In Gehhena

           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.