Fair Exchange

This is an updated version of  'Faust.'
    

"Hocus pocus, fish bones choke us. I call upon the seven year locust." Amber shook her head in disgust. Even now, at the most significant moment of her life, she was incapable of being normal. It was bad enough she was goofing around, worse that she’d purloined her clever line, worst yet that she’d lifted the quote from an old TV show. She shook herself mentally. Focus. Be serious. Just for once try to follow the script.

"Ok, if someone’s out there…down there…I’ve had it, all right? I can’t do this anymore. I want to talk trade. You know what I mean." She shivered, flashed to that quaint saying from her childhood. Someone was walking on her grave. "Ok, I admit I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in any of you. But if you do exist…dammit, what’s the point if no one’s out there? This can’t all be one huge cosmic accident. A huge joke, yes, but not an accident. Life just can’t be that pointless."

"What do you want? Latin? Veni, vidi, vici! Ars gratia artis! Caveat emptor!" She spread her arms, affected a deep voice. "Mephistopheles, come on down! It’s time to play. Let’s Make a Deal!"

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Maybe a flash of light. A deafening burst of thunder. Maybe nothing. What she didn’t expect was the nonchalant appearance of a handsome yuppie in Dockers and a Land’s End sweater.

"Um… Who are you?"

"Who were you expecting? Someone with hooves and a tail?" Her visitor grinned, bowed from the waist. "Your servant."

"You’re the devil?"

"Well, not the devil. Not the guy in charge. He spends most of his time at the United Nations these days." He held out his hand. "You may call me Meph."

Amber declined the gesture, nodded vaguely. "You’re here..."

"Yes." Meph scanned the overflowing bookshelves, the existential paintings, the sundry detritus of the erudite life. "Ah. Literati. My favorite batch of sinners."

"Sinners?" Amber shook her head. "I don’t get out much myself."

"Oh, not murder. Not generally, at any rate." Meph stretched out on the battered couch. "Now the sin of pride. That’s your specialty. How your little tribe loves to dip your pens into universal affairs. You should have seen the look on the Master’s face when your kind declared God dead. Eons of chipping away at the ruling order and Nietzsche blots out the opposition with one stroke."

"Actually, Heinrich Heine predated Nie…"  Amber bit her tongue.

Meph laughed loudly. "You see why I love you people so! You would argue with Lord Lucifer himself!"

Amber colored. "Sorry, I….uh…"

"Don’t apologize. It’s your arrogance and your stubborn necks that won’t bow that makes your clique so endearing."

"Endearing?" Amber shook her head. "I wouldn’t use that description. Hated, perhaps."

"Oh, up here, yes. But where I come from, intellectuals are highly prized."

"Really?" Amber’s grin quickly disappeared. "Wait. You mean the nuns were right all along? Pride really is one of the seven deadly sins?"

"It’s true. The meek shall inherit the Earth." Meph winked. "But we all know it’s better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven."

"Well…I…" Amber stared lamely at her visitor. "Or do you want something to eat? I’ve got some junk food and some coke. Coca Cola, that is, not the illegal stuff. Not that you would care, I guess."

"Thank you, no. I’m afraid your chemical preservatives don’t agree with me."

"Oh." Amber wondered abstractly if demons were subject to allergies. After all, she supposed they were alive, sort of, so maybe…

Meph cleared his throat. "Shall we get down to business? I assume you want the traditional Knowledge Contract? The meaning of life, the Nobel prize, laurels from the critics, etc."

"Uh, no." Amber shrugged. "I’m already over-educated."

"Ah. You want a publishing contract then."

"No." Amber took the chair beside her guest. "I want to be normal."

"Normal?" Meph sat up in surprise. "Normal?"

"Yeah…I…I want to fit in…I want to." Amber sighed. "I don’t know what I want. For the last twenty years I’ve been swimming upstream, marching to the beat of a different drummer. I’ve fought for every hopeless cause, hung out with every fringe group. I’m the master of alternate lifestyles, the queen of the unbeaten path. And I’m tired. So tired."

"Perhaps a trip to Paris." Meph chuckled. "I have dozens of clients there. I could introduce you to the latest group of expatriates."

"No. I want what they have. I want the picket fence and the 2.4 kids. I want to keep the same job for 20 years and talk endlessly about kids’ soccer games. I want to hire a teenager to mow the lawn and then whine when he forgets to trim around the oh-so-perfect hedges. I want to be normal."

"Ridiculous. You’d put your head in the oven."

"I’ll get a microwave."

"The ennui would drive you insane."

"You don’t understand. I want you to make me like it. I want…" Amber considered. "I want to blend in with them, I want to run with the herd."

"You don’t understand. I can’t snap my fingers and turn a wolf into a lamb. I can only give you the tools necessary to reach your goals. The rest is up to you humans and your famous freewill." Meph smiled darkly. "And I don’t give anyone anything."

"I know. I’m willing to trade. I’ll give you want you want."

"Your soul."

Amber nodded.

"Say it."

"I’ll trade my soul for..." Amber studied the man-entity before her. She’d read enough Greek myths to know that one had to be exceedingly careful what one asked for. "Charisma! That’s it. If I had charisma I could get along with normal people. I’d be happy to merge with the masses."

"The masses would be happy to merge with you if you had charisma." Meph considered his client. "Adolf purchased charisma. Most of your cult leaders and serial killers do. But a literati? My proud, angry loners forever raging against the Machine, the System, the herd mentality…" Meph shook his head. "You’re the first of the bitter brood to have sympathy for the crowd."

"There’s a first time for everything."

"I suppose. Still, it’s disappointing." Meph glanced about, lowered his voice. "I fought beside Lord Lucifer and the other malcontent angels during the Revolt, but not because I was jealous of you humans. Personally I find your stubborn belief in your vaunted free will charming." He paused. "Why don’t you take some time to consider your request and call me again in a decade or so?"

"No!" Amber rose in a panic. "You can’t leave until you make me normal! You can’t!"

"Actually, I can." Meph stood, casually straightened his sweater. "However, if you have your soul set on being normal, I suppose there’s no point in turning away a paying customer."

"Right." Amber cleared her throat nervously. "So…uh…do I sign in blood…?"

"You mortals and your horror movies." Meph produced a contract and a pen from the air. "I’m a fallen angel, you know. Not a vampire or a raging half-beast. We’re very civilized in the Depths."

"Uh…sorry…" Amber studied the unassuming piece of paper. "I suppose that’s good to know. That it’s not so bad down below, I mean."

" I didn’t say that. I merely said we’re civilized." Meph shrugged. "As civilized as your own people when you bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki."

"Oh." Amber took a deep breath, hurriedly signed the paper. "Here. Is that it? I don’t feel any different."

"Your new gift doesn’t affect me, but you’ll soon find yourself getting along perfectly with your fellow humans. If that’s really what you want." Meph scanned the crowded bookshelf once more. "Or you may find that charisma has many uses. It’s your choice."

"What other uses?"

"It’s been a pleasure. See you in a few decades." Meph tipped an imaginary hat and disappeared.

"Hey! Wait!" Amber yelled pointlessly at the ceiling. "Fine. Who needs you anyway? As long as you keep your promise and I can fit in with normal people now."

Amber plopped onto her couch, considered her new purchase. Finally, finally she would be able to swim effortlessly with the current. She’d meld with a partner, raise adorable Brady Bunch kids, bring doughnuts to work and chit-chat at the copier. After all these years she could stop fighting the Machine and take joy in being one of the contented cogs.

She stretched out on the couch, turned on a mindless TV show. She was about to drift off when some dark part of her psyche tramped through her blissful fog. Maybe…the thought presented itself hesitantly at first, but grew more insistent…maybe just maybe she could do better than fit in with the masses. Maybe with her new-found charisma she’d be able to get them to see her point of view. Maybe…the embryonic thought burst into shape…maybe if her new talent brought her a disciple or two… 

She grinned. To hell with normalcy. She was going to stampede the herd and topple the Machine.

- Ellen McFall  
Platteville, Wisconsin, U.S.A.
http://www.geocities.com/ejm53818/index.html