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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781882593514 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Bridgeworks |
| Publication date: | 12/24/2001 |
| Edition description: | 1 ED |
| Pages: | 272 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.90(w) x 8.70(h) x 0.82(d) |
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Chapter One
The First Darkfall
Although Abou Ben Adhem dreamed often, only once, more than twenty years before, had an angel appeared—an astounding vision named Yousef, who wore the most beautiful white, flowing gown and glimmering, golden feathers.
The apparition who appeared to Abou on the seventh day of Shawwal, in the Christian year 2001, was rather short, in an ill-fitting white linen suit that had seen better days and was in desperate need of cleaning. His head was enormous with wild, black hair and he had a somber, leathery face. To top it off, his nails were bitten to the quick. But even in the dim light, Abou could see that this angel's eyes were bright and alert. He introduced himself:
"My name is Cohen."
Abou was horrified. "I don't want a Jewish angel," he complained, really a bit awed by the presence, but adamant. Abou knew his own name was rather odd, almost Jewish sounding, but he was Muslim through and through. His father thought it would be a nice touch to name his son in recognition of the debt the Muslim faith owed to the Old Testament.
"Where is Yousef?" Abou asked.
Carefully picking his teeth as if he'd recently left a wonderful dinner, the angel named Cohen studied Abou from across the room.
The whole experience was so real that Abou found himself wondering if his tent had been invaded by some malcontent from the neighborhood. But no, that wasn't possible, for surely the miscreantwouldn't refer to himself as Cohen in that part of the world, even in jest. But this specter was like no other Abou had ever seen or read about, and he was an avid reader, so he knew what angels were supposed to look like. Angels were supposed to look like Yousef. Now that was an angel—manicured nails, nice wings that fluffed up in a breeze, and a melodious voice that Abou could still hear. Yousef had been a real angel, not like this one, and certainly not a Bouguereau, those ghastly, plump depictions that Abou had seen in many American stationery stores during his stay in that country.
Finally the scruffy apparition stopped picking his teeth and shrugged. "Old Yousef is taking some R and R. He's really had it. He's worn out keeping his gowns clean, as well as his underwear. We told him time and again that he doesn't have to worry about dirty underwear, being an angel and all, because he wasn't going to be in an accident, but you know what a worrywart he is. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. And those wings! I mean, he must have spent three hours a day grooming them. No wonder he's burnt out."
Abou took umbrage at this. Sitting up, he adjusted his aba. He was quite tall and thin, a testimony to more than seventy years of abstinence from alcohol and tobacco, as well as to hard work. Secretly he was rather proud of his appearance, even though his nicely trimmed beard had turned quite gray. "I don't wish to offend you," Abou replied, "but I would really be more comfortable with someone of my own faith."
"Sorry." Cohen shook his head. "No can do. No more denominational or ethnic matches. We have strict rotation now. And that's from on high." He looked up and Abou followed his eyes to the smoke hole in the tent, but there was nothing there but the night sky. "Besides, all humans are really pretty much the same, you know. All this nonsense about race, religion, and whatever else you can think of to set you apart is really foolishness. I mean, your name means Abou, the son of Adam. Probably would have been better to have named you Abou Ben Eve, but who knew humans were basically female? Anyway, you think of yourself as a Muslim, but you have a Hebrew name, and all Hebrews and Muslims are the sons and daughters of Eve, who mated with Adam, so you all should be buddies. All Muslims, Jews, and Christians should be really close, or, at least, that's the way we see it. Besides, the next angel on the roster is Diem Ng, so that wouldn't satisfy you either."
Abou simply didn't know what to say.
Cohen grinned a thin, humorless smile. "Let me be frank, Abou. We could afford mix and match for a while. I mean, we knew it made you humans more comfortable to think you had an angel of your religious preference, so we went along with that little charade, but face the facts, old bean, you humans create new religions every day. I mean, it's mind-boggling. We would need an angel for every splinter group. That's just far beyond our budget. So we went to rotation."
"You have a budget?" Abou questioned.
"Everything in the universe is on a budget. Can you imagine the cost overruns if we just did everything we felt like?"
"You seem to be a nice enough fellow, but I don't think this will work out." Abou spoke slowly, choosing his words so as not to offend. "I don't see how you can help me."
Cohen stared at him, his face impassive.
Abou became a bit annoyed. "It is more likely you would help those with their eternal building of apartment houses and the desecrations of our holy sites."
"You mean the tunnel?"
"Yes, the tunnel, among other things!"
Cohen nodded. "I got to admit it was a dumb move, but you need a little understanding. First of all, this Ariel—wasn't it nice they elected a prime minister named after one of us?—and his bunch have this cinder block and mortar compulsion, and secondly, they dote on tourists. Tourists mean money. Big bucks. I don't think they gave one thought to the sanctity of the tunnel. As for their building of endless apartments, it's an ethnic thing, I think. Build. Build. Build. They had this guy Robert Moses in New York who poured concrete on everything. And remember, Abou, your people aren't helping matters with your bombs blowing up innocents all over Israel."
Abou looked down at his hands. He too dearly wished the violence would end, but he also ardently wished the Israelis would leave his homeland. Still, he was forced to admit, "It is not good to see children killed."
Cohen smiled and pulled a small pad from his shirt pocket. "You wanted an update."
"Ah ..." Abou sighed, pleased that his wish had been heard. Alone in his tent, away from the ritual of public devotion, he had asked in prayer if he were still held in high esteem for his love of his fellow man, except, that is, for the Jews who annoyed him no end with their land-grabbing, pushy ways. "Would you care for some Japanese tea? The urn is still warm."
"Thank you," Cohen replied. "That would really hit the spot."
Abou took a small cup and filled it, and then he filled one for himself. They both sipped the sweet, rich tea with pleasure.
"You wished to know if you still top the list of those who love their fellow man," Cohen said, after he had set his cup aside and raised his hand when Abou motioned to refill it. "I am afraid, Abou Ben Adhem, you no longer head the list."
"How can that be!" Abou scratched his head. "I am pious. I have multiplied. I am kind to those less fortunate. I give alms. I pray religiously. In my business dealings I never ..." he hesitated. "Well, almost never cheated. Early on, when I tended my father's goats, they were always healthy and well treated. What else could I have done?"
"I don't think you understand," Cohen replied. "It isn't a matter so much of past deeds. It's about staying current. Doing good deeds here and now. And, well, you are getting on in years, you know. You're just not keeping up." The affront was painful. Cohen added hastily, "It isn't your fault. It is just the way things are, and we're aware that living with your son-in-law is difficult. Perhaps you've been preoccupied."
"Who is first now?" Abou asked, his voice quavering.
Cohen quickly flipped the pages of his notebook. "Jimmy Carter."
"The American?"
"Yep, Jimmy's numero uno."
Abou pulled his shawl around him. It was almost as if he were shrinking before the angel's eyes.
"Look, it wasn't a lifetime award. Mortal life is transition. You pass things on to the next generation." When Abou avoided his eyes, Cohen added, "Hey, the competition has become really stiff over the years. Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Bill Clinton. You know what's going on in the world."
A crafty expression crossed Abou's face. "I don't even know you are really an angel. You have no wings."
"Corrective surgery," Cohen replied easily. "Wings make tailoring a suit very difficult."
"And what was the name of my mother's grandfather?"
"Abu Zent," Cohen replied with a sigh. "Look, I'm really sorry you lost your place, but it happens. You just have to look at the big picture."
Abou drew himself up, sitting erect, a bit piqued. "I am not an educated man, Mr. Cohen. I read my own language and also some English. Now that I no longer trade in goats or drive taxicabs, I spend my day reading books and magazines that my daughter and son-in-law are good enough to supply from his small business, which is, unfortunately, not doing too well, so they have many back issues that haven't sold. Is it not enough that you inform me that I am no longer in favor, but you must belittle me, too?"
Cohen spread his hands. "It wasn't a put-down, Abou. What I meant was the really big picture. How you got here. How the world began. That sort of stuff."
Abou's interest was ensnared. "Like my grandfather, his father, so on?"
"Well," Cohen replied cautiously, "I just had the passing thought that you didn't clearly understand how these awards were made. You people are evolving. I mean, in his own day Genghis Khan wasn't such a bad sort, but today people think of him as some sort of monster." He looked at Abou carefully. "I was thinking more in the line of giving you an overview, like years before there were people living around here or, for that matter, before there were people at all."
"How many years are you talking about?" Abou asked, wondering if this angel was really all there.
Cohen pursed his lips and looked up at the smoke hole. "Oh, maybe 19, 20 million years. Of course, if you're thinking about more humanlike creatures, then we're talking only 6, maybe 7 million."
Abou laughed aloud. "Are you serious? The world couldn't be that old."
"Sorry about that, old fellow," Cohen replied casually, "but it is far older than that."
"Are you quite sure?" Abou asked in a small voice. He really had difficulty believing this fellow, but he somehow couldn't bring himself to dismiss him as completely mad.
Cohen smiled openly for the first time. He had absolutely beautiful teeth and his smile lighted his face as if a spotlight had suddenly settled on it. All of a sudden the somber look was gone. "Sure? Oh, yeah. We're omnipresent and omniscient, you know, which means we're spread a little thin, but we've seen the whole megillah from the beginning."
"The whole megillah ..." Abou repeated. He had lately taken to repeating the last three or four words someone said to him, as if he had trouble assimilating everything and wanted to make sure he had heard it correctly. Actually his hearing was beginning to go, but he wasn't ready to admit that to himself.
Very slowly, as if picking through a plate of dates, Abou chose his words. "Just what were we like 20 million years ago?"
Cohen settled himself on Abou's clothing chest, pulling a small rug over his lap to lessen the chill of the night air. He was obviously pleased with Abou's question. "How do you think you got here?"
"We were made in the image of our Maker," Abou replied with certainty. Allah's image was never portrayed in the Moslem world, but Abou believed this privately.
"I see," Cohen replied, thinking a bit. "Look, if I explain what I know, will your feelings be hurt? I mean, I don't want to step on your toes or anything."
Abou pursed his lips, trying to divine exactly what Cohen was saying. "I don't fear truth," he said. He had read that somewhere and it had struck him as very apt.
Cohen spread his hands. "Look at it this way. The Americans have an expression, 'Shit happens', which may easily be the most profound thought mankind ever had. And angels do not interfere in human development. We advise. Sometimes we cajole. You might say we're guidance counselors." Cohen giggled at this, but immediately forced himself to be serious. "But we never interfere in the sense of curtailing your choices. If you really want to do something, we keep hands off. Before intelligent life developed, there was no problem. We just watched with fascination. We would sit around and try to figure how things might work out, and we were often wrong. I really lost a pile on that mammal vs. reptile thing."
"You gambled on our development?" Abou couldn't believe he was hearing correctly.
"Well, yeah, we did. I mean, this was a real boring period before you kids got up and running."
"I thought you said you were omniscient and omnipresent," Abou responded, really doubting that Cohen was an angel. He was again beginning to think his tent had been invaded, not by a miscreant, but by a full-blown maniac.
"Only the past, and we don't know what you humans think."
"Then you don't know our future?"
"Why would we bet if we knew your future?" Cohen asked, perplexed.
"And you don't know what we think?"
Cohen grinned. "Absolutely clueless. Thinking came pretty late in your development and we weren't empowered. We operate with the powers we were given. We aren't retrofitted when you develop new skills. Makes it kind of difficult at times. You really need state-of-the-art angels, but hey, you take what you can get. Right?"
Abou shook his head, not believing what he was hearing. "Then events just happen?"
"As far as we can tell," Cohen admitted.
"No order? No higher power?" Abou questioned.
"None we can see," Cohen agreed. "Of course, you humans have attempted to impose order in your world, but it hasn't been very successful. We just watch the process and try to help out any way we can."
Abou found he had mixed feelings about this. The heresy was very hard to stomach, but the apparition's casual explanation was intriguing. "But years ago, wasn't it Allah who favored me above all others?"
Cohen flushed. "Look, don't take this the wrong way, but we angels got together and voted you into that position. I mean Yousef was really upset that you were being passed over."
"And President Carter?"
"Yeah, we voted him in this year," Cohen admitted.
"And Allah had no say in all this?" Abou asked in a whisper.
"I wouldn't go that far," Cohen protested, but he didn't deny the suggestion either.
Abou was stunned. "Why would you do such a thing? All these years I thought I was His chosen."
Cohen sighed. "Look, I can't tell you how tiresome it was ministering to dinosaurs with their endless chomp, chomp, chomp. Nothing really developed that was interesting, so we kind of liked giving you kids a leg up when we could. Of course, Gabe cautioned us rather severely that the point of human development wasn't just for our amusement."
"Gabe?"
"Gabriel. The big enchilada."
Abou paled at the comment and Cohen suddenly looked concerned.
"Look, you need some sleep," Cohen said.
"I am asleep," Abou reminded him.
"Point taken," Cohen replied crisply. "So you want to know how you really got started?"
Abou nodded and Cohen leaned back. "You ever see popcorn popping in a hot pan? That's what creation was like. Stars bursting all over the place. Galaxies formed. Really a great show. This galaxy," he said, pointing at the floor, "was formed rather late. The Americans named a candy bar after it. Milky Way. Very toothsome. Ever had one?"
"No, I don't believe so. I drove a taxicab in New York when I was younger, but I don't think I ever had a Milky Way."
"Anyway," Cohen went on, "once most of the popping stopped, all this junk began pulling together and life started here on earth. First, little creatures began wiggling in the ooze, then reptiles and mammals. Did I mention how much I lost on that reptilian sting?"
"You said you lost a lot," Abou reminded him.
"Taken to the cleaners," Cohen admitted. "I'm still paying it off. I could get a new suit if I could just get ahead on my payments."
Abou looked at the seedy suit with some sympathy. "Have you no other clothes?"
"I have a go-to-meeting suit, but it isn't much better than this one," Cohen admitted.
"Perhaps," Abou suggested, gesturing toward his clothing chest, "I have an extra aba ..."
"That's damn decent of you, Abou," Cohen gushed. "Nobody has ever offered me a change of clothes before. It wouldn't stand up to the traveling I do, but thanks anyway."
Abou acknowledged this with a nod of his head. "Once life began?" he prompted. For some inexplicable reason, Abou wanted to hear what Cohen had to say. He was certain he was wrong, but still, he said he was an angel....
"Oh, sure. Creatures popped up all over the place, but most of them couldn't hack it and died out, and you did have those slammers."
"Slammers?" Abou asked.
"Yeah, when asteroids hit head on. Two really big ones. Let's see ... 65 million years ago and the other one was over 300 million. That last one knocked the dinosaurs on their asses." Cohen shook his head sadly. "Big loss."
"Wiped out all life?"
"No, I'm talking about the money I dropped," Cohen replied, drew a deep breath, and continued. "Put your money on cockroaches, Abou. They're indestructible."
"But humans?"
"Oh, yeah, well your forebears prospered after the lizards stopped eating them. First they stopped using their front paws for walking, although they knuckle-walked for eons, but they finally learned to sit and eat a banana with dignity, peeling it and everything. Then they came down from the trees out on the savannah and a really great thing happened. Humans learned to stand on their hind legs."
"My mother used to tell me to stand on my hind legs," Abou mused, easing his aching back.
"Cohen nodded. "A very, very old expression. Very old. Of course, it didn't help the lower back problem, but I don't have to tell you that, do I?"
"My back? What has my back to do with your story?"
Cohen shrugged. "I'm no doctor, but humans weren't meant to be on two legs. I mean, who ever heard of an animal complaining about an aching back?"
"I've never heard an animal complain about anything," Abou observed dryly, then added, "Well, donkeys, maybe."
"Very good," Cohen said with a smile, "but you look pooped. I'd better shove off."
"Aren't you sleepy?" Abou asked.
"We don't sleep," Cohen replied. "We mostly work the swing shift."
"You don't work at all during the day?"
Cohen shook his head. "Almost never. Well, there was that famous visit Gabriel made to Mary. That was day work."
Abou remembered vaguely, but he couldn't think about it just then. He was too tired.
"Thanks for offering your robe. That was really nice," Cohen said and disappeared.
Excerpted from Abou and the Angel Cohen by Claude Campbell. Copyright © 2002 by Claude Campbell. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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