Sympathy for the Devil

Prologue Chartres, France, twenty-eight years ago The Devil paused on the street outside a café and glanced in the window. God already sat at a table inside, blowing on a cup of café au lait. After stopping to brush some snow from the shoulder of his coat, the Devil entered the building. “You’re late,” God remarked, not looking up from His coffee. “An unavoidable delay, I assure you.” The Devil waved a waiter over and ordered a double espresso. “Sticking to the dark side?” said God. “That stuff,” the Devil retorted, pointing a gloved finger at God’s café au lait, “is entirely too frilly for me.” God didn’t bother to reply, but instead took a small sip from His maligned coffee and then shut His eyes momentarily. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” He said. “But no matter. We’re not here to discuss coffee, are we?” “No.” The Devil drew off his gloves and laid them on the scuffed tabletop. The waiter reappeared and placed an espresso at the Devil’s elbow, then retreated toward the kitchen. Without bothering to blow on the steaming liquid to cool it, the Devil tossed back a healthy swallow, after which he set the cup down on the table and said, “I want out.” “Out?” God inquired, in a tone of mild curiosity. “Out of Hell. I’m done. Eternity is getting on my nerves.” For a moment, God regarded the Devil over the rim of His coffee cup. He sipped again, then put down the café au lait. “Any particular reason for this change of heart?” “The world doesn’t need the Devil anymore. These people can manage quite well enough on their own.” God considered that statement for a moment, then said, “I suppose I shouldn’t bother to ask whether there are any other reasons for this sudden onset of angst.” The Devil drained the rest of his espresso and signaled the waiter for another. “Does it matter? Isn’t this what You’ve wanted all along — for me to come crawling back to You on my hands and knees?” “Penitence is laudable, of course, but balance must be maintained. Hell must have its guardian.” “So promote Beelzebub,” the Devil growled. “He’s been grousing about ‘glass ceilings’ and all that lately. I knew I should have canceled that subscription to Forbes.” God smiled. “Very well. But I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple.” The Devil made a sound of muffled anger in his throat. “What, then?” Still smiling, God waited until the waiter had placed another espresso on the table and moved off to take an order from a portly gentleman a few tables away. “To re-enter the Kingdom of Heaven, you must prove that you’re worthy of dwelling there once more.” “And how the hell — if you’ll pardon the expression — am I supposed to do that?” “Love.” “Excuse me?” God finished off the rest of His café au lait. “Ah, excellent. Truly the best on Earth. Anyhow, if you can prove that you’re capable of love — true love, not simple lust or infatuation — then you may become mortal, live out a normal span of years, and die. At that point, you should have redeemed yourself sufficiently to return to Heaven.” “I have to die to come back?” “I’m afraid so.” The Devil let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s never easy with You, is it?” God lifted His shoulders. “How badly do you want to be quit of Hell?” “I see your point.” There was a pause as the Devil took a more modest sip of espresso. Frowning, he asked, “Who is this person I’m supposed to love?” “Ah, that.” God traced one forefinger along a particularly deep scar on the tabletop. “She’s just been born, as a matter of fact.” “Is she pretty?” God lifted an eyebrow. “Typical. If I wanted to make this particularly difficult for you, I could have made her plain, but — yes, she will be pretty. Not,” God added, giving the Devil a stern look, “outstandingly beautiful.” “I suppose it would have been too much to request another Marilyn Monroe or Sophia Loren.” “Some of My best work,” God said modestly. “But yes, of course. Nothing like that. Still, she should be pleasing enough.” “All right,” said the Devil, after drinking more espresso. “What else?” “She must love you for yourself. This means she has to know who you are.” “I have to tell her I’m the Devil?” “Yes.” The Devil frowned but said nothing. God went on, “You will retain all your powers, but you may know nothing of her thoughts, her soul — nothing more than you would learn from observing her as any mortal man might. It would give you an unfair advantage for you to know every detail of her life as you do with other mortals.” God picked up a sugar packet and considered it, then put it back in the wire rack that held its companions. “And you must accomplish your goal in thirty days.” “Why thirty?” God raised an eyebrow. “It seems a good round number.” The Devil looked away, gazing through the window at the town square outside and the bulk of the cathedral that loomed up through the twilight. He asked, “But I am allowed to keep my powers?” “Up until the time you meet the strictures of our agreement. Then, of course, you will be as mortal as anyone else. Oh, you won’t be cut off completely,” God went on, His voice somewhat amused. “If nothing else, you’ve earned a very good retirement package, but how can you expect to live out your life as a regular man if you’re allowed to retain your powers?” The Devil tapped his fingers on the table, considering. “All right,” he said. “I suppose You have a valid point. So I simply have to fall in love with her, and have her fall in love with me? Then I live my life, go to Heaven, and am finished with Hell forever?” God’s mouth quirked slightly. “The fact that you used the word ‘simply’ in that sentence proves how little you know about love.” “Hmph.” The Devil set his empty espresso cup down on the battered tabletop. “We’ll see about that.” “Yes,” God said mildly. “I suppose We shall.”