Conversations with the Light Bearer (Religious Satire)

CHAPTER II - Death pays a visit

CHAPTER II

DEATH PAYS A VISIT

It came in the night, an hour before moon's peak.

The gleaming crescent hid warily behind the veil, the black night as silent as death. If people knew any better, they would have painted their doors with lamb's blood. Not really a novel motif—not to mention the stench it would cause—but I suppose people can sleep at ease these days without fear of their first born suddenly dying from a heart attack. The wind blew stronger. The window curtains billowed, casting malicious shadows over the varnished floor. And then suddenly, I wasn't alone anymore.

"Good evening, Samael," said the unseen entity. It was only a voice, though I knew he was there. I could smell the queer stench, fragrant yet grim, like a bouquet of flowers on a late afternoon funeral. "How fares your mortal life?"

"It's been six years, for the love of God. Six years gone in the blink of an eye. Six years since my blasted son banished me to live and die in the mortal realm." I rested my back on the headboard. It felt odd receiving a guest in my nightclothes. But then again, he didn't even knock. "And please don't address me by that name. I am no more a part of Heaven as I am of Hell."

"Would you prefer Lucifer Morningstar? Or perhaps Shiva the Destroyer?" the deep but refined voice continued. "Yes, I recall you visited India quite often back then."

"Vincent," I answered swiftly, before he mustered any more titles I had since Creation. "Just Vincent. And I would hardly consider myself a destroyer, if you know what I mean."

"Very well. So Vincent, eh? Derived from the Roman name Vincentius, this in turn derived from the Latin vincere, which means to conquer. Quite a suitable name, you have chosen."

"Despite my love for etymology, no, I did not come up with that one." I cleared my throat. "That is the name of this body."

"I see."

For a while, the angel was silent, though I could only imagine the boy scout inspecting my chambers, scrutinizing every nook and cranny of it, and formulating a mental note from which he would report to his big boss upstairs. In essence, the bedroom was quite small, about four meters wide. A small, round table for the occasional midnight snack rested on the corner. The bed, a single bed size, lay in front of it.

"Oh my, where are my manners?" I said as I made the gesture. "Please do have a seat."

"Why, thank you, Vincent." The matching chair beside the table moved, floating for a while in midair, then dropping softly a few inches in front of the bed. Quite graceful, I might add. "A lovely place, you have here."

"Suitable to my needs, I suppose," I replied. "So what can I do you for, Azrael?"

"Nothing, really. Should there be a reason to visit an old friend?"

I raised an eyebrow. Friend? No reason to visit me? Something was definitely wide off the mark. "Old friend?" I snickered. "Since when did we become friends?"

"Ever since Egypt, I suppose," the angel answered. "You even paid visit to take a gander, did you not?"

"False, thou art not. Though I came to simply confirm a wager: if He could really have used such cruel and implacable tactics, not to mention disgraceful, all just for the Egyptian Prince to mind his faults."

"And were you the victor?"

I laughed. "Of course."

"And why were you so confident?"