Tradegy Of Crows: Chapter 2 (5) “Then don’t!” Satan spoke. In the back of his mind, he heard maintenance demons grumbling. “I want Charon here, now, and I don’t care if you have to man the ferry yourself….” With any of his demons, there was no need to finish this kind of sentence. No one wanted to hear what Satan could dream up as a punishment. He had innovated damnation. Scholars were still talking about poor old Sisyphus. Not everyone got the story straight, but they all remembered what he had to do…. that and far worse things, Satan had come up with himself, just on a whim. If he actually got angry enough to think about it for any prolonged period of time, he was scared of what he might come up with. Luckily, he was not a particularly angry individual. “Yes, yes master,” Beezlbub whined. His formless presence dispersed. Somewhere he’d be rematerializing as a lanky, dragon-looking creature that the legendary Sir Lancelot would have laughed at in search of larger dragons and greater ventures. Beezlbub’s tiny talons and unimpressive brainpower were not terrifying weapons. The grizzly, frightful force that made him a most dreaded demon in Hell was his unflagging, imperishable, misguided faith. Satan could sense him scampering off to the high courts held in the inner chambers of the castle of Dis. The deed would be done. Satan sat quietly, making his calculations, guessing and pontificating, all while a maliciously satisfied smile struck across his face. Something was on the rise. Something was wrong with the bright light shining down from the higher world. And he loved it. *** “Ow, what the…,” Brian said rising from the ground. His elbow throbbed with pain. “What did you do that for?” “Because kicking you in the side didn’t work,” Hazzard said squatting beside him. Brian cast a bitter look, exhaled, and rolled over onto one side. “We should all get some rest. You do realize what tomorrow is, don’t you?” Brian said. He remembered his hat. Both arms flopped in all directions after it. “Relax,” Hazzard said tossing the hat onto his shoulder. With squinting eyes, Brian inspected it thoroughly, running his fingers over the top to be sure of its condition. “What are you smirking about,” his voice cracked. “Can’t you realize where we are?” “Sure. I understand it,” Hazzard replied sending a blue spray of smoke into the air. “But I don’t think I’m afraid of this place, though. Shouldn’t I be?” Brain turned over again, jamming his hat underneath his left side. “I don’t think we should be having this discussion now. We have too much to think about before the morning.” “Then why sleep? Why not share your thoughts with the rest of the group?” Hazzard asked, adding a slight laugh. “Because the rest of the group had the good sense to go to sleep,” Brian whispered. The smallest shuffle of his feet seemed to shatter the silence of the shore. Even the sound of ash being flicked from a cigarette seemed unendurably loud. “I’m still here, Brian, explain me,” Hazzard spoke. Brian had a few things he wanted to say, but none of them would have shut him up. It could go in circles all night. The only defense would be to play dumb, hopefully getting him to talk long enough so he could drift back to sleep while ignoring him. “I can’t. All right,” Brian said. “I’m tired. I don’t want to talk about this.” “About what?” Hazzard asked leaning towards him. Brown hair spilled over his shoulders and barely touched the earth. “Hell, demons, lost souls… what don’t you want to talk about?” “I don’t want to talk about anything,” he said. “Not even those books you read,” Hazzard said. “Did you learn all about this before somewhere?” “Yes,” he sighed. “And it would do you some good to read a book once in a while, too. You might understand the importance of this journey and the epic waste of time you’re causing here.” “Really…” Hazzard said. “Yes, really,” Brian replied. “And no more questions, please. You should be thinking of questions for the great…. Well, I guess you wouldn’t care about that, would you?” “You’re probably right,” he said. “I probably don’t care about tomorrow.” “That’s your choice,” Brian said. “But, I’ve made mine, and I want to sleep.” “Fine,” Hazzard said plainly. “I just wanted to remind you that you are all following a dead man. That’s what he is, Brian. Whatever power is willing you along couldn’t find a soul alive that was willing to take you. Where are your angels, too? I just wanted to ask you if you’re ready to follow the dead so blindly. I wanted to offer you the chance to turn around and go home.” Brian flopped over, but he was gone. A cigarette butt was fading out upon the ground a few feet away. For a few moments, Brian felt odd, and he tried to analyze himself a little to discover whether or not he could ever consider following Hazzard anywhere, much less out of the mouth of Hell. Of course, before he could form an argument one way or the other, sleep cut in and sent him back to the middle of some unfinished dream that he would not remember in the morning. Meanwhile, Virgil found Hazzard dangling his feet over the edge into the highest shadows of the sightless zone. “It is not wise to waste such an opportunity,” Virgil stated causing Hazzard to shiver. The shaking ended in a cough. He never sat up or attempted to arch his head back. With eyes held firmly on the sightless zone, Hazzard sat muttering. “What did you say?” Virgil spoke quietly, but abruptly. “I said that maybe, it wasn’t wise to waste such an opportunity on me,” he replied. “You mustn’t feel unworthy of your own fate. It is willed,” Virgil said leaning over him. Underneath the dangling hair, Hazzard’s eyes could not be seen, not even when Virgil’s bluish light shined upon him. An unbreakable shadow held strong upon his face. Off-white shards emerged from the darkness between his cheeks, catching and refracting Virgil’s aura. After an initial, inexplicable wave of horror, Virgil recognized a smile. “Oh, of course,” Hazzard spoke with a soft bit laughter. Something was definitely wrong with that voice, the way it seemed to sound out loud and trail off into the abyss. It was happy sounding, like someone giving a gift, but tense as if that gift had cost the giver, too much. It was all this, and faintly sinister, too. “I keep forgetting that.” Virgil had seen fear in so many eyes, manifesting in so many different ways, he shrugged off the sound of Hazzard’s voice after finding it difficult to place in the spectrum of his recollection. A new reaction came along once in a while for Virgil. The important thing was to recognize it as fear and treat it accordingly. “Do not be afraid. This was meant to be,” Virgil replied. “You have a chance to know what no ordinary man can even dream of. To learn a fraction of what these great men have known, to give back to your world a small portion of what you will see here, that will make you a great man. That effort will make you a hero.” “A hero… me? I don’t know,” he said. Virgil sensed shakiness in his voice, a crackle and a pitch change. It had to be fear, but for a moment or two Virgil wondered about the source of the fear. Most chose to sleep, to give all to his protection after the horrific initiation into Hell. He wouldn’t even look at Virgil, not even when speaking. In fact, Virgil had no idea what color eyes he had. And he had picked up the other’s names, but this one tourist had escaped him. That couldn’t have been his desire, unless he was afraid of something. Yet, Virgil got the strange sense it wasn’t fear of demons, Hell, or the unknown at all, but a fear like that of arabid animal aware of a man with a club. It was almost as if he was wincing after each word, as if the thin cloak of something wicked was about to tear wide open. “I’m not sure I’m what you’re looking for. I’m not really up to this. There’s so much I don’t seem to know. ” “I understand that your society does not produce the scholars we once had,” Virgil said pacing behind him. At last a tourist seemed to own up to the depravity of modern times. Virgil had never had the time to explain the impossible odds against them or how futile the idea of success truly was. Something special rarely comes along, and if the artist is not already on his or her way, far beyond the level of those so often sent on the tour, then the chance at greatness is laughably slim. If he could turn one or two away from future heartbreak by presenting the odds, he’d be content. This one had realized early that he wasn’t meant to mingle with the great names from beyond, and Virgil thought it noble and honest of him to say so…. but that voice, there was something peculiar about how he said it. Perhaps it was a lack of confidence. He’d need at least some confidence to continue the journey. “But, don’t let that detour you from your commitment to learning. Hell, Heaven, your place in it all, you can’t figure it all out in a night… Even if you can’t spend your life turning the great questions into meaningful literature, you can at least deepen your appreciation for the works of these great men and…” “I don’t read, really,” Hazzard interrupted. “I never really… liked it much.” “You want to know what’s down there, don’t you? So badly, you can’t sleep. It’s the scholar in you, but you lack discipline. Otherwise, you would know when to drop thoughts, trust in yourself, and simply sleep on the issue,” Virgil said, sighing through the words. The young man was doing something. “Being difficult” was the best two words he could come up with. That didn’t begin to explain the way he appeared too frail to blast with any kind of reprimand. It didn’t begin to say why Virgil felt a tense desire to yell at him in the first place. The sad state of youth today, Virgil thought, must be the explanation. Every year they came more jaded and bizarre, with sarcasm switching off and on so many times that even they lose track of it themselves. “I haven’t been looking down there at all. I’ve just been sitting here thinking. It’s all I ever do. That’s all I really want to do,” Hazzard said. The voice had changed and the strange smile had fallen back into the shadows of his face. “And tomorrow, what will you ask the scholars?” Virgil remarked. “I won’t ask them anything,” he said, smirking. “I’ll let the wise students ask the questions. I’ll sit and listen. I have faith that they’ll make you very proud.” “Proud?” Virgil asked. “They will please you with their desire to learn, I’m sure,” Hazzard said. “I can not take pride in them,” Virgil spoke. He had better end this now. The desire to end it zapped up his spine. Of course, he didn’t have a spine, really, or a head, but it seemed to react. He was probably exhausted. It had been a long day in an afterlife. Surely, that was possible. “I am just a guide. A greater force propels them onward. You as well. I cannot take the credit, only share in the glory of the venture. Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s journey will be the longest of your life.” Virgil’s light washed over his shoulder, but Hazzard never turned or raised his head. He never went to sleep that night. Had he been on earth, he might have seen the sun rise. ***
Copyright © 2001 Scott W. Hazzard |