An Interview with Satan on the Eve of His Retirement
He didn’t look at all as I had expected. I traversed the quiet room and found a portly older gentleman, immaculately and rather formally dressed – a finely spun woolen Navy blue suit, slightly lighter blue tie, starched collar and cuffs. He seemed quite comfortable and turned a kindly, inviting smile towards me as I advanced.
“You seem surprised,” he purred. His voice was light and easy on the ears. “You didn’t expect horns and a tail, did you?” he chuckled.
He grasped my hand warmly and offered me a seat opposite. It was dusk and we looked out, from our chairs on the balcony, over a quiet harbor. The gentle clatter of voices from the nearby dining room, the hardly discernible knocks of snooker balls from another direction – these were the cushioning sounds over which our conversation took place. I hardly knew where or how to begin, I confess, but he helped me along.
“So, my friend, I suppose you wish to understand why I am withdrawing from the field?” he asked.
His smile broadened and his eyes, far from piercing, met my own, wide with inquiry.
“Yes,” I replied, half gulping the word.
My host motioned for drinks and the shadow of a waiter fluttered our way, and then returned with expensive Scotch, neat. I was absorbed by the golden glow of our snifters, a way perhaps of covering my befuddlement. You see, the Satan of my imagination was a wild sharp fierce creature – yet the being here before me, about whose perfidy so much has been written, was positively benign and … and comforting, like an avuncular banker about to approve a loan. The mildly fleshy cheeks, his cheer, his reassuring gravity – I was speechless.
“My work is done,” Satan continued. “There’s nothing left for me to do.”
The drink helped me to regain composure, so I felt more myself and could respond.
“All these years,” I said, “the effort you’ve expended …”
He interrup
Article from LewRockwell
