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“I thought you’d be the one to know. It’s a region of Hell.”
“Never heard of it.”
He comes over and hands me the sheet of paper. It’s just chicken scratches and his calculations.
Traven says, “Dante wrote about Eleusis in the Inferno, though he didn’t call it by that name. Some translations described it as the woods given to the virtuous pagans. Dante described it as a green and pleasant place for pre-Christian men and women who weren’t sinners but couldn’t get into Heaven because they weren’t redeemed by Christ’s sacrifice.”
“Wait, Heaven is punishing those for being born too early?”
“It’s not punishment. It’s like Limbo. A work-around invented by the Church centuries ago. If humanity can only be redeemed by Christ’s death, what happens to the virtuous prophets of the Old Testament? Eleusis in Greece was the site of ancient mystery rites and therefore a vaguely mystical region as good as any to dispose of the pagans.”
I hand the paper back to him.
“Then Eleusis is where Mason has Alice.”
“From what I recall, it’s a long way from Pandemonium. Halfway across Hell in fact.”
“Does going across Hell get me frequent-flier miles?”
I take my coat off the bed and load in the na’at, the knife, and the other gear.
It’s still two hours until sundown.
“We can sit here and stare at each other or we can have a drink and send for some food.”
“Food,” says Vidocq, and the others agree.
Kasabian turns around. Suddenly we have his attention.
“What kind of food?”
“Chicken and waffles,” says Candy.
“From Roscoe’s?” says Allegra. “I don’t think they deliver.”
“Everyone delivers if you pay them enough,” says Kasabian. He types something into the computer and a phone app opens on the screen. “Watch. I’m the king of overtipping.”
I say, “As long as you’re wasting my money, get Donut Universe to send over a wheelbarrow-ful of whatever’s fresh.”
Traven is staring at the paper with the angelic cipher.
“What’s up, Father? Not a waffle fan?”
He says, “I’m horrified by what you’re about to do, but I’m also a little envious. Hell is waiting for me when I die, but I don’t know what it is, and that scares me. But you can walk its streets without being afraid. I’d give anything for that.”
“If anyone ever makes you that offer, don’t take it. It’s a sucker’s bet. And I told you. I’ll show you around if you end up Downtown.”
Traven taps the pen against the paper nervously. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He’s picturing flames and oceans of boiling blood. If I tell him it’s not like that, he won’t believe me. No one ever really believes what you tell them about Hell.
“You and your friends have shown me more of the universe in the last couple of days than the Church did in years. I wish I could do more to show my gratitude,” he says.
“Do you have a car?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Is it insured? Like, well insured?”
“It was my late mother’s car. She was a careful driver and had every kind of insurance there is.”
