I let Azazeel say what he wanted and I left. After a while I went back to him and he was talking to himself. I listened, and I heard him say in some strange language
something to the effect that God is hidden inside us and mankind is unable to delve deep enough to find Him. In ancient times, when some people thought they had drawn an image of the perfect god,
they found out that evil is intrinsic to the world and has always existed. They created me to justify it. So he said...

I no longer argue with what Azazeel says. I couldn’t argue with him anyway. Several times I felt I was shivering and hungry and he would put in my mouth a spoonful of soup which had
neither smell nor flavour. I would swallow the soup, which would hurt my throat. Then I would fall asleep. Sometimes I would see Deacon, not Azazeel, and he would give me the soup and water to
drink. The water tasted better.

There are various opinions and accounts of the origins of Azazeel, some of which appear in ancient books, and some of which are borrowed from eastern religions. Not all
religions believe he exists and the ancient Egyptian experts did not know of him. It is said that he was born in the delusive imagination of man in the time of Sumer or in the days of the Persians,
who worshipped light and darkness together, and that the Babylonians learnt of him from them. The most famous reference to him is in the books of the Old Testament which the scribes wrote after the
Jews returned from the Babylonian captivity.

In Christianity, all denominations assert that he exists and do not allow for any doubt in the matter. He always has the status of enemy of God and enemy of Christ, though his status towards the
Holy Spirit is not clear. The ancients say of him that he created the peacock, and it says in an ancient inscription that they accused Azazeel of committing and inciting only abominations. He
wanted to prove to them that he was capable of creating beauty, so he created this bird. Once I said that to Azazeel and he smiled and shrugged his right shoulder in surprise.

I heard the sound of little birds all around me and found the door to my room open, with Azazeel sitting silent at the door. I wanted to hear my voice come from him so I asked him which of his
names was his favourite. He replied, ‘They’re all the same to me – Iblis, Satan, Ahriman, Azazeel, Beelzebub, Beelzaboul.’ I told him that in Hebrew Beelzaboul meant the
Lord of the Rubbish, and Beelzebub meant the Lord of the Flies, so how could he take no interest in the differences between his various names and see them as all the same? ‘They’re all
the same. The differences are in the words, not in the meaning, which is one,’ he said.

I came to and saw Deacon wringing between my lips a piece of white cloth soaked in cold water. He then opened it out and put it on my forehead. I touched my face and it was covered in beads of
sweat, as was the pillow. I asked Azazeel what was the common meaning of his many names and he said: ‘The Antithesis.’

Azazeel is the antithesis of the deified God. That’s what he told me in a whisper in another language, not the previous language which I did not know. But I understood what he said and I
was fascinated with the concept. So he is the antithesis of the God we know and whom we have defined as absolute good, and because everything has its opposite we have assigned as absolute evil an
entity that is the antithesis of the one we had initially postulated. We have called it Azazeel and many other names.

I whispered to him, ‘But Azazeel, you are the cause of evil in the world.’

‘Hypa, be sensible. I’m the one who justifies evil. So evil causes me.’

‘Have you not sown strife between the bishops? Confess!’

‘I perpetrate, I don’t confess, which is what they want from me.’

‘And you, don’t you want anything?’ I asked.

‘I am you, Hypa, and I am them. You see me at hand whenever you want or whenever they want. I’m always available to bear burdens, ward off sins and exonerate every convict. I am the
will, the willer and the willed. I am the servant of mankind, the one who incites believers to pursue the threads of their fancies.’

I felt dizzy and could not see clearly what was around me. I was in a place like my room and this face staring at me was like the abbot’s face, and the hymns I heard sounded like his
voice. The air was stifling and the humidity made it hard to breathe.

I let myself fall into a faint, just to rest a while, and a shiver shook me inside. I saw the sea at Alexandria and I saw myself circling deep in the water. Then an endless maelstrom swept me
away.

For a time I stayed trapped in the heart of the maelstrom which had taken me, examining the consistency of the water around me.

‘He’s woken up and he’s asking for food.’ Deacon’s voice came from behind the open door of the room. I didn’t pay attention to the meaning
of what he said until he came in on me, full of cheer, and said, ‘The food will come shortly, father. We thank the Lord you have recovered. It’s a miracle from heaven. Everyone said you
would die but I knew you would survive the fever.’