Thursday, April 30, 2009

The Devil you say?

1Now Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, left the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the wild. For forty wilderness days and nights he was tested by the Devil. He ate nothing during those days, and when the time was up he was hungry.
The Devil, playing on his hunger, gave the first test:
Luke 4 from “The Message”

Amos definitely didn’t feel good about the way things went. He felt really guilty about Helen having to move out of her own place. It wasn’t that they didn’t get along, or got entangled in a love thing. It was just the devil that made him do it. But we’re getting ahead of the story.

As a student of literature in university, Amos had come across many, many, references to Goethe’s classic story of “Faust”. Doctor Faust’s deal with the devil is rooted deep in the anglo-saxon cultural genetics. The idea of cashing in one’s soul for some short term rewards pops up in TV shows and songs and conversations continually. Marlowe retold the Faust story in 17th Century England, and American’s know the story as “The Devil and Daniel Webster. Of course, it’s a retelling of Adam and Eve’s deal with the devil. Neil Young’s “It’s better to burn out than to fade away.” was the seventies version of the wartime “Live like there’s no tomorrow”.

Short term, self-destructive decisions, in exchange for the quick payoff, are the shadow side of North American culture. No matter how many times we see – in personal and political stories - how it was tears apart the earth, communities, and our families - and have plenty of angels on our shoulders to point it out - we can’t help picking the devil’s fruit and tasting it. To be human is to deal with the devil.

On the surface, Amos told himself, he was merely continuing his classical education. He found a modern translation of Goethe’s “Faust” –not Marlowe’s later retelling - at the Vancouver Public Library. Now that he had an address, he could get a loan card. He felt good about pursuing his own studies – just for the sake of it. It felt mature and manly like when he smoked stale tobacco in his tortoise shell pipe. But the way his blood pumped in his veins as he carried the text home revealed something more was going on - he was unraveling forbidden treasure. It felt like he was thirteen again, stealing home with his first Playboy magazine. He was playing with Promethean fire, unlocking Pandora’s box, daring to mess around in places where little boys get eaten by witches and only heroes survive with scars to show.

Up in the mountains tree planting that summer He’d worked his way through a good chunk of Nietchze’s attempts to push off God and pump up the human spirit’s potential to achieve god-like status through science and reason. The fact that Neitchze’s journey had ended up in a madhouse only made it more interesting and challenging. The attempt to reach the edges of the human psyche - without falling off the end of the world - seemed a worthy venture for a young romantic with no better plans.

Add to that cocktail, the month on his injured back with Jung and Castenada and Huxley and you might get a taste of the elixir he was concocting for a journey into soul and identity. In other words, he was spending way too much time inside his own head - and the heads of dead white men.

So Dr. Faust’s deal with the Devil – to sell his soul in exchange for a devil’s tour of ultimate earthy experience - was a logical next read for Amos. Faust conjures up the devil Mephistopheles and trades his soul to possess the forbidden knowledge waiting over morality’s high garden walls. His pursuit of truth – as a scientist - drives him to exchange an eternity in hell for a quick trip in the Garden – to taste all of the world’s enticing temptations. To live fully he frees himself – for now - from judgment’s second-guessing that sours the sweet fruit of lusts explored. As Amos ate up the poetry of Goethe’s story, he had to admit that his otherwise worthless English & Philosophy, Bachelor of Arts, University degree did allow him to wade through these dense texts. He was able to discover how hopeless Romantics like himself, in other ages, had told their stories.

He’d discovered a good place to settle in with a book. A diner on the corner of Broadway and Granville offered a large plate glass window view of the bridge downtown with the mountains behind. He could look up from his book, out from the vinyl benched booths, into the - more often than not - wet - Vancouver night and at the same time catch his own reflection - reflecting on his path forward. That was where Amos first met the Devil. The Devil was drunk and giving the mousey little waitress a hard time. He broke through Amos’ concentration - shouting at her across the restaurant with a surly demand for more coffee. That was the bait. The wily master snagged a glance of Amos’ disapproving glare like that was what he’d been fishin for all along – the self-righteous can’t resist scolding evil.

“What’re ya lookin at? Never seen a drunken Indian before?”
Spooked, not expecting to have his challenge confronted, Amos tried to play like it hadn’t happened. He quickly turned his head back down to the pages – ignoring the question. But he could feel the Devil’s glare searing into him – the hook was set. He was caught. “O Shit” he thought - still keeping his head down “here we go.” as the drunk pulled himself to his feet and reeled over to Amos’ booth. He stuck a large, wide, clenched fist between Amos’ nose and the novel and fiercely growled “What gives you the right not to talk to me?”

Up to this point in his life, Amos had avoided conflict by either using a distracting humour, by letting others fight his battles, or by simply running. For some reason that night those choices didn’t seem to be options – or maybe, just maybe, Amos was ready to try something else.

He slowly looked up from the book, doing his best to seem calm and cool. But with a closer look at his antagonist now, the cool turned suddenly hot. The drunken Indian’s chest was thick and square equipped with a pair of heavily muscled, tattooed arms. A shoulder length black mane framed a handsome, still-young, face set with a wide, thick-lipped, angry mouth. Dark eyes, under dark brows, pierced through the alcohol’s haze. It was a sure bet this hombre had been in more than a few street fights. Amos had always had the glass of a TV screen between him and any such action.

“If you wanna fight - let’s take it outside” he heard himself say looking straight into the Devil’s eyes. At the same time, in another part of his head, he was thinking “Amos - are you fucking crazy?” He knew, swallowing the second of silence that hung between him and the Devil’s glare, feeling the blood rush suddenly to his head, that if this Indian took him up on the suggestion, he’d get his clock cleaned. Even drunk, this guy was gonna do him some damage. A picture of himself getting pummeled on the street outside, while angels watched helplessly laughing, flashed through his mind.

To his surprise and relief, the devil withdrew his still clenched fist. His face softened just a bit. His shoulders set back from their hunch forward. With dignity he replied “No, I don’t want to fight. I just want to talk.” Thinking he was off the hook, not realizing he was just being played, Amos jumped at the offer. “S-S-Sit down then” he stuttered trying to reclaim the cool that had flown out the window beside him. The Indian took a seat on the bench across from him. The waitress brought him a fresh coffee and topped Amos’ up, giving him a knowing smirk - another fish in net. And that was the beginning of Amos’ association with the Scottish Indian, Danny Sadler. Over several cups of coffee they told their stories.

They were only halfway through that first cup of coffee when Amos realized who he was talking to. He had just conjured Danny up out of the pages of Faust to present himself, in the flesh, as the devil Mephistopheles. In Amos’ mind’s eye, the conversation at the formica table was mirrored in the plate glass; an ancient story was unfolding on another level, in a bizarre but equally real through-the-looking-glass world.

Danny scoffed at Amos’ descriptions of suburban home and book learning. He took the wind out of Amos’ attempts to be self-critical by quickly stealing away any doubt that there was any value at all in what Amos had to say for himself. He took up the part of Amos’ demons and told him what he already knew about his own life. How a sheltered, comfortable, secure life had done nothing to show him what life was really all about. Satan knows the heart as well as Jesus does. This was the chief of devils to whom Amos’ many familiar little household demons reported. The bargaining had begun. First Mephistopheles would discount the value of what Faust was bringing to the table.

Then the offer was put down. Danny’s story seemed to hold all the rich temptations that Amos had only read, or wondered, about. Danny held the cards that were missing from Amos’ deck. He’d Grown up in an Ottawa ghetto, dropping out of high-school still semi-illiterate. The three years Amos had spent studying literature, politics and philosphy, Danny had spent in prison. While Amos had been taught the lessons of living a good life, Danny had sold weapons swimming deep in the ruthless rivers of violence where sharks would always hunt the soft underbellies of “good” people. To be able to see beauty and meaning, and even purpose, in a life lived from these depths was to be able to take in all of life’s offerings and judge for one’s self beyond childish moralities of good and bad.

Amos’ fear of such deep waters was part of what compelled him – the way Niagara Falls draws you standing at its edge - over and down into the void. Danny’s life story was the dark underbelly of Amos’ privileged walk. To be an artist of any weight, Amos hungered to know the passions; to possess the intimate, dark, secrets of the paths Danny had traveled. And, on cue, just as Mephistopheles had offered Faust all he was missing, Danny dared Amos to try on his world and learn something about life through his eyes.

Danny explained he was on a quest to live clean and pure and taste the fullness of a purpose. He was trying to educate himself about art and literature and philosophy – not to achieve some degree or status or job but to know how great men had harnessed life’s passion and made a difference – helped others suffer the sweet pains and subtle joys of living life fully. He invited Amos along.

When they were ready to part, Danny pulled out a stack of cards held with a thick elastic band and handed one to Amos. They were glossy, head shot, colour photos of Danny in a bandana with a sexy grin. His name and number were scrawled on the back. They agreed to meet the next day.
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5For the second test he led him up and spread out all the kingdoms of the earth on display at once. 6Then the Devil said, “They’re yours in all their splendor to serve your pleasure. I’m in charge of them all and can turn them over to whomever I wish. 7Worship me and they’re yours, the whole works.”

Amos couldn’t resist. In the morning light, Danny’s calling card was obnoxious and conceited. To call that number was obviously just asking for trouble. Still, there was truth in the devil’s telling - that he knew what Amos could never know. What Amos did know, was that if he truly wanted to write as an artist, he’d have to use light and dark and more shades of colour in his portraits than he currently possessed. Danny was offering to add those missing shades of colour to his palette. There’d be a cost of course. That was part of the story. It just seemed too strange a coincidence that a devil would appear at just the right time in his story. The encounter had an unreal feel about it – like there was more going on than what was being said. Subtle clues, like the waitress’ knowing look, Danny’s wink with his offer, was that a whiff of sulphur? The book was off the shelf, it’s cover had opened to the first chapter he needed to live before it could be written. Ready or not, the next page was his to turn.

Of course, it turned out that Danny was a reader of tales also. He was a lover of literature, but unlike Amos, completely self taught. He showed up at the beach just below 2nd and Arbutus by the pool, where they’d agreed to meet, with a dictionary under his left bicep and Henry Miller’s “Tropic of Cancer” in his left hand. A rolled umbrella served as a walking stick in his right. “Every time I come to a word I don’t know, I look it up” he explained. “Every time I read about another author or book, I write it down”. And that was his course of study.

Danny’d done time for possession and sale of illegal weapons back in Ontario. He was short on details about that life. He wanted to talk about where he was going. He’d been out here in Vancouver even longer trying to forge a new identity free from the broken chains that still hung from his wrists and ankles. He’d sing out as they strolled “I comb my hair in a different way - but end up lookin just the same”. His sense of his own absurdity was as endearing as his proud peacock routine was maddening.

They walked as they talked. Danny was dressed sharp. Sports jacket, dress shirt, jeans and black leather wingtip shoes to Amos jeans, t-shirt and sneakers. Danny would drop their conversation cold every time a single woman appeared. He’d turn and follow, or cross the street to tell her she was gorgeous or sexy or whatever and hand her one of his photo cards. Rejoining Amos he explained “I got a thousand of these made up. Even if one in a hundred gives me a call, I’ll be rolling in pussy”.

It was the way Danny talked about, and treated, women that would sour their times together. They were either queens or cunts and nothing in between. While Amos didn’t put his women on a pedestal, he set them apart in a holy seclusion from the world of men. He couldn’t stand to have them profaned. Or maybe Danny’s abuse triggered his own undeclared hatred of women’s harsh power over him. They would argue passionately about it until they were both enraged. Of course there’d also be large quantities of alcohol involved and they’d split up wherever they were. Amos would go home and wouldn’t see Danny til sometime the next day - learning about the scuffle and accommodations provided by the boys in blue. But I’m getting ahead of the story again.

That first day together, before their first fights, they got to talking about music. Did Amos know this band and did Amos know that singer and Danny announced that Amos’ first lesson had to be in music. Amos was amused that this strange character had apparently taken him on as a student – he didn’t remember signing up. On the way to Danny’s rooming house on the East Side, Amos shelled out for a bottle of Johnny Walker Red (his idea of a sophisticated drink). The lads said a polite hello to Danny’s German landlady on their way up to the second floor room. Amos had never been in a rooming house and he felt like he was walking into a movie. On a table by the bed was a turntable sitting atop a silver amp. On the floor beside the table, a row of records stood between two speakers. The room was sparse of furniture otherwise. A shared toilet was down the hall.

Danny started with Amos’ first love – the Led Zeppelin of his seventies-suburban-basement youth. From there, Danny took him back into Rock n Roll history. Like a DJ, he’d spin a sampling of the groundbreaking Birds with Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck on guitar. From England to New York’s Velvet Underground - John Cale and the roots of punk. Then an obscure sampling from The Band – pre-Dylan. Danny would instruct his charge to listen intently to the drumming, now the bass, this guitar wail – the genius of the artistry so original and so sublime they could only be purchased with blood – no?. By the time they got to Danny’s most soul-ripping favourite, Rory Gallagher, the scotch was gone and the stereo was cranked up to window-rattling loud. They’d already ignored the landlady’s banging on the door, but when the record needle ground to a halt in the middle of a wailing riff - the silence suddenly dropped them from the heights of musical ecstacy into the darkening late afternoon room.

“The ol’ bitch cut the power. Let’s get out of here.” Danny was on his feet and out the door before Amos had a chance to stagger to his feet. They stumbled down the stairs and out, past the screaming threats of the landlady, squinting, into the still bright afternoon sun.

“You have a car right?” Danny said. “We should go to Vancouver Island. I’ll introduce you to some people you need to meet.”
“Let’s go man!” said Faust to the deal. “Take me on your tour!”
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9For the third test the Devil took him to Jerusalem and put him on top of the Temple. He said, “If you are God’s Son, jump. 10It’s written, isn’t it, that ‘he has placed you in the care of angels to protect you; 11they will catch you; you won’t so much as stub your toe on a stone’?”

The next hour was a bit of a blur. Somehow they got into the Dodge Dart, got out of the city, and down to the ferry just in time to drive on and pass out. The second the car stopped, Danny crawled into the back seat. Amos slumped over across the front bench. A ferryman thumped on the car’s hood until Amos sat up and got told to turn off the car’s engine. At least Amos thought it was a ferryman. In fact, it was the angel who had gotten them that far without mishap.

It was night when they got to Victoria and Amos drove them up out of the city. Danny pointed out the sights and spots of his life in that city. He’d lived there for a time and was full of praise for the place. “Why don’t you still live here then?” Amos asked. “It’s a long story.” was all that Danny would say. They drove out of the city. Danny directed Amos to turn here and there until they came to a trailer home set in the woods along a quiet country lane. It was well past midnight and Amos wanted to just sleep in the car. But Danny insisted and knocked and walked through the door and into the trailer with Amos shadowing him. A large bearded man emerged from the back bedroom and at first didn’t seem to recognize Danny, seemed a little hostile about these midnight intruders. Amos was turning to leave when the guy growled “You know where the blankets are.” and turned back to his bed.
They crashed on the bench couches in their clothes.

Amos woke to the smell of coffee. There was a woman with long dark hair standing at the stove cracking eggs into a fry pan. “How do you like your eggs Danny?” she asked in a maternal way – with a mix of endearment and impatience – wisdom that knew the futility of scolding - only adding fuel to the fire - when boys are being boys. She made them breakfast while Danny and her man caught up on news.

Amos slipped outside to pee and try to blow off the worst of his morning farts. He found a small stream down a path and stuck his head in it. He sat back on his haunches and looked around and wondered where the wind that had brought him here was blowing from? If he was on the highway to hell what were these good hospitable people doing here along the way?

He ventured into their company and received a plate of eggs and toast and was passed thick country sausage and homemade raspberry jam and bits of cheese that all were too good to have come from off the island. He could feel his body giving thanks for it. Over cups of strong black coffee with thick rich cream Amos gathered that Danny and Bill had walked together for a time and in a way that had made them brothers. The story wasn’t sung but the fact that Bill and his beautiful wife Gloria couldn’t refuse Dan a bed, told Amos that Danny had shared something valuable with them. Whatever it was, Amos liked what he saw in the simple wealth they so generously shared with him.

They headed for Nanaimo and Danny’s friends’. Amos put his favourite road trip tape into the Fleshmobile’s deck and the adventure was on again. All the way Danny regaled Amos with assurances about how they were journeying to meet a truly spiritual man. Desmond was a true friend – unlike anyone Amos would ever have met in his limited shallow life. Desmond was the older brother of Danny’s love-of-his-life-ex-wife Helene and would greet them as brothers. Helene was the perfect woman. Artistic and wise and street smart and sexy and compassionate and pure. If Amos asked the wrong question, or tried out a joke about her, Danny would ignore it or slap it down quick. Amos had never met such a woman Danny assured him. She would be there at her brother’s home – and Amos would see.

They were more than a bit of a sad sight showing up in yesterday’s clothes, reeking still of yesterday’s alcohol, when they arrived on the doorstep of Desmond’s 5 yr. old daughter’s birthday party.

Amos tried to turn Danny around and get him to come back another day. But Desmond and his wife Sophie and their friends did indeed live up to Danny’s words. A gracious, magical, afternoon opened up to them sitting and chatting with the grown-ups on the front porch of their A-frame home while the children played in the forest’s clearing. Danny was surprisingly quiet. He would speak only to urge Amos and Desmond on into conversation about important things.

These people were practitioners of EST – a behavioural psychology movement that sought to heal and help. They told Amos of “The Hunger Project” that took them proselytizing into urban streets trying to convince people of the fact that there really is more than enough food to feed the world if only humans would cooperate and organize distribution channels.
They were earnest and sincere and interesting people. Amos could see how people in the street could be attracted by such people. They were in possession of a purpose. That purpose gave them an inner light and a confidence that was attractive to anyone who had none of those elusive things.

From bits of conversation over the afternoon, Amos slowly pieced together Danny’s story. These were the people who had tamed the wild beast when he first arrived from Ontario. They became family to him and with EST helped him to do battle with some of the personal demons that had followed him west. Desmond’s younger sister – Helene - was “away” that day. It was the only explanation of her absence given. She had fallen in love with Danny and they had a child; a daughter together. But something had gone wrong. There was something not told. A betrayal or some other broken link in the story had sent Danny out on his own again; banished from island life to begin yet again in Vancouver.

The afternoon was golden and as it turned from bright and sunny to a hazy finish, Amos had the feeling that these faerie creatures in this forest clearing would vanish – taking him with them – when the setting sun released the spell dropping behind the trees. Danny announced that their was not complete. They had to visit Denman and Hornby islands to complete a real taste of Island life. Their hosts, recognizing a quest in the making, urged the boys to carry on their journey. They departed with big slabs of homemade lasagna and cake pressed into Amos’ hands. His heart was as full as his hands. He switched the tape player off as they pulled away letting the afternoon’s song ring on a little longer in the silent appreciation held between them.

A mighty little car ferry took them out to Hornby Island. It seemed like the last refuge of hippies and artists mixed together with the money people. The rich and the creative co-existed in a symbiotic relationship. The artists needed the patrons and the rich need the “look” that the artists gave their groovy little island retreats. Hornby was a short hop across and they just made the last twilight ferry to Denman stars appearing on cue to guide them to the end of the road. Would they find the pot of gold at this rainbow’s end? They stopped into an idyllic English pub in a rustic village. They turned their wallets out and found that their first beer was also to be their last.

But the road had one more turn in it still. Just as they were standing to go, Danny got a slap on the back from a couple of big, middle-aged, Irish rugby type guy. He greeted him as a long lost brother. Turns out that Danny had worked as a labourer in Jack’s construction company. Over a fresh round of beers, a round that turned into two, then three, Amos learned that Danny was a brute for hard work. As the story went, Danny would be the first to show at the construction site and the last to leave. He’d work the day through feeding two skilled bricklayers with brick and block and mortar. Danny was the grease that kept the whole machine going – making money for buddy boy here.

They had a merry time with Jack and his pal Bill and Amos was beginning to hope that they’d give them a bed for the night when he discovered that that was just what was in mind. The boss’s friend followed him into the Men’s room, and standing at the urinal beside Amos, leaned over looking down where his hand was and declared “I’d sure like to give that lovely one a suck!”.

In his sheltered life so far, Amos’d never yet been made such an offer. With a raised eyebrow, Amos simply replied “Yeah? Well, I don’t think so pal.” put it away, zipped it up, and washed his hands of the offer without another word between them. Back at the table, Danny and Jack were into a heated debate about the Hunger Project. Amos sat and listened a bit. The boss was threatened by the idea that he might be responsible for somebody else’s hunger. He was eager to trash any idea that generosity might save the world. Danny was back at him “You can make a difference man. Open your heart. If you don’t open your heart and your clenched fists you’re going to die an ugly mean little man.” That really got Jack excited and he started railing against “do-gooders and bleading hearts and dreamers.”

Amos was disgusted by the cynicism. It was tarnishing the afternoon’s still golden memories. He leaned over and grabbed Dan’s shoulder and said so the other’s could hear. “Let’s go man. We’re wasting our time here.”

Dan stood straight up walked out the door with Amos scrambling to follow. He gave one quick look back at their startled angry looks from the departing boys to the waitress standing beside them with a pretty healthy tab to cover. Danny and Amos were laughing and hooting out to the car. They made a quick escape down the road to who knows where they were going. Amos was still indignant about the bathroom proposition but Danny just shrugged it off “Get used to it man.” Amos had yet to discover that being openly gay was as common as rain in Vancouver. This wasn’t frosty white Ontario. Out here, his sexuality was up for grabs – literally.

The road ended - being an island road - at an ocean beach and they climbed out of the car and threw themselves down on their backs in the sand just listening to the surf and exposing their hearts to the stars. Deep breaths of the warm gentle wind mixed with the beer in their bellies. Amos let go of the day - trusting the stars to keep watch over his bedeviled soul.

A kiss of the first rays of the rising sun brushed Amos’ eyelashes open. He looked over to where Danny lay to find only sand. Had he vanished; a figment of Amos’ overactive imagination; a spirit creature gone home? Amos sat up to see a naked Indian diving into the surf. Returning the “whoop” from the waves he stood and shed clothes as he jogged down and into the icy cold ocean waves – sobering up quick from the last two days of drunken dream.

Climbing back into the Fleshmobile, clothes dampened with seawater, the boys agreed they’d never felt better. Retracing the path back they spoke little of what’d gone between them. Their talk was of the mission ahead. They had good news to bring to the broken-hearted, freedom to share with the captives, manna for the hungry and songs for the sorry, lonely souls the city’s cup was brimming with.

They still had the few bucks they’d never spent on beer money the night before - enough for a cheap breakfast at a diner. They were overjoyed and relieved – laughing at their luck - that all the ferry tickets purchased were return trips. So it was in the company of a sacred laughing hoping spirit that they arrived back to Vancouver’s rain-drenched streets – glistening with sunlight breaking free of clouds to promise a new world begun.

Dropping Danny off at his rooming house they noticed a pile of junk out on the front porch. Upon closer inspection it proved to be Danny’s worldly possessions. It seemed his landlady had trouble recognizing the prophet in her midst and had put out a Room for Rent sign along with Danny’s stuff.

And so back in the basement apartment in Kitsilano, Danny poured on a devilish charm with Helen of Auckland that convinced even Amos that somehow things would all work out between their unholy trinity. Danny became the occupant of the third bedroom in the little apartment with the stairs going up and out into a grassy, shady, backyard off the alley where the Dodge Dart Fleshmobile patiently awaited the next mission...

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