Confidence

“Now war arose in heaven, Michael and his angels fighting against the dragon. And the dragon and his angels fought back, but he was defeated, and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world—he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him.” ~Revelation 12:7-9

 

Mora shot up in bed. Her heart was racing so fast that she was panting. She searched through the darkness, and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. The night made the room strange and new, or perhaps the dream had changed the room somehow. It had been another dream about the war. There had been a lot of dreams about the war lately. One might think that millions of years might diminish the potency of the memories, but some things a person just couldn’t forget. Well… a person might, an angel couldn’t. Mora put her hands over her face as she concentrated on trying to slow her heart.

            The man in bed next to her rolled over. “What’s wrong?” he mumbled drowsily.

            For a moment she couldn’t remember who he was, but gradually it came back to her. Husband… that was it, he was husband.

            She rolled onto his chest and looked into his handsome bearded face. His eyebrows rose up as he met her gaze. Mora twisted her fingers in his beard. This was certainly husband.

            “Are you alright?”

            “Just a bad dream,” she told him as she placed her chin against his chest.

            He laughed a little, “Must have been one hell of a nightmare.”

            Husband embraced her and the night resumed its normal, far more pleasant course.

 

            Mora sat at her desk later that morning reading through paperwork. Social work wasn’t necessarily God’s work, but it was good work, or at least used to be. Social work had changed. There seemed to be more paper then clients anymore. How could she still be helping people if she never saw anyone? The phone rang and she answered it without looking away from her papers.

            “Mora Asir speaking.”

            “Mora, there’s someone out here to see you, should I send them in?”

            She looked around her office at the stacks of paperwork, and the two empty chairs across the desk.

            “Yes, please.”

            It took time to shift the piles upon piles of papers as she tried to make the desk look less cluttered. It wasn’t working. She leaned back in the chair, then forward, then she swiveled left and right. Mora couldn’t remember the last time someone had come to the office to see her. It felt like years since she had seen a client face to face. As patient as she tried to be they just couldn’t get there fast enough.

            There were three taps on her office door and she stood up so fast that she sent her chair spinning.

            “Come in,” she gasped.

            The door opened painfully slow. The light from the hall cast a beam of almost ethereal beauty upon the floor. She was going to have a real client meeting. It had been so long since she had been able to help someone that she nearly cried with excitement. A hand clasping the door handle came into view, then an arm, a shoulder, a face… and that’s when her heart sank.

            “Michael.”

            This was more than just disappointing, it was downright unpleasant. She fell back down into her office chair and rested her elbows on the paper covered desk.

            His intimidating frame stood in the doorway for a moment. She could see he was battling with himself. He didn’t want to come in, which was alright with her because she didn’t want him to either. The last time she had seen brother Michael had been during the war. She almost instinctively felt the three inch long scar over her left hip where he had run her through with a spear, she was lucky to be alive.  

            “Sister Marou,” he greeted her.

            She scowled at him with all the loathing in her heart. He would dare to call her sister? They had met too often tried to kill one another for her to consider such an absurdity.

            “I am not Marou anymore, neither am I your sister,” she snapped. “What do you want?”

            His face dropped towards the floor. It wasn’t like him to act ashamed. His burden seemed particularly heavy today, and as deeply as she hated Michael her heart was still stirred to see him suffering. Mora cursed the tenderness the last few centuries amongst mankind had lent her.

            “Sit… please,” she said gesturing to the chair opposite her.

            He stepped in and closed the door behind him. The millennia had changed him. He wasn’t the warrior of God that he use to be. His once beautiful features seemed dulled and his posture no longer cut a silhouette of awe inspiring power. There were dark circles under his tired eyes and as ridiculous as it might seem, she pitied him. Mora supposed that heaven had change a great deal after she was cast out, and clearly it had not been for the better.

            “You look well,” he told her as he pulled his hands over his face and through his hair.

            Her lips pulled back in a tight, forced smile.

            “What do you want Michael?” she asked gently.

            He was looking at the papers scattered across her desk and she blush at her poor housekeeping. His gaze fell upon a picture frame which he lifted and studied intently. It was a photo of Mora and her husband. They were under the big maple tree in the yard outside their apartment. Husband’s head was resting on her lap and she was leaning over about to kiss him. It was one of her favorite photos.

            Reaching over she took the precious moment out of Michael’s hands and placed it back on her desk. Carefully she positioned it so he couldn’t see the picture. She didn’t like him prying into her private life.

            “I need your help,” he said as he stared at his empty hands.

            Mora looked at him blankly for a moment. The Archangel Michael needed her help? He had God to help him, what on earth could she do that the Lord couldn’t?

            “What do you want me to do?”

            “Do you still talk to Satan?”

            She leaned back in her chair. Eyes narrowed she looked at Michael quite seriously. Satan was the last person she thought he would come to talk to her about.  

            “What if I do?”

            He looked at her and his eyes were wide, not so much with shock as a manic sort of anticipation. He leaned forward in his chair.

            “Could you arrange for me to speak with him?”

            Mora snorted with laughter. Standing up she pushed the chair back with her legs and began to pace behind her desk.

            “Obviously you’ve lost your mind,” she mocked. “He wouldn’t speak to you, not even if it were the final judgment.”

            Leaning back in his chair he rested his chin on his knuckles. She watched him with great curiosity as he thought. What game was he playing? What did he really want? She knew that God worked in mysterious ways and that Michael was the hand of God, but a straight forward answer would have been nice.

            “Would you speak to him for me?” Michael asked.

            “No,” she snorted, “Why?”

            Michael looked up at her and she could see the seriousness in his eyes. It gave her pause in her irregular pacing. He really looked quite grave.

            “God is abandoning this world.”

            It wasn’t until she bumped against the wall of her office that she realized she had been backing up. It was absurd, but the more she thought about it the less ridiculous it seemed. God had sent the flood, he banished man to this imperfect rock, and then rained plagues down on them on a regular basis. Why shouldn’t he wipe them out?

            “So? He destroys this world every few thousand years anyway. What makes this any different?”

            “He’s going to annihilate this entire plane of existence. He’s finished with this game, and he seeks to end it.”

            Mora stared at him for a moment. All the people in all those files on her desk flashed before her eyes, that moment under the maple with her husband, the desk itself, the floor, the room. All this could be gone in a moment.  What was nothingness like? Was it dark or light?

            “What do you expect Satan to do about it?”

            “He was always better at talking to our father then we were. He has God’s ear.”

            “You want him to convince God to change his mind?” she said as she sat down at her desk. “What makes you think that Satan will even care?”

            “Satan is now part of this plane of existence, and so are you. If God destroys it then you both will be lost as well.”

            That was a decent incentive to at least try. Mora looked again at the picture of her husband.

            “Why do you care brother?”

            He was looking down at the floor. Leaning forward he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. His hands were locked together.

            “I’ve been told to care about them for so long that I don’t know anything else.”

            Mora could see he was lying. Michael had seen so much of man’s history. He stood on the walls of Jericho, he had spoken to Abraham, he had struck down his brother Satan for the sake mankind, and the millennia had made him partial to the creatures. It clearly pained him to think that all his efforts for them had been in vain. Though his contact with men may have been distant it seemed his love for them was no less poignant then her own.

            “How long do I have?”

            “Until the morning,” he told her.

            “Plenty of time then,” she groaned. She cursed Heaven’s sense of timing as she dropped her head into her hands. “I’ll do what I can,” she sighed.

            When she looked up the chair opposite her was empty. Michael had no doubt already fled back to a plane that wasn’t doomed.

            Mora opened the lowest drawer in her desk and pulled out her purse. She walked out of the office without saying goodbye to anyone. It was too hard to think that it might be the last time that she would see any of them. She didn’t understand what Michael expected from their brother. It occurred to her that the last time Satan had convinced God of anything he had bestowed upon mankind mortal sin. Suddenly she didn’t have as much hope for his help.

She walked down Third Street and headed for the park. She followed the meandering path through the trees. The green of summer was nearly blinding. The park was surprisingly empty for such a beautiful afternoon. She walked along the edge of a little pond and after wandering at its bank for a few minutes she sat at a bench that looked out over the water. Ducks swam up expectantly. They crowded at the bank waiting for some offering, and quacked demandingly. She just stared at them dully.

            A tall slender young man sat down on the bench next to her and the ducks swam away. She turned and looked at him. He wore a tailored black suite with a red shirt. He spread his arms along the back of the bench and crossed his ankle over his knee. He looked over at her and smiled.

            “You look surprised to see me,” he said.

            “I know you’re busy these days.”

            “I’m never too busy for my dear sister. What’s on your mind?”

            Mora thought of the maple tree, and running her fingers through her husband’s beard while as she looked as her brother Satan. He looked marvelous. In fact as poorly as Michael had looked was as magnificent as Satan appeared now. She wondered how she looked, being caught between them the way she was.

            “Michael came to see me today.”

            His smile twisted into a sneer. “And what does the favorite want from me?”

            He was very direct sometimes. She looked out over the pond. All the ducks swam along in a line. The afternoon sun reflected off the water like a thousand sparkling diamonds. It could all be gone in the morning.

            “He told me that God was going to destroy all this.”

            He sat up straight and turned towards her. “Oh goody another apocalypse, how’s he going to do it this time?”

            She could see the eagerness in his eyes. He relished the thought of mankind’s destruction, and it made her gut twist. He really hated them.

            She shook her head slightly, “Not an apocalypse brother, then entire plane of existence. You, me, them, this…” she waved her had at the park around them, “All of it.”

            His visible excitement faded quiet suddenly. He slumped back against the park bench.

            “So he’s going to blink it all out then.”

            She nodded, as he turned back to the pond. They sat in silence watching the ducks swim happily around in their ignorance. Knowing was an incredible burden, and Mora suddenly realized why Michael had looked so tired.

            “It’s finally going to be over,” Satan whispered.

            Mora turned to him in shock. That was it? No fight? Not even a moment’s hesitation?

            “You’re not going to try and talk him out of it?”

            “No.”

            She stood up. This wasn’t right. He had to do something. He had to at least try.

            “What about all this? What about all the people? What about us?” she nearly screamed.

            He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, “I don’t care about all this, dear sister, and as for us, I’m tired and I would think you might be too.”

            She wasn’t tired. She wasn’t ready for all this to be over. Kneeling down in front of him and she took hold of his hands. When she looked up into his eyes they were full of sorrowful resignation.

            “I am not ready for this plane to be done.  I have a life, work that I enjoy, a husband that I love. I don’t want it all to be over already.”

            “You married one of them?” he sneered.

            Nodding and she reached into her purse. She picked out her wallet and gingerly slid out her wedding photo. She looked at the little scene, her wearing her white dress, husband wearing his turban. It had been one of the happiest days of her life just like all the humans said it would be.  She handed him the photograph and he studied it closely. He looked up at her and then back at the little photo.

            “I always thought you preferred Catholics.”

            She laughed sadly, “I met him at a friend’s party and it just sort of happened.”

He arched an eyebrow. “So you have human friends too?”

            “I like them,” she pouted taking back the picture. “I like this world.”

            She sat back on her heels looking down at the photo. Her husband could have married anyone, and for the first time in a long time she felt truly blessed that she had been chosen. It seemed like proof that God could forgive one of his fallen angels. She gently slid the moment away into the confines of her wallet.

            “I suppose anything is better than Hell.”

            “Even oblivion?” she said looking up at his face. He was looking out at the water. It was as if he were looking out into the centuries passed. He didn’t see the beauty in this world, or these simple creatures. All he had for them was loathing. She bit back the bitter realization that her brother would do nothing. He was full of so much hate that the only alternative was nothingness.

            When she stood up he didn’t look at her. She brushed her finger tips along his cheek. It would be better to remember him this way then argue with him until the morning when her frustration would make him ugly. There were only so many hours left in the day, and she wasn’t going to spend them here. Mora put her wallet back into her purse and pulled the bag off the park bench. He still hadn’t moved.

            “I would have followed you anywhere brother.”

            She walked home. By the time she came to the apartment it was dark. Husband was in the kitchen. He handed her a glass of wine. There were Olive Garden boxes in the trash and a beautiful “home cooked” dinner on the table. Mora kissed the man she loved. They sat at the table and she listened to him talk about his day. After dinner she washed dishes while he dried. When the dishes were all done she took him to bed and they made love like it was their wedding night again.

            While he lay sleeping, she rested her head against his chest and listened to his hear beat, his lungs fill with air, his blood flow through his veins. She could see the maple tree silhouetted by the moon outside their bedroom window. She gently wound her fingers through his beard, careful not to wake him. A tear ran down her face as the sky began to lighten. Soon it would all be over. She closed her eyes. She was afraid… so terribly afraid. Was nothingness painful? Would she feel anything at all?

            She waited for something, anything to happen, but it didn’t. She opened her eyes and saw first light breaking through the curtains. She sat up in bed and looked at the room, but it had not change. Her husband stirred.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing,” she said looking at the room that still was, “Everything is fine.”

            She leaned down and kissed him before rolling out of bed. She grabbed her robe and ran down the stairs to find Satan sitting on the couch. He looked over at her and his eyebrows arched in surprise. Mora pulled her robe a little tighter.

            “Good morning,” he smiled.

            “Good morning indeed.”

            She went to the front window and looked out. There was still a street, cars, even a jogger ran by while she watched.

            “It’s all still there,” he told her.

            She looked at him. His arms were spread along the back of the couch and his feet were on the coffee table. She walked over and pushed his feet to the floor, then leaned over and kissed his forehead.

            “Thank you.”

            “All this means something to you, and that’s enough I guess. God said that if a fallen angel can love mankind, then maybe there’s still hope for this miserable little plane of existence after all.”

            She looked up to the ceiling as she heard her husband’s feet hit the floor. When she looked back to the couch her brother had gone. She made coffee and handed a mug to her precious husband as he came down the stairs. He kissed her gently and went to sit on the sofa where Satan had been sitting only minutes before, and she smiled at the wonderful absurdity of it.