Kill City Blues

Mr. Muninn dismisses the comment with a wave.



“Please. That’s no excuse.”



“You don’t care that I’m an Abomination, do you? You’ve never cared.”



Samael smiles. Mr. Muninn nods.



“I see where you’re going with this. You’ve trapped me into saying that I reject the technicality that you, a nephilim, are Abomination. And if I can do that, why can’t I reject the technicality that your friend the father wrote an offensive book?”



“Well? Why can’t you?”



“Because it’s not that simple, is it? You made it complicated by stealing him right from under my, Lucifer’s, nose. Do you know how that makes me look?”



“Of course. The three of us know all about how shitty it is to be Lucifer.”



“And yet you did it anyway.”



“I got a little rash maybe. Okay. Sorry. Smite me with a lightning bolt.”



Samael says, “It’s God that does lightning bolts. There’s just us little Devils here.”



“Then stick me with a pitchfork. Look, if I’d come to you and asked for Traven’s soul, would you have given it to me?”



“Of course not.”



“Why?”



“Why? Because there are rules that shape the universe. We might not like all of them, but without them there would be anarchy and nothing would work.”



“Nothing works now.”



“Now you’re being melodramatic.”



“Are you happy? Am I happy? Is he happy?” I say, pointing to Samael. He takes a swig of beer.



“Name me one happy creature in this universe. You can’t, can you?”



“ ‘Call no man happy until he is dead,’ ” says Samael.



“That’s Marcus Aurelius, right?”



He makes a tsk noise.



“Aeschylus. A Greek playwright. Didn’t you read any of the books I left for you?”



“I remember the one where Curious George got to be a fireman.”



“Getting back to the topic at hand,” says Mr. Muninn. “We’ve had this discussion before, Stark. You want me to take sides in the religious dispute between Hell’s old Church and the new. You want me to make mankind happy and cheerful and free from strife. You want me to be all things to all creatures.”



“Shouldn’t you?”



“Where would free will come into this scenario? The ability to make choices, good or bad.”



“You never gave the angels free will. That’s why this one rebelled,” I say, pointing at Samael. “Maybe that’s another rule you should have broken.”



Samael looks away. He doesn’t want to get dragged into this particular argument.



“As I said to you once before, you don’t know what it is to be a ruler and you certainly have no idea what a deity is.”



“Do you? Are you really a deity, or were the Gnostics right and you’re just the Demiurge, a caretaker who’s gotten in over his head and can’t keep the plumbing working?”



“That’s an offensive question.”



“That’s not an answer.”



“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”



“Who are you talking to? Stark or the Abomination?”



“Both, I suspect.”



“You know that both Deumos and Merihim are against you, right? They’re as bad as Aelita. Just more subtle.”



He looks at me hard.



“What makes you think that?”



“Things I’ve seen and things I’ve been thinking about. Hey, here’s one good bit of news. Aelita is dead.”



Mr. Muninn sits back in the chair. Rests his elbows on the arms.



“I’m sorry to hear that. She was a troubled child, but at one time she was one of the ones closest to me.”



“You could say we rebel angels had troubled childhoods, but I blame video games,” says Samael.



Mr. Muninn says, “Quiet, you. Why don’t you go home and check on things at the palace.” He looks at me. “It’s getting crowded down there.”



Samael looks disappointed.



“You said I could come along. This is Stark we’re talking to. Not Mary Magdalen.”



“Well, you’re not helping, so please keep your contributions on topic.”



“Yes, sir.”



“So, Aelita is still one of your kids,” I say.



“Of course. Even at his worst, so was Samael. So are you. So is all humankind.”



“Let’s just keep this focused. Aelita is your kid. Samael is your kid. Merihim and Deumos are your kids.”



“Yes. All the rebel angels are my children.”



“Then you are one child-abusing motherfucker.”



“Excuse me?” says Muninn. Thunder rumbles outside.



“I’m an Abomination. A little outside everyone, right? I’m both sides and neither side of the argument. And I have your solution.”



“To what?”



“Your misery. And your kids’ misery.”



“Please, enlighten us all with the revelation of Saint Stark.”



“Close down Hell.”



Samael crushes his beer can and belches.



“Excuse me.”



The prick knew where I was going all along. He wanted me to say it first.



“I’m telling you as an ex-Lucifer, as someone who’s seen how miserable not just the damned are but the angels guarding them. Turn off the lights. Roll up the carpets and lock the doors. Whatever point you were making by tossing the rebels there has been made. Hell hasn’t redeemed the fallen angels. It’s created the biggest suicide cult in history. That’s why the generals agreed to Mason Faim’s idiot plan to storm Heaven. They knew it would fail and that Heaven’s armies would destroy them. Suicide by cop.”



Mr. Muninn picks up his coffee. Sips it and makes a face. It’s gone cold. He moves his hand over it and it’s hot again. He takes another sip.



“Nice trick,” I say.



“Are you going to point out how weak I am now that I’ve split into pieces? Don’t bother. I feel it every day.”



“I met Nefesh yesterday.”



Mr. Muninn nods.



“Yes, he told me all about it. My brother has come to stay with me.”



“And me,” says Samael. “Two fathers in the same house. Can you imagine my joy?”



“What about it, Mr. Muninn? Shut down Hell.”



He shakes his head.



“I’ll admit I’ve thought about it. I don’t know how I’d go about doing it. What to do with the angels that still want to rebel. What to do with the lost souls. Broken as I am, I don’t even know if I have the strength to do it anymore.”



“Now you have Nefesh to help. Maybe the two of you could do it together.”



“It’s a mad idea to consider as reality. Destroying Hell is an abstract notion. A philosophical argument. Nothing more.”



“Not if you don’t want it to be. You can make it real.”



“This is foolishness.”



“You can do it and let the angels have some free will. Don’t drag any of them back to Heaven. Leave Hell’s gates open and let the ones that want to go back with you go and let the angels who want to stay in Hell stay. And find something better to do with all those damned souls. How many of them are like Father Traven, there on technicalities?”



“This is all very romantic and heartfelt, Stark, but I’d like to point out a flaw in your argument,” says Samael. “You’ll notice that I’m not in Heaven anymore. Neither are a lot of angels. Hell is becoming a very crowded place and not just with rebels and lost souls.”



“Angels are fleeing Heaven in droves,” says Mr. Muninn. “Ruach grows less rational by the hour.”



“So you see, while your throw-the-gates-open argument might have some merit, it’s impossible to implement until Ruach is made sane or removed as Heaven’s guardian. And in the end, all of these arguments might be moot.”



“The Angra,” I say.



Samael nods.



“The Angra.”



“The Angra,” says Mr. Muninn.



“You broke some rules when you took the universe from them. You can break one little rule for Father Traven.”



“No,” says Mr. Muninn.



“I guess it’s a Mexican standoff. Unless you’re going to toss me into a lake of fire or something.”



Mr. Muninn makes a face.



“You’d love that. It would fit right into your martyr complex.”



“Then where are we?”



“I have a counteroffer. A compromise.”



“Okay.”



“Eleusis. The place of virtuous pagans. It’s the most civilized place in Hell. Full of intellectuals and philosophers. The best of the old world. I think your Father Traven would fit right in.”



“Yeah,” I say. “I always hated Eleusis too. It seems to me like another bullshit technicality. Why is it their fault that they hadn’t heard about your religion when it was something like nine people believed in back then?”



“The Word was there on earth. All they had to do was follow it.”



“Let’s not start a whole other argument,” Samael says.



“Thank you.”



“My answer to Eleusis is thanks but no. Traven isn’t staying anywhere in Hell.”



“You don’t respect rules at all, do you?”



“Sure I do. When they make sense. But some don’t and some are out-of-date. You keep saying you can’t change the rules. Shit, man. You wrote the rules. You can break them or rewrite them any way you want.”



“It’s a matter of both strength and inclination, and I’m not sure I possess either at the moment. And nobody but that one,” he says, looking at Samael, “has ever pressed me or spoken to me like this before.”



“I’m not trying to bust your balls, Mr. Muninn. You know I like you. You’re a nice guy and you took care of the dead under L.A. for all those years. But you’re wrong on this and you know it. None of us here ever wanted to be Lucifer. You can make sure there are no more Lucifers ever again.”



“This isn’t the time for that discussion,” he says.



“I might have an idea,” Samael says. “A compromise for you both.”



Mr. Muninn says, “I’m listening.”



“Stark, as we’ve both pointed out, Heaven isn’t the place to send anyone anymore, so your rescue of Father Traven, while brave, was ill-timed. And Father won’t permit him going to paradise. So, what do you do with a soul one party won’t let into Hell and the other won’t permit into Heaven?”



“What?” I say.



“Blue Heaven.”



“Limbo, you mean?”



“The pleasantest limbo you’ve ever seen,” says Samael.



Blue Heaven is a place out of time, literally. Its real name translates as “the Dayward.” It’s a part of the universe that broke away from normal time and space in 1582 when Pope Gregory switched from the old Julian calendar to the Christian. Fifteen days were suddenly wiped out of existence. But they never really went away. They exist on their own as the Dayward. Blue Heaven.



“Have you ever been there?” says Samael.



“You know I haven’t. The angel part of me has, but the rest of me can’t remember what it was like. I guess I have a general sense that it was a decent enough place. I don’t even know how to get there.”



“Through the Room, you idiot,” says Samael. “The Door of Drunken Eternity, I believe.”



“How do you know that?”



“When your angel broke loose of you, he talked in his sleep.”



“What, and you used to crouch over him and listen? You pervert.”



“You can take the boy out of the Devil but not the Devil out of the boy,” he says.



We both look at Mr. Muninn. He seems lost in thought.



He says, “If I was to agree to let Father Traven leave, would you give me the Qomrama Om Ya?”



That stumps me. I don’t know what to say at first. I don’t think Nefesh wanted to get near the thing.



“No,” I say. “But I promise I’ll use it against the Angra and fight them until the end.”



“Then the answer is no.”



“Let me throw you another compromise,” I say.



“All right.”



“Let Father Traven go and I’ll come back to Hell and stay. I’ll be Lucifer again.”



“Ha!” says Samael. Mr. Muninn opens his eyes a bit wider. I wish I could read angels the way I can read humans. I never know what these fuckers are thinking. That goes double for God.



“You’d really do that?”



“If I can bring Candy with me, yes.”



Mr. Muninn shakes his head.



“You’re the definition of a troublesome child.”



“What about me?” says Samael.



“You both exasperate me.”



I say, “It’s a gift. Well?”



“What can I say? You weren’t the worst imaginable Lucifer, but you were very close. No, you won’t come back as Hell’s caretaker. But I’m impressed by your offer, though I’m not rewarding you for it. I’m protecting Hell from your whims. Keep Father Traven. Put him in Blue Heaven. And this time, you’ll owe me a favor.”



“Cool.”



I put out my hand. Mr. Muninn shakes it. It’s not a happy shake. It’s not even angry. It’s weary. Being Lucifer will do that to you. He gives me a wicked smile worthy of Samael.