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He smiled and flicked some ashes into his palm.
We drove on for a while through the vanishing light, past fields of pumpkins and dried corn stalks. A few minutes later, night fell, and I turned on the headlights. I didn’t see it at first, but a possum darted out into the road right in front of the car. Bump, bump, we were over it in a microsecond. I looked at Christ.
He shrugged as if to say, “What can you do?”
“… and Heaven?” I asked as the car traveled into a valley where the trees from either side of the road had, above, grown together into a canopy.
“Angels, blue skies, your relatives are all there. The greats are there. Basically everybody is there. It gets a little tense sometimes, a little close.”
“You said that ‘basically’ everybody is in Heaven,” I said. “Who isn’t?”
“You know,” he said, “those other people.”
We kept going past the fences of the horse farms, the edges of barren fields, until Christ had me stop as McDonald’s and order him a quarter pounder with cheese, and a chocolate shake. I paid for it with my last couple of dollars.
He said, “I’ll pay you back in indulgences.”
“Hey, it’s on me,” I said.
He wolfed down the burger like the Son of Man that he was.
“So what have you seen in your travels?” I asked.
“You name it,” he said, sucking at his shake. “The human drama.”
“Do you ever stop anywhere?”
“Sometimes. I’m always on the look-out for an old Howard Johnson.” There was a short pause and then he said, “Could you step on it a little, have to be in New Egypt by eight.”
“Sure thing,” I said and put down the pedal. “You meeting someone?”
“I’ve been seeing this woman there on and off for the past couple of years. Every once in a while I’ll appear, give her a little push and then split by sunup.”
“She must be pretty special.”
“Yeah,” he said, and took out a flattened wallet. “Here she is.”
He showed me an old photo of this forty-five-year-old ex-blonde-bombshell in a leopard bikini.
“Nice,” I said.
“Nice isn’t the word for it,” he said, with a wink.
“What’s she do?” I asked.
“A little of this, a little of that,” he said.
“No, I mean, where does she work?”
“At the funeral parlor. She sews mouths and lids shut. She lives in a small house in the center of town. When I get there, she’s usually in bed. I step out of the armoire, minus the robe, and slip between the sheets with her. We eat of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil for a few hours and then lay back, have a smoke.”
“Does she know who you are?”
“I hope by this time she’s figured it out,” he said.
“She’ll end up going to the tabloids with the story,” I warned.
“Screw it, she already has. We were in that one recently with Bigfoot on the cover and the story about the woman who turned to stone on page three.”
“I missed that one, but I remember the cover.”
All of a sudden Christ sat straight up and pointed out the windshield. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, “pull over like you’re going to pick this guy up.”
Only when he spoke did I see the shadowy figure up ahead on the side of the road. I could see it was a guy and that he was hitchhiking. I passed by him a few feet and then pulled over to the shoulder. We could hear him ru
“Okay, peel out,” Christ said.
I did and we left that stranger in the dust.
“I love that one,” said the savior.
A few minutes passed and then I heard a hatchet of a voice from the back seat. “You fuckers,” it said. I looked in the rearview mirror and there was the Devil-horns, red skin, cheesy whiskers in a goatee. As I looked at him his grin turned into a wide smile.
Jesus reached back and offered a hand.
“Who’s the stiff at the wheel?” asked the Devil.
“You mean fat boy here?” Christ said and they both burst out laughing. “He’s cool.”
“Nice to meet you,” said the Devil.
I reached back and shook a hand that was a tree branch with the power to grip. “Name’s Jeff,” I said.
“I am Legion,” he hissed.
Then he stuck his head in the space between us and shot a little burp of flame into the air. Christ doubled over with silent laughter. “I got a bag of Carthage Red on me, you got any papers?” the Devil asked, putting his hand on Christ’s shoulder.
“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” asked the Son of God.
The Devil got the papers and started rolling one in the back seat. “Jeff, you ever try this shit?”
“I never heard of it.”
“It’s old, man, it’ll make you see God.”
“By the way,” Christ said, interrupting, “what ever happened with that guy in Detroit?”
“I took him,” said the Devil. “Mass murderer, just reeking evil. He hung himself in the jail cell. They conveniently forgot to remove his belt.”
“I thought I told you I wanted him,” said Christ.
“I thought I cared,” said the Devil. “Anyway, you get that old woman from Tampa. She’s going to make canonization. I guarantee it.”
“I guess that’s cool,” he said.
“Eat me if it isn’t,” said the Devil. They both started laughing and each patted me on the back. The Devil lit up the enormous joint he had created and the odd pink smoke began to permeate the car.
It tasted like ci
When my mind returned to me at a red light, I realized that the radio was on. New Age music, a piano, some low moaning formed a backdrop to the conversation of my passengers.
“What do you think?” Christ had just asked.
“I think this music has to go,” said the Devil. His fingers grew like snakes from the back seat, and he kept pressing the scan button on the radio until he came to the oldies station. “Back seat memories,” he said.
Somehow it was decided that we would go to Florida and check out the lady who was going to become a saint. “Maybe she’ll pop a miracle,” said the Devil.
“No sweat,” said Christ.
“My wife’s expecting me home around nine,” I said.
The Devil laughed really loud. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “I’ll split myself in two, and half of me will go to your house and boff your wife till we get back.”
Christ leaned over and put his hand on my knee. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said to me with a smile. “I have to be in New Egypt by eight.”
“You can do things?” I asked.
“Look,” said Christ, nodding toward the windshield. “We’re there. Just make a right at this corner. It’s the third house on the left.”
I looked up and saw that we were in a suburban neighborhood with palm trees lining the side of the road. The houses were all one-story ranch styles and painted in pastel colors. When I pulled the car over in front of the house, I could hear crickets singing quickly in the night heat.
Before we got out, the Devil leaned toward the front seat and said to Christ, “I’ll make you a bet she doesn’t do a miracle while we’re here.”
“Bullshit,” said Christ.
“What do you want to bet?” asked the Devil.
“How about him,” said the savior and pointed that weird thumb at me.
“Quite the high roller,” said the Devil.
As we were walking up the driveway to the front door, the Devil lagged a little behind us. I leaned over and, in a whisper, asked Christ if he thought she would perform.
He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Have faith, man,” he said. “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.”
“I heard that,” said the Devil. “I don’t like whispering.”
We walked right through the front door and into the living room where a woman was sitting in front of the television. At first, I thought she was deaf, but it soon became clear that we were completely invisible to her.