Aloha From Hell (40 page)

“You have allergies?”

“Only down here.”

I flick the cigarette over the side into the crazies’ bonfire below.

“What I don’t get is the disappearing act. You hate me. That’s a given. But if you were done with all us mortal slobs and moving on to 2.0, why didn’t you just kill us? Or didn’t you care enough to put us out of our misery? Is that who you are? One of those people who forgets their kid in the car on a hot day until it has a stroke?”

He doesn’t move or speak for a while. He just looks down into the street. A couple of raiders walk by, passing a bottle back and forth. Neshamah leans over the edge and spits, hitting one of the raiders on top of his head. He laughs.

“You broke my heart. Not you in particular. All humanity. And then there was the incident in Heaven with Lucifer and his juvenile delinquent friends. I had to throw a third of my children into the void. I think the ones that stayed, the quote ‘loyal ones,’ were just as bad if not worse. So puffed with their importance and self-righteousness. The funny thing is, I never really believed that Lucifer wanted my throne, but I think a few of the angels who stayed did. They saw my failure and felt entitled to it after they fought and won."leght and”

He shakes his head. Looks down while he bounces his heels off the building.

“Like any decent God, I willed myself into being. I created time, space, and matter and set out to construct a universe. When I was finished, nothing quite worked the way I wanted. The angels rebelled. The Kissi wreaked havoc. And all of you on earth, well, you were just you. Then one day I realized I wasn’t me anymore. I’d gone from one big me to five smaller ones. I never bothered trying to put myself back together. What was the point? Some of me wouldn’t want to do it and I didn’t want to fight with myself.”

“You know, I’m sure if you asked nicely, they could find a bed for you at the pretty hospital on the hill.”

“Watch your tone. I could turn the rest of you into an insect to match that arm.”

Just what I need. For this whole thing to turn even more Kafkaesque.

Adjust course.

“I’ve been wondering, who would build an asylum in Hell and who’d it be for?”

“Ah, that’s the first interesting thing you’ve asked,” says Neshamah. “Originally it was for the Fallen. Some of them went mad when they realized what they’d done and gave up. Occasionally damned human souls develop a similar condition, so when I took back this portion of Hell to create Eleusis for the heathens, I left the asylum intact. It’s pointless to punish the insane—they don’t understand what’s happening or why. Treatment helped them come back to themselves so they could properly resume their suffering.”

I rub my new arm where it meets my shoulder. The contrast between soft flesh and hard chitin is startling.

“You are one cold fucker,” I say.

“Coming from someone who blissfully hacked another sentient creature to death not an hour ago, that’s quite something.”

“Father Traven said something interesting about you. He used a word I’d never heard before, so I looked it up online. There was this Greek bunch called the Gnostics . . .”

He rolls his eyes.

“Not the fucking Gnostics, please.”

“They didn’t call you God. They called you the demiurge. They didn’t believe you’re an omnipotent übermensch. You’re more like one of those dads who tries to build a barbecue in the backyard only you can’t follow the instructions, so you lay out the bricks wrong and the cement dries too fast and the thing comes out as crooked as poker in Juarez. Then, around sunset, you announce it’s finished even though it looks like a onooks librick cold sore. You throw some T-bones in the fire and pretend it’s what you were going for all along. That’s what you did to the universe.”

He swings his legs back over the wall and hops down onto the garage roof. He smiles at me.

“You actually read something? There’s evidence of a true miracle, right up there with the loaves and fishes.”

“Why are you such an asshole when Muninn is such a good guy?”

He throws up his hands in disgust.

“Everyone is so in love with poor sweet Muninn. It’s why he’s always gotten his way. He hides down there in his cave collecting toys, holding on to the past because he doesn’t want to have to deal with any of this.” Neshamah gestures to the burning city. “But he’s part of our collective being, and as responsible for this disaster as any of the rest of us.”

“At least he’s not a whiner.”

“Take away his toys and see how long that lasts. Why do you think he’s hiding? He never learned to share.”

Neshamah takes a flask from an inside pocket. He unscrews the top and takes a long drink.

“Do you think I could have a hit off that? It’s been a long weird day.”

He shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“I drink Aqua Regia; how bad can this be?”

He shrugs and hands me the flask. I upend it and spit out everything that touches my tongue. Neshamah takes the flask away and bursts into belly laughs.

“What is that shit?”

“Ambrosia,” he says. “Food of the gods.”

He takes another sip and puts the flask back in his coat.

“So, if you’re down here and Muninn is on earth, where are the others?”

“Around. We travel a lot.”

“Are any of you in Heaven?”

“Always. At least one of us.”

“Lucifer knows you’re broken, doesn’t he?”

He nods.

“Lucifer was always the smart one. That’s why he and the kid never got along. One’s all heart and one’s all head.”

“This all happened after Lucifer left. Why don’t you send him down here to fix it?”

“It wouldn’t help. You’re right about one thing. I didn’t build everything as well as I might have. This was going to happen sooner or later.”

“Do the five of you know what the others hear and see?”

“Not everything. We like some privacy, too. Otherwise we’d all still be together.”

“Do they know about us talking right now?”

“They can hear every word.”

“Then you got the message I sent back with the angel from Eden?”

“We got it. You didn’t have to cut him up like that.” He nods at my new metal bug arm. “But I guess you’re even.”

I look away. The building the Kissi torched is really roaring. I can feel the heat all the way over here. I wonder if we should move, but Neshamah doesn’t seem worried, so I decide not to be.

“Maybe I was a little harsh. I’d just gotten over being dead. And he threw the first punch.”

“I guess that makes it all right, then.”

Neshamah walks across the parking lot and looks out over another part of Hell. The view isn’t any better from over here. I don’t say it because I can see it on his face.

He says, “He’s not Lucifer anymore, by the way. He’s Samael.”

“So I heard. Speaking of your kids, what’s the story with Aelita? She makes Lilith look like Mother Teresa. Didn’t she get enough face time with Daddy?”

“You’re not a parent. Don’t tell me how to raise my family.”

“I don’t know if she has Electra complex or Oedipus complex or diaper rash, but she really wants you dead. You need to get her some Prozac.”

We walk all the way around the roof. The sky remains a solid mass of smoke. Earthquakes rumble on the horizon.

“I knew that Lucifer was a troublemaker, but I also knew he’d grown out of it. But I never saw this coming with Aelita. I’ve tried talking to her, but she might be a lost cause.”

“You could always kill me. That’s what she really wants.”

“Don’t think I haven’t considered it. And that’s not what she wants. You’re just a symptom of what she sees as a larger condition.”

“Sounds like she’s gone Gnostic on you and thinks Daddy’s the demiurge, too.”

He turns and looks me in the eye.

“Who the hell are you to talk about misbehaving kids? Your whole life has been about breaking things. You’re not a dumb kid. Why do you go looking for trouble?”

“ ’Cause one of your angels ruined my mother and father’s lives and made me an Abomination. When I finally found my real father, he told me that all I was and ever will be is a killer. Not exactly
Leave It to Beaver,
is it?”

“We’ve all got our troubles. Look at this mess.”

Neshamah leans his elbows on the low wall. I do the same.

“Some of those old Greeks thought that the world couldn’t be such a cruel mess without it being on purpose. They said that who or whatever made it deep down inside had to be evil.”

“What do you think?” he asks.

I feel in my pocket for a cigarette my brain knows isn’t there, but my body has to check for it anyway. I flex my new hand and run it over the concrete, feeling the rough surface.

I say, “I’m not a hundred percent either way. But off the top of my head, I don’t really think you’re evil. Just out of your depth. Or like a kid who gets a note on his report card. ‘If Chet applied himself, I’m sure he could do better in class.’ ”

“Funny, that’s how we feel about you.”

“I’m a nephilim and a killer. Do you think I’m evil?”

“I’m not a hundred percent either way. Besides, there are worse things to be than a killer.”

“What about ‘Thou shall not kill’?”

“What about the Egyptian army Moses drowned when he closed the Red Sea on them? Do you think he could have turned them around with a few kind words? Do you think I could do that here?” He points to the city below. “Do you want to know the difference between a killer and a murderer?”

“Sure.”

“It’s where you aim the gun.”

That sounds more like the Old Testament guy I was looking for.

“Well, chatting has been a little slice of heaven,” I say, “but I have to figure out how to get up that hill so I can do a couple of miracles and save the universe. You wouldn’t be in the mood to help or anything?”

He looks into the distance and smiles.

“I think you have it in hand.”

“Was that a fucking joke?”

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

I take a couple of steps to go when I hear him clear his throat.

“I think you have something of mine.”

“Oh, right.”

I walk over and give him the crystal.

“Muninn says that’s your insurance policy. If everything ends, you can start over again.”

“Is that what he told you? The truth is no one knows what it will be, but something is better than nothing.”

“You and Muninn, it’s like Jesus and Lucifer, isn’t it? One’s all heart and one’s all head.”

He puts the crystal in a pocket of his red waistcoat. It’s a tight fit.

“He’s the youngest. I’m the oldest. You do the math.”

“What happens if Aelita kills one of you?”

He leans over the wall and looks down at the street.

“See that manhole down there? I have a feeling if you went down inside and walked exactly three hundred and thirty-three paces west, you’ll find where you want to go.”

“Seriously? Why that number?”

“Because that’s how many it is. Not three hundred and thirty-two or three hundred and thirty-four. Count off three hundred and thirty-three and look around. You’ll be there.”

“Seriously? Thanks, man. And after all the things I’ve said about you over the years.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve said the same about you.”

“Will you be here when I’m done up the hill?”

He shrugs.

“Hard to say. I work in mysterious ways.”

I start for the ramp wondering if I’ll need something to pry up the manhole cover.

“Nice meeting you, Spider-Man!”

I look back. Neshamah is waving, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. I have no choice. I start an old tune my mother used to belt out when she had just the right number of martinis.

At the Devil’s ball

In the Devil’s hall

I saw the funniest devil that I ever saw

Dancing with the Devil

Oh, you little devil

Dancing at the Devil’s ball

He turns back to the city.

“Yeah, fuck you, too, kid.”

T
HERE’S A KID’S
game that goes something like this: “Don’t think of a white bear for half an hour and you win a dollar.” No one ever wins because the moment anyone says “white bear,” that’s all you can think about. Being told your life depends on walking exactly 333 steps is a lot like that. You count on your fingers, but what if you get distracted and drop a number? What if you repeat one? How do you know each step you’re taking is the same distance as all the others? I should have a calculator, a tape measure, and Rain Man as a guide. If I count wrong and don’t find a way out, maybe I should keep on walking. No. I could end up in here forever, and if it’s only one Apocalypse per customer I don’t want to miss it.