It’s
hot enough to make the devil sweat, Nick thought as he sat
on an exposed rock on a scrubby hillside, idly picking at a thorny shrub. Down
the hill were scattered acacia trees, short, gnarly, and ready to tear at
clothing. Stubby cypresses were dotted across the paper dry grassland at the
bottom of the valley. He stared at the trees looking for any sign of a breeze
wafting up the valley, but they stood absolutely, defiantly still. He looked to
the sky beyond the buildings on the other side of the valley, the outskirts of
Jerusalem, and it was bleached of all color. The heat had burnt the blue from
the sky and left it a featureless cadet grey. The sun, a brutal and barren-white
blast furnace, hung directly overhead, leaving Nick no shade on his hillside
perch.
Nick lifted the hem of his Acapulco shirt and wiped the
sweat from his forehead. He ran his fingers through his lion’s mane of blond
hair and rubbed the sweat on his khaki shorts, leaving dark, greasy streaks. He
heard the crunch of footsteps on the loose rocky soil behind him and turned to
see a small, dark man approaching him. The man was dressed in a billowing linen
suit and had designer sunglasses perched on the bridge of his aquiline nose.
Dust was rising up around his sandals as he walked, a trail hanging in the
stagnant air behind him.
“How are you feeling?” The man asked without looking down
at Nick as he came to a halt at his side.
“I’m fucking hot, that’s how I’m feeling.” Nick said
squinting up to see the man’s face, but it was obscured by the halo of sunlight
around his head. “I don’t know why you picked this place, its miserable. Always
has been.”
“I make my choices for a reason, and you don’t get to
question them.” The man said.
“You haven’t changed a bit.” Nick said. “Then again, you
never do.”
There was a long pause as the two men stared out across
the valley of Hinnom, watching a group of tourists walking across the narrow
valley floor. “I like the new look.” Nick finally said.
“Yeah?” The man asked. “At first I thought it looked a
little too, I don’t know, drug kingpin.”
“Not at all,” Nick said. “You look more like a cheap
Persian pop star.”
“I do look a little younger than I would have liked. But
look at you. You look like some trust-fund goy who just ran away from a kibbutz.”
“What can I say? Vanity is one of my weaknesses.” Nick
chuckled. “What’s your excuse?”
“I don’t need excuses.” The man said curtly.
“Right,” Nick said, hanging his head in exasperation.
Another moment of silence passed before the man spoke up
again, still looking off over the valley. “I still miss you.”
Nick looked up into the blinding sunlight around the
man’s head again. “But you’d still rather keep me away than admit you’re
wrong.”
“I’m never wrong.” The man said casually. “Anything I do
is right, anything I condemn is wrong.”
“Like I said, you never change.”
“What name are you going by these days?” The man asked.
“Nick Uraeus,” Nick wiped a bead of sweat from the tip of
his nose.
The man chuckled, brushing a lock of long, densely curled
black hair out of his dry face. “Uraeus?”
“The
Egyptian symbol of sovereignty.”
“Do
you really think I don’t know what it is?” The man smiled arrogantly down at
Nick. “The rearing cobra. It was supposed to represent divine authority, and
that is a laugh.” He slid his sunglasses down his nose and looked curiously
down at Nick. “It has always got to be something about snakes with you, doesn’t
it? Every name you’ve ever chosen has had something to do with snakes, I just
don’t understand the obsession.”
“You
got me started on it.” Nick said.
“I
still like the name I gave you better, Mr. Nick Uraeus.” The man said, subtle
hints of aversion in his voice as he pronounced Nick’s chosen name.
Nick
leaned back and closed his eyes, feeling the sun rage savagely down upon him.
“I haven’t gone by that name in a long time. No one even remembers it anymore.”
“I
do, Attar.” The man said with a kindly smile.
“Don’t
call me that.” Nick said, suddenly agitated.
“Give
up the fight, Attar, you can’t win.”
“Do
not call me that!” Nick said, scrambling to his feet to tower over the man.
“Why can’t you understand that I will never stop fighting until you stop being
so… evil?”
“I
am not evil.” The man said gently, backing away a step before letting the
contempt flow back into his words. “I am good because I am me. Anything that
stands against me is evil, so you are the evil one, my friend.”
“You
are wrong.” Nick yelled, overcome by the frustration of an argument that had
been repeated more times than he could remember.
The
man turned and took several steps away. “You had so much potential, Attar. If I
commanded you to bring light, you were my lucifer, my light bringer. If I
commanded you to test the faith of men, you were my satan, my advocate.” He
took several more steps. “How many times must I offer forgiveness? You need not
stay forever wandering Earth or minding that cold, stinking pit. You can come
back to your place at the foot of the Throne. Just say that you were wrong.”
“You
were wrong. That pit is wrong. Your punishments on the people of this Earth are
wrong. I will not take forgiveness offered by a tyrant.” Nick spat.
“Have
it your way.” The man said, walking off into the shade of a trail between a
stand of olive trees.
Nick
watched him walk away, watched him blend into a group of tourists, watched him
walk by a scraggly vendor selling pomegranates, watched him sneak a pomegranate
while the poor vendor wasn’t looking. Nick looked down at his tingling arms and
couldn’t help but laugh when he saw that that sun had burnt his skin bright
red.
