I was asleep when the phone by the bed went off. I sat up and looked at the clock: 2:45 a.m.
“Hello?” I said carefully.
A raspy voice shouted, “Yourmothersuckscocksinhell!”
“What? I’m sorry, my what? I didn’t—”
“Your mother!”
“What about her?”
“Sucks cocks!”
“My mother …”
“In Hell!”
I didn’t understand. “Do you know my mother?”
No response.
“Who is this?”
“Satan.”
“Right,” I said, “okay,” and told him to go to hell. But as I was putting the phone down I could hear him shouting in there, “Wait, don’t hang up, don’t hang up!”
I couldn’t, somehow. “Who is this.”
“It’s not really Satan,” he admitted in a normal voice— he sounded about seventeen. “You don’t know me. I dialed whatever. You’re whatever. I didn’t mean that about your mother, it just came out. It’s from the movie. Have you seen it yet? I’ve seen it five times.”
“What movie. What’re you talking about?”
“The Exorcist. You haven’t seen it?”
“No.” I’d seen previews and it looked pretty scary but not in a very enjoyable way.
“Listen to this,” he said. “I can speak backwards. Check it out: ‘Natas si eman ym.’ Know what I just said? ‘My … name … is … Satan.’”
Okay, I instructed myself, just be nice, and get off. “That’s pretty good,” I told him.
“Thanks.”
“But I’m afraid I have to go now,” I added.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“It’s very late.”
“I have to tell someone.”
“Maybe another time.”
“Please?”
“Be quick,” I told him.
“I’ve got all the symptoms: bedwetting, speaking backwards, green vomit, levitation, evil thoughts—you wouldn’t believe some of the shit I think about doing.”
“Like prank phone calls?”
“This isn’t a prank, it’s a cry for help, asshole.”
“Okay, that’s it. Goodnight.”
“Right. Go back to bed. In the morning you’ll think you had this dream about some fucked-up guy thinks he’s possessed by the devil, calls you up wanting to know if you’d like to go see a movie some time. Would you, by the way? Just curious.”
I wasn’t sure I understood. “Are you asking me out?”
“Yes or no, pal. What’s it gonna be?”
“It’s gonna be no,” I told him.
“Well, that’s a relief,” he said. “Know what I do to fags? What I’d like to do? Wanna hear?”
“I’m hanging up now, okay? Goodnight.”
“Wait. Know what happens? Satan leaves the little girl and gets inside the priest, the young one, so you know what he does? Jumps out the window and breaks his neck. He didn’t have any choice! See what I’m saying? What I’m tryna say?”
Ah shit, I thought. “So that’s what you’re gonna do?”
“What, jump out the window? Right, I’d fall about three feet, ya dumb fuck. I’m sorry, that was way outa line. You mad at me now?”
“Listen …”
“Oh don’t say ‘listen’ like that. I hate when people tell me to listen. Why don’t they ever listen? Go ahead. You were saying.”
I told him carefully, “Quit, seeing, the stupid, fucking, movie.”
“It’s not stupid, you’re stupid. People don’t think there’s a devil but that’s what he wants them to think. Know what she does? The little girl? Masturbates with a crucifix. Does that turn you on? If it does, you are one sick fuck, my friend. Plus she barfs green vomit in his face, and her head turns allll the way around, and when he flings holy water on her it burns, it burns. You gotta go see it.”
“Yeah well, meanwhile I think maybe you should go see something a little more lighthearted, y’know? A little upbeat?”
“Like what.”
“I don’t know …” I tried to think. “Singin’ in the Rain or something.”
He laughed. “Singin’ in the Rain?”
“Something like that, I’m saying.”
“How old are you, man?”
“All right, y’know what? It’s going on three o’clock in the goddam—”
“Wanna go together? See something together? A musical comedy? Whaddaya say?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Want me to jump out the window?”
“It’s only three feet,” I reminded him.
“Want me to hang myself?”
“Look …”
“Oh don’t say ‘look’ like that. I hate when people tell me to look. What’s your name, by the way. Can you tell me that much?”
I didn’t see any harm. “John,” I said.
“Mine’s Luke, short for Lucifer. Not really. So what’s your number, John? I don’t even remember what I dialed.”
Thank you, Jesus, I thought.
“Lemme grab a pen,” he told me. “Okay, go ahead.”
“Y’know?” I said, as if having thought it over. “I think I’d probably rather not.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “Why do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you. I don’t even—”
“Can’t you understand? It’s not me, it’s him. It’s him.”
Satan, he apparently meant. I told him as nicely as I could, “I really think you need to go talk to someone, Luke.”
“I am talking to someone, I’m talking to you. Aren’t you someone?”
“I was thinking more like, you know, someone professional.”
“Like a shrink, you mean?”
“Well …”
“I don’t need a shrink, I need a fucking priest, you dickwad.”
“Well I’m not a fucking priest, all right? So—”
“Fine. You’re off the hook. Go on, go back to bed. Goodnight. Goodbye.”
“Wait,” I told him.
He waited. “Well?” he said.
“So how ‘s it end?” I asked.
“What, the movie?”
“What happens?”
“I told you, the priest jumps out the window, breaks his neck.”
“What about the little girl?”
“She’s fine. All smiles. Doesn’t even remember.”
“Well then,” I said to him, putting a smile in my voice. “See? Happy ending. It was looking pretty grim there for a while, right? Pretty dark?”
“Yeah?”
“But then, finally, somehow, everything all worked out, didn’t it.”
“So what’s your point.”
“I’m saying, it just goes to show: things have a way of … you know …”
“Working out?”
“‘All smiles,’ you said. The little girl was ‘all smiles.’”
He was quiet for a moment, like he was thinking. Then he said, “What’re you, some kinda nutcase?”
“Excuse me?”
He spoke carefully: “It’s a movie, man. Okay? We’re talking about a fucking movie.”
“Yeah and a pretty idiotic one, I’d say.”
“Fuck you, you haven’t even seen it.”
“Well, it sounds idiotic—green vomit and the rest.”
“Pancake batter, okay? Okay?”
“That’s what they used? Pancake batter?”
“With green food coloring, okay?”
“Huh.” I admitted that was kind of interesting.
“She gets him right in the face, man.” He started laughing now. “The shit’s all over his fuckin’ glasses, and the mother’s like, ‘Oh, hey, sorry about that, Father.’” Laughing harder he managed to ask me, “Whaddaya say? Wanna go? It’s kind of a comedy actually, lotta slapstick, kind of a musical comedy.”
“There’s singing?”
“Not as such. Anyway, how ’bout it, wanna go?”
“Not really.”
He was quiet.
“Sorry,” I added.
“Yeah, you’re sorry all right, you’re about the sorriest—by the way, did I mention? Your mother sucks cocks in Hell.”
“So you said.”
“Your own mother! Sucks cocks!”
“Okay, Luke.”
“In Hell!”
We were quiet, both of us.
Then I said to him, “Y’know, speaking of memorable lines? I’m reminded of a pretty good one, a pretty profound one actually. It’s from the final scene in one of my all-time favorite—”
“Hey man, it’s three in the fuckin morning,” he informed me, and hung up.