The Department of Hate - A Love Story (15 page)

“This is horrible.”
Jarrod felt exactly the same way. He looked about cautiously

“There’s nothing we can do. Let’s just get what we need and get out of here
.”

A large demon, grossly overweight, came over to them. He stood there for a few moments catching his breathe. Like all of the others he completely ignored Cassandra. He spoke to Beelzebub

“Lord Beelzebub, welcome.”
He waited. He could see that Beelzebub had no idea who he was. He spoke again

“I heard that you have amnesia but I had no idea
it was so severe” he paused,  “I am Lord Marbas, head of the Department of Gluttony, and surely your oldest and dearest friend.” Jarrod found that extremely unlikely, he could barely conceal his disgust. But Lord Lard Ass was already droning on. He forced himself to listen.

“As you can see we’re celebrating. – a little feast, we’ve done well. The humans are fatter and stupider than ever before, well, most of them.”  He paused again. He was quite satisfied with himself but then he remembered who he was talking to.  “Not as well as you of course, I salute the Master.” He made a little flourishing motion with his overly large, fat hand which Jarrod found ridiculous.  Jarrod and Cassandra both looked at him with some amazement. He was the first fat demon they had met. All of the others so far had had that ce
lebrated lean and hungry look. He looked back at them also surprised.

“What?” then realising what they were looking at he said to them “Oh this, it’s of no consequence. Occupational hazard! Nothing a few years on the treadmill wouldn’t fix if I wanted to, which I don’t.”  He said the last part
almost aggressively.

An aide came up to Marbas, waiting politely to be asked to speak. Marbas let him wait for a few seconds then he demanded

“
So what do you want?” The aide replied

“They’re all just about done my Lord
.” He was clearly referring to the barbecue. Marbas replied effusively

“Excellent! Excellent! How about the contest, must be finishing soon?”
The aide replied

“Yes my Lord, any minute now
.” Marbas was pleased that things were going well and that he would soon be dining again. He almost purred

“Fabulous
.“ For a moment he seemed puzzled as if trying to remember something. He turned back to Beelzebub

“Now you wanted to see Lord Paimon didn’t you. Come with me, he’s over
there.”

Marbas made his way down to the fighting ring. Jarrod and Cassandra followed him. He pushed his way through the crowd which parted easily enough as soon as the other demons saw who he was and especially who he was with. There were a few hushed whispers of ‘Beelzebub’. They came up beside a large demon in the front row, dressed as a lord, evidently Lord Paimon. Jarrod glanced out over the ring. He found himself looking down on a small area the size of a boxing ring. It was roped off.  In the middle of the ring there were two extremely large grotesquely obese human beings – naked, males, probably. Surrounding them there were large quantities of food of all description. Each contestant was urgently and constantly stuffing food into his mouth as fast as he was able, compulsively and insanely – eyes bulging, faces contorted, appetites screaming and insatiable. The demons clearly had bets on the outcome and some of them were still exchanging bets – though on what the payout could be Jarrod was unclear. All of the demons were screaming at the humans

“Eat, Eat, Eat”
and abusing them with all manner of insults.  Marbas could see that Beelzebub didn’t understand. He yelled at him, loudly enough for Jarrod and Cassandra to hear him above the clamour

“They’re betting on which of the contestants pops first. Won’t be long
now. They were both quite thin when it started. Would you believe that?” He pointed to the far wall and the grillers with some enthusiasm, “then we eat.” Cassandra groaned

“Oh I think I’m going to be sick
.” As she turned away the contestant on the left finally burst apart with a loud sloshing smacking sound. There were huge roars of approval from the watching demons. Around the room the losers handed over their slave girls to the winners. Some of the demons now had as many as five girls – nude, leashed, standing meekly beside them. The winners looked pleased with themselves. Jarrod thought to himself

“Of course, I should have anticipated that.”
Cassandra was watching with dismay.  Jarrod wanted to reassure her. He knew she wouldn’t be able to hear him. He took her hand. This didn’t have the effect he was hoping for. She looked at him strangely. It had occurred to her that as far as they were all concerned she was just another slave girl and she belonged to him. That she was still even clothed was being put down to an eccentricity of Beelzebub’s – which of course none dared to question. Even more disturbingly, it was obvious that none of them believed that he was truly stuck as Jarrod, or that he would be for long.

The demons spread out over the room, most of them heading for the barbecues. Marbas left them and headed that way also. The large demon beside them turned and introduced himself

“Ah, Lord Beelzebub, happy to see you again.”  He too had been told of Beelzebub’s apparent amnesia.  “I am Lord Paimon, I run the Department of Sloth, I’m told you were just there, sorry I missed you.”
Jarrod tried to size him up. He seemed to be quite energetic and determined – and even if he encouraged sloth he obviously didn’t practice it personally. Jarrod noted that he hadn’t been betting on the contest and that he didn’t have any slave girls with him. But Jarrod was about to find out what it was about this gathering that interested him. Paimon took him by the arm and led him towards the grillers. Cassandra followed, reluctantly. Paimon seemed quite enthusiastic. 

“Marbas always puts on a good spread. These ones!” he pointed to the bodies on the grillers “They were only recently caught.  Put on the spits while still alive. Completely fresh. Absolutely delicious.”
Jarrod was puzzled

“What do you mean, how can that be?”
Paimon was happy to explain

“We catch them in raids, we go out through the portal, bring them back that way. We keep them alive, in pens, until we’re ready. I went on the last raid myself, simply exhilarating. Ah the pleasure of the hunt.
Hard to beat.” Jarrod was still puzzled

“They’re alive? Here? What about their souls?”
Paimon was now puzzled by Beelzebub’s apparent obtuseness. Be he would never openly express it. He continued to explain, patiently and cautiously

“Well, they’re dead once we spit them. The soul separates at death as it always does. Takes the same form as the body and then falls into the pit – or goes to the other place, but that hardly ever happens. We could catch it, cook it and eat it too, but it’s not the same – bland and tasteless, no fat, no juice.”
Cassandra looked like she was going to be sick again. Jarrod was also disturbed by what he was hearing but was carefully suppressing it. Paimon looked around idly; he seemed wistful for a moment

“We’ve still got a couple of dozen in the pens. We might as well eat them all now. Soon we’ll dine o
n them up there – but they will no longer exist in abundance of course.”

Jarrod had had enough. This whole place was absurd. He couldn’t wait to get out.  No matter how bad it was going to get on earth it was still better than here. He spoke sharply

“Look, you know why I’m here. I want the compass.”
Paimon looked back at him patiently.

“Of course, I forgot all about it this morning. Grabbed it out of habit. You’re welcome to it.”
He reached into his robe, withdrew an object the size and shape of a small saucer and handed it over. Jarrod examined it eagerly. He opened the top and saw a needle, immersed in some kind of fluid, pointing in a fixed direction - which he quickly verified by turning around and watching it turn about in response so that it maintained the same direction. It was a great relief to finally be holding it in his hands. Cassandra watched on with great interest. He smiled at her, and said

“At last.”
She smiled back. Paimon watched all of this with some amusement.

“Ah Beelzebub, you will never change. Always so focused, so exigent.”
He pointed to the compass. “Don’t lose that or you’ll wander around out there forever. Even you.” Marbas had come over to join them

“Breakfast is served, my Lords.”
Jarrod ignored the both of them. He and Cassandra immediately turned and headed back towards the exit. Marbas and Paimon watched them go, both looking puzzled. Marbas spoke first

“What the fuck is he up to?”
Paimon replied

“I haven’t got a clue. Who cares,
I’m starving let’s eat. I want a leg.”

The aide who showed them in was waiting for them at the door. He led them back through the maze of corridors and showed them out through the main entrance. They walked quickly, around the Pit, past the Great Hall and past the Department of Lust. They entered the Department of Hate where Jarrod ordered some of the demons there to prepare for him several large canteens of water. Once this was done they quickly made their way onto the main path leading to the Inner Gate. The Gate was open. The demons on guard snapped to attention as they passed through. The vast emptiness of the plains spread out before them. Jarrod checked the compass and without hesitation they started heading off in the direction indicated. The plain was featureless and ahead of them there was nothing but a blank empty horizon. But Jarrod, for the first time, felt that there might be some kind of a chance. He turned to Cassandra

“It’s still early. We can go a long way before nightfall. Ready to get out of here?”
She also felt hopeful, or at least the beginnings of it.  She replied wearily

“Of course, more than anything.”
They held hands and walked together out onto the Plains of Desolation having no idea what to expect but for the first time feeling positive and hopeful.

                        ***************

From inside the Department of Pride, Lucifer’s department, their departure was being carefully watched on a large viewer. The demon Lords Lucifer, Asmodeous and Belial stared at them malevolently. They knew for certain that Beelzebub was up to something and were watching him constantly for some clue as to what it was. There had to be a reason he couldn’t remember anything – why he didn’t revert back to his normal form. That Beelzebub would betray them all given the slightest chance was a certainty. They just had to work out how he intended to do it.  Standing immediately behind the three demons, two vastly more powerful beings also watched on. One of them was extremely angry and impatient; the other one was apparently calm, and completely unreadable. He knew exactly what Beelzebub was planning – and had known for a very long time.

Chapter 14 – Stoned in Amsterdam

Jarrod landed at Schiphol Airport around seven on a Friday evening and then had to adjust his watch an hour forward. He was with his friend Robert McDowell, another University of London colleague Andy Sullen and a visiting lecturer from Sydney, Bruce McKenna. The reason for their visit was quite straightforward – a long and easy weekend of simple minded drug induced stupor. They’d been planning it for some time. Each of them was looking forward to a few days of looking out on the world - blissfully or mournfully as the case may be - without any of the agitations and distractions of discursive thought. They chatted amiably enough as they made their way to the immigration entry point – managing to keep together despite the growing crowd. Jarrod was quiet. Robert looked over at him.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been pasty faced since that black mass you went to two weeks ago.”  He smiled broadly “Did something happen?”
Jarrod shook his head

“You wouldn’t believe me.”
Robert smiled back at him. He assumed he was being set up for some kind of joke and would just have to wait for the punch line.

They arrived at the first counter available. The Australian, Bruce McKenna, went first. The immigration official took his passport and then looked back at him with a bored expression.

“What is the purpose of your visit to the Netherlands?”
Bruce seemed surprised by the question and answered awkwardly.

“Oh, just a tourist mate.”
The official nodded, then asked

“And how long do you intend to stay?”
Bruce replied simply

“Just for the weekend.”
The immigration official looked up at him and then looked at his three friends nearby – clearly they were together. He stamped the passport, handed it back to Bruce and with a cynical smile exclaimed

“You all have a good time then.”

They had booked some rooms at the Plaza Central Hotel on the
 Oudezijds Voorburgwal. By the time they found a taxi, travelled to the hotel checked in and met together again down in the foyer almost an hour had gone by.  But it was only 9 PM local time and still light. They walked out onto the street looking around eagerly. There were people everywhere - hordes of tourists. There were more than just a few pretty girls in short summer dresses – but that could wait. Their highest priority was to find the right coffee shop. Robert McDowell and Andy Sullen were already arguing about this. Jarrod caught some of it. Andy was saying

“... don’t be a horses ass, Bulldogs, its just down the street, a couple of blocks, this side of the canal
.” Then Jarrod heard Robert capitulate, though clearly annoyed

“Oh, all right whatever.”
He was surprised by this. Robert, no doubt, would get back at Sullen later.

They made their way into Bulldogs and found an empty table at the back of the large main room. The coffee shop was not yet crowded but it was filling up rapidly – they’d been lucky. Jarrod looked around at the other patrons – fairly nondescript, no-one stood out in any way. They were all making a lot of noise - clearly they were not yet sufficiently stoned. His companions were settling in. Robert McDowell called out

“Right, lets get something.”
The Australian, Bruce McKenna, blurted out

“Let’s start with some Jamaican Gold.”
Robert shouted him down

“Ugh tourist!  Too bitter! There is a new crop from the Ukraine, much smoother. Silver Caviar – I think they’re calling it.”
Andy Sullen rose to his feet shouting them all down

“Don’t be a horse’s ass - African Green straight from Morocco – soft and mellow, sweet and even.”
Robert looked at him threateningly

“You call me that again and I’ll shove something up your ass
.” Jarrod patted him on the shoulder

“Easy big fella.”
One of the waiters came over and spoke to Robert. They clearly knew each other well. The waiter was holding something and speaking quietly to Robert. Jarrod couldn’t make out what he was saying. The waiter handed over the package and walked off. Robert turned to the group and said

“Gentlemen, the Gods are smiling on us. It’s lucky we came here after all. Jacob owed me a
very big favour.” He held up the package.

“Purple Haze!”  He seemed pleased with himself. Jarrod replied

“I thought that was a myth – or at least no longer available.” Robert looked back at him.

“Apparently not.”
Andy glared at them but was clearly intrigued. Jarrod actually smiled for once. Tensions so easily resolved. They’d been here many times before, though it wasn’t their favourite, and Jarrod already felt quite comfortable. Only Bruce stood out as an obvious tourist but soon no doubt they’d be calling each other Bruce and holding up a wattle. He had a strange feeling that there was something very important about this weekend. Something extraordinary was going to happen. He’d felt it for weeks. At the very least once they were all stoned he was going to tell them about the fucking demon he’d seen in the Farringdon church, only two weeks earlier.

They started smoking, passing the joint around. Before long, Jarrod was starting to feel the effects. He surveyed his companions. They were all very accomplished and learned men. Robert was an expert on Wittgenstein. Jarrod knew that Robert was quite brilliant though he really didn’t think much of Wittgenstein himself, something of a charlatan – and yet always considered as one of the greats. He had reread the
‘Remarks on the Foundations of Mathematics’
only recently – and found it to be just so much rubbish, cover to cover, just crap, self indulgent adolescent crap. Andy Sullen’s specialty was the philosophy of mind.  He had a consulting role for a large Artificial Intelligence project at Kings. Jarrod was quietly sceptical about the whole thing but a grant was a grant. Bruce McKenna’s speciality was ethics and moral philosophy. Jarrod found him a little odd – he felt sure that Bruce had some religious presuppositions which so far he’d refused to openly acknowledge. He had met very few philosophers who took religion seriously. And of course his own area was Philosophy of Mathematics. He was just beginning to look at the influence of the early phenomenologists.  But even as he thought through all of this he could feel his mind starting to go a little sluggish. He could imagine the cannabinoids affecting his brain – clogging up receptors, changing neural pathways. He smiled. Oh well, that’s what they were here for.

The others talked for some time. Jarrod wasn’t listening. He was looking around at the other patrons, checking faces, looking for someone – but he didn’t know who. He was starting to feel a bit sad. He focused back on the group. Andy Sullen was saying something. Jarrod had to make an effort to listen.

“I ran into Claire the other day.”
Robert looked at him with some interest.

“Yeah?”
Andy seemed a little annoyed.

“She corrected my pronunciation of ‘monomaniacal’.”
Robert laughed

“She does that. Did she give references to other writers for whatever points you were trying to make?”
Andy seemed surprised. He replied

“Yes, she did.”
Robert laughed again.

“She does that too.”
Andy scowled

“Fucking bitch. I’m not a student.”
Robert looked at him with amusement.

“Don’t be too harsh, she’s just asserting herself.”
Andy became calmer

“She is kind of cute.”
Robert smiled

“Ah, I see. You just want to fuck her
then.” Andy replied

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. ... yeah, all right, I do.”
Bruce McKenna clumsily dropped himself into the exchange

“Who’s Claire?”
Robert answered him.

“She’s in our department. You haven’t met her yet. She’s our expert on modern French Philosophy – Foucault, Baudrillard, Lyotard, all those guys.”
Bruce looked back sceptically

“Oh, one of those.”
Robert raised his eyebrows, partially agreeing but saying nothing. Jarrod, again, had only been half listening to all of this. He found himself thinking out loud. He said

“I love French. It’s a beautiful language. I love the sound of it. It’s just ....”
Bruce again imposed himself

“Ah yes. The languid and mellifluous phrases of a beautiful French girl, right before she wraps her sweet lips around your cock.”
Jarrod thought

‘Hmm, maybe not so religious?’
Andy Sullen, thinking of
‘The Matrix’
blurted out his favourite line

“Elle ne fut pas t’embrasser sur les levres
.“ Bruce translated with a grin

“She wasn’t kissing you on the lips.”
Robert looked at both of them with feigned anger and disdain.

“You are both crass and ugly little men. Not gentlemen like Jarrod and my self.”
Jarrod just sighed. Life was so sad. He was listening to everything they said now but didn’t feel like replying. Robert stood up abruptly

“Right!  All this talk of blow jobs has got me horny. Let’s check out some of the sex shows before we’re too wasted to appreciate it.”
They’d finished the second joint so it was a good time to leave. They would come back later. They still had several more and in quality it far exceeded their high expectations and then some. They were all in a very pleasant mellow mood or at least heading in that direction. Robert walked out without looking back. The others followed him.

The four of them came back out onto the Voorburgwal. There were still people everywhere, all overly eager and every one of them fully intent on partying to the point of exhaustion and collapse. They headed south along the pathway and past the long row of strip clubs and live sex shows.  Jarrod followed along. Once outside his mood brightened further. It was quite strange – to be so mournful and yet so bright and earnest at the same time. He found that he suddenly had a great sense of expectation but without knowing why. He looked about avidly. Everything was in a tight focus, sharply detailed. He was assailed by sounds and pungent smells from all directions. His torn and aching heart yearned for something, someone, and as always he found himself imagining the same person, or trying to, straining to see her face clearly, but never quite managing to do so. Remembering the red dress she was wearing, holding her tightly as they danced the waltz – and trying so hard not to wake up as it all rapidly faded.

                        ***************

Cassandra was also in Amsterdam for the weekend. She was also on the Oudezijds Voorburgwal, walking along only fifty metres behind Jarrod and his colleagues.  She was with her friends Marianne and Adrianne. She was also in a strange mood, looking around curiously, not quite knowing what was puzzling her. She looked at her friend Marianne and smiled. They’d known each other since childhood and trusted each other implicitly. They had been talking about going on a trip like this one for years and now she could see Marianne was enjoying herself immensely. She glanced at Adrianne only to find that Adrianne was smiling back at her with an odd look, challenging her in a way. They’d known each other for only a couple of months but were already becoming close friends and maybe more. Adrienne was quite open about her preference for women, and made no attempt to conceal her obvious attraction to Cassandra. Cassandra was still ambivalent but slowly warming to the idea. Why not? It was already obvious to her that most men were assholes – quite possibly all of them. Adrianne was quite amazing and Cassandra was beginning to anticipate what it would be like with her.

The three young Australian women were on a two month vacation around Europe. They had arrived in Amsterdam earlier that day and were planning to leave for Paris the next day. They were living cheaply – stretching their savings – but having a fantastic time. Cassandra was happy and relaxed for once and wanted to keep it that way. Adrianne seemed to have friends everywhere. In almost any place they visited there was someone to see – and they usually got to stay with them. Adrianne’s friends always knew where the best parties were and were always open and friendly. They’d felt drawn to Amsterdam but didn’t know why exactly. But it was one of the few places where Adrienne didn’t know anyone and they were also staying at the Central Plaza Hotel just down the street. Their budget was going well so that one night at a good hotel wasn’t going to kill it. They hadn’t even intended to include Amsterdam on their travels but references to it had kept cropping up in the most bizarre ways: people talking in a lift, books left lying around, something in a window they were passing. In the end a visit here had seemed unavoidable and now she was glad that they’d come. It was a beautiful city, full of history - and then there were some other advantages as well.

Cassandra saw that for the last minute or so Marianne had been moving her head about sniffing the air. Marianne then turned to Cassandra excitedly 

“Is that Marihuana?”
Cassandra smiled back