by E.E. King
And So It Came to Pass
—Kurt Vonnegut
Once home, Dirk showered, changing into jeans and his favorite sweatshirt. He got back in his car and followed his map. To his surprise, the street he had never noticed was just where the map said it was.
Elysium College lay at the end of a cul de sac. It was a low stucco building designed by a graduate of the fast-profit/flat-box school of architecture. Dirk entered, and saw the Cary Grant stand-in he had seen on TV the night before.
What a Mickey Mouse operation. They can’t even afford to hire actors!
The room, a windowless rectangle was barred by rows of tiny wooden desks attached to tiny cramped, seats. At the front of the room the dark, handsome instructor leaned nonchalantly against a sarcophagus of a desk, one leg carelessly draped over the edge.
“Come in, come in,” the stranger said with forced jollity. In person, he was more haggard, than he had appeared on TV. “I am here to answer all your questions.”
I doubt that.
The room brought back memories. How much of his childhood, youth, and young manhood had been wasted in rooms like this? The blackboard clouded grey with the dust of fruitless equations, the smell of chalk filling his nostrils.
“I know, you doubt that,” the stranger continued, “I realize that you feel your questions about the afterlife cannot be easily answered.”
They can’t be answered at all, the only way to answer them would be to visit different afterlives.
“I know,” the stranger said tiredly, “The only way is to visit each afterlife.”
“What?” Dirk squeaked, alarmed into full attention for the first time in years. I didn’t say anything!
“Well,” the stranger continued, swinging his leg back and forth against the desk, “I rather just assumed, that like any normal person, you feel the need for personal experience. Your life, your work, has made you cynical. Not in a bad way,” the stranger hastily amended, “In a good, a very good, completely clear-headed, totally rational way. Who among us doesn’t want firsthand knowledge?”
True, Dirk thought grudgingly. He sat on the top of one of the tiny desks. It was not comfortable. “Hey,” Dirk questioned, “how do you know what I do?”
“The form you filled out on the Internet.”
“Oh,” Dirk felt reassured. Even though he did not remember filling out a form.
“As part of our first-time offer only,” the stranger continued with a wan pretense of enthusiasm, “we are prepared to offer you exactly what you want: a firsthand visit to, not just one, but multiple Heavens.”
“Right,” Dirk said. So, what are you God?”
“Do I look like God?” the stranger asked wearily.
Dirk shook his head.
“Okay, No more beating around the bush then. Let me introduce myself. Lucifer, at your service.” He mocked a courtly bow.
Although Dirk had managed to ignore his television’s color and the amazingly rapid book delivery, it all came flooding back to him. Tensing, he upset the desk and crashed to the floor, the desk tottered slowly back and forth like a decapitated rocking horse before collapsing onto Dirk’s legs.
Lucifer extended a beautiful hand.
“B-b-but,” Dirk stammered from his seat on the floor, unconscious of the desk trapping his legs, “even if I believed you, which I most certainly do not, what would be the point of trading my soul for a premature glimpse of Heaven? It’d be like spending all your money to find the perfect house, then not being able to buy it because you were out of cash.” Dirk knew that this was just some sort of a ridiculous publicity stunt; nonetheless, he was breathing hard and fast.
“I assure you, my friend, the very last thing I want is your soul. Do you know how overcrowded Hell is?”
Cary—or Lucifer—haggardly raked a hand though his glossy, dark curls. Dirk noticed he was graying at the temples.
“I thought it would be a lot more enjoyable. At first it was, Hell contained only a few thousand souls. I had enough time and room that I could sort of tailor Hell to their needs.
“Now, most people don’t even try to get into Heaven, and if they do, they often go about it in very disturbing ways. I don’t care what you’ve heard; blowing up people is not the way into Heaven. Neither is blowing up medical clinics. In fact, I think it’d be safe to say that usually bombs, guns, and killing don’t make for easy access. Then, there are all those folks who are eligible but make it so damned hard on themselves! The Catholics all have to go to Purgatory first, and who do you think has to arrange for that?”
“Then there are the Jehovah’s Witnesses When they get up to Heaven, what do they do? They start counting, for Christ’s sake! They believe Heaven only has room for 144,000 souls. Of course all the slots are full, and who do you think gets stuck with the overflow?”
He gestured in irritated fatigue at himself.
“Then there’s the idea of Hell. What with overpopulation and global warming, Hell compares very favorably to New York or Tokyo on a hot day. Take the burning flames. I mean, how much pain can you feel when you’re dead? One of the things about being dead is that you aren’t very sensitive! Anyway,” Lucifer sighed, “I don’t mean to complain, but if I’d have known what it was going to be like, I’d have much, much rather served in Heaven.
“So, as you can see, my offer is entirely without strings. Your soul is and will remain your own—I don’t want it,” he added emphatically.
“Whatdaya say? Would you, Dirk Quigby, like to be the first person ever on the face of this planet to traverse the afterlife and live to tell the tale?” the Devil forced an insincere grin and extended his hand, “Whatdaya say we shake on it?”
“Okay,” Dirk said, pushing the desk off his legs but remaining on the floor. “Even if I play along, what’s in it for you? I mean, if you’re the Devil, you can’t be doing this out of the goodness of your heart, right? Hell, you probably don’t even have a heart.”
“Well,” the Devil replied cautiously, “I do want something in return, sort of a quid pro quo.”
“Ah ha!” Dirk smirked.
“It’s not a bad deal,” the Devil pleaded, “Just hear me out.”
Dirk folded his arms and gave Lucifer a dubious stare.
Lucifer sighed. “Look, it’s hell being me. I mean it. I thought it would be entertaining, and in the beginning, it had its rewards. Either I’d acquire exceptional souls like Galileo or Leonardo who weren’t evil, but weren’t allowed into the Heaven of their age, or I’d get vicious scum like Hitler or Genghis Khan, who were rather amusing to torment. But now, it’s every Tom, Dick, and Mohammed! Some of them are pretty snotty, too. They keep asking, ‘Where are the virgins? Where are the virgins!?’ I tell them, ‘Look, it’s Hell. No virgins in Hell, okay?’ But, they just won’t listen! Finally, I figured it out. I give them virgins now, but they never get to have intercourse with them. That way I can save the virgins for the next fanatic who comes down the pipeline. Of course, the girls are about two thousand years old by now, so it’s really not much of a temptation anyway."
He sighed again. Dirk began to feel impatient.
“I still don’t know what you want from me.”
“Ahhhh, well, here’s where you come in. I think if more people were sort of…encouraged to go to Heaven…You’re an ad man. You know…make it sexy. Highlight the benefits and downplay the difficulty.”
“So what exactly are you asking me to do?”
“Well,” the Devil said, nervously tugging at a forelock, “I’d like you to write…you know…sort of a guide to the afterlife. Touch on the different kinds of Heavens…”
“Let me get this straight…you want me to write a Zagat Guide to the afterlife?”
“Well,” Lucifer replied, “in a nutshell…yes.”
Dirk was silent for a moment, a million diverse thoughts all scampering in different directions inside his head.
“I’m just curious…Why me? I mean, I know I can write, I’m good at snappy slogans—but come on, I’m no Hemingway.”
“Do you know how much Hemingway would cost? Besides, he’s dead. He’s already chosen his afterlife.”
“Where did he go?”
“That,” Lucifer grinned, “is private. Your choice of afterlife is as sacrosanct as a pre-Watergate psychiatrist’s office. Just look at the tabloids—there are oodles of Elvis sightings in Memphis or Lynchburg, but you never read about whether he’s in the Baptist Heaven or the Buddhist one.
“As to why you… well you have experience writing about unplea… unusual places.”
Dirk considered this. He was a tad nervous that the Devil might want him to sign a contract in blood, especially if it was to be his blood, but Lucifer just laughed at the idea.
“Oh no, that’s just Hollywood. A handshake is as good as a promise.” And so saying, the Devil once again extended his hand toward Dirk.
Dirk took it, feeling the cool, smooth flesh that generated a curious warmth. It was what a satin electric blanket might have felt like. Dirk noticed that Lucifer’s graying temples were now coal black.
“Good as a promise,” Lucifer repeated, enclosing Dirk’s hand in a firm yet delicate grip.
Looking deep into Lucifer’s lustrous black eyes, Dirk thought he saw the faintest suggestion of a spark, a tiny flame that contained within it a guarantee that a promise to Satan was as good as an oath, and that an oath to the Devil was not to be taken lightly.
Dirk felt a brief but burning stab in his eyes.
“Ow” he cried, instinctively pulling away from Lucifer, “What was that?”
“Nothing to worry about,” Lucifer assured him, “It’s The Devil’s press pass—I sear it onto your retinas, so that you never have to worry about losing it.”
That is not foremost in my current list of concerns.
Lucifer turned to leave. “But how will I get there?” Dirk cried out.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Lucifer replied, “The afterlife is always much closer than people think.”