Working for the Angel of Death“Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to find your desk,” the little demon said as he showed me around the office. Nervous, my first day and all.
Beautiful office, really. White walls, pure as driven snow. Brilliant pot lights in the ceiling gave off a glow of angelic glory undefined by reason. White carpet – no stains. Imagine that. Nothing like the hell I imagined I was going to as I made my way through the underground tube, around the river to my new workplace.
“Isn’t there something I should know before I start?” I asked, wondering if I could find my way around the big office – comprised of my small desk, which was left undecorated just for me, and the inner office with more plush carpet and a big, black leather chair that I could just see the corner of from my vantage point.
“Well,” the little demon said, examining his long finger nails closely for a moment, “I suppose I could let you in on a tiny little secret.”
“Yes?”
“If you’re having a spot of trouble, any time of the day, I’d check out the solution closet, if I were you.”
“What? Where is it?”
The demon smiled, but only slightly, and looked up at me. “That was the tiny little secret.”
“What was?”
“That there’s a solution closet.”
Then I realized that the closet wasn’t quite located anywhere near me. “Oh.”
The demon picked up his things, consisting of a very large overcoat, a very small briefcase, and a medium-sized rubber duck. “I’ll be off then, duckie,” he said with a chuckle. “Worst of luck to you.”
And suddenly with a swoop of shadow, he was gone.
Big sigh.
I looked around. This wasn’t what I’d planned. I thought, upon expiring somewhat early, due to circumstances that were OF COURSE beyond my control, that I’d have just a bit of pitchfork action, then on with the suffering.
I had no idea that suffering for eternity consisted of a desk job with the Angel of Death.
Apparently the Hellion Temp Agency knew what they were doing. They said this was the absolute worst punishment they could come up with, and I just knew that they were right.
I looked down at my pointed heels. The shoes ached a bit, having not been broken in at all. Some little agent had picked me up straight away at the weigh station, after finding out that the scales of justice were just a bit broken that day, sighing and moaning his fate of having to get me proper clothes for the position.
And yes, all malls are located in Hell.
You want to know how I know? Oh, I shouldn’t go there, but what they hey? I just got my first demotion and I’m so thrilled – NOTHING WAS IN MY SIZE.
But apparently, space is limited in Heaven these days, so the angels and demons live and work together now. I suppose that I was sent to work in the low-rent district. But everything looked fine to me.
I sat down in my too-short chair, with my too-tight shoes, my slightly too-big skirt (but only in the waistband), my too tight top (and you know that of course there are no safety pins in the world that can contain my rack of lamb) and looked for a pen and a pad of paper, so that I could take notes in chicken scrawl for my fab new boss.
And then the Angel of Death walked in.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
Then I looked at the floor.
The Angel of Death was the most attractive man I’d ever seen.
He rubbed his hands together and smiled. I continued looking at the floor, but the sparkle from his teeth only added to the glare.
“Well, now, my dear, cat got your tongue? Up with you so I can have a good look at you,” he said gleefully. Way, way too happy to see a temp in a new position on her first day in the afterlife.
I stood up, slowly, and looked up at him. It was going to be a long day.
“Hello then, I’m the Angel of Death. I’ll be your superior for the next little while, and I’ll try and make your life as easy as possible.”
“Oh! That’s fantastic. I’m Mira. Nice to meet you.” I held out my hand. And the Angel of Death took it gently, turned it over, frowned just a tiny bit, and gave it back to me.
“That’s odd. Haven’t you been permanently assigned to someone yet? I thought you were just filling in until your position was open.”
“Well, er, no,” I started, nervously. “I didn’t realize that I was going to be assigned right away. Seems like I got off to my new end on the wrong foot.”
He looked into my eyes, bending over to stare straight at me. The smile left his face, a little, but I saw the strangest twinkle in his eyes. Very tall, but not unkind.
“I’m not the Devil, Mira,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
“Okay.”
He cleared his throat a little and stood back. “Well, let’s just get to work then, and I’ll check on your assignment in a little while. Probably a bit of lost paper work, I imagine.”
“How can I help you?”
“Well, first off, I could use some assistance with this pile of files I’ve been meaning to put away.” And the Angel of Death waved his hand and the wall in front of me opened. Dark wooden bookshelves with large Kelly-green binders full of papers lined the place where the whitest pale used to be.
He walked over to the other side of my desk – could’ve sworn it was nothing but edge and carpet, but suddenly there was a stack of manila folders waiting for their proper place – on the shelf, apparently.
The Angel of Death picked up one of the manila folders. Thick, with yellow sticky notes peeking out from the edges. Worn at the side, like someone had chewed the tips off in a fit of pique. He looked closely at the name, almost like he needed bifocals – apparently Hell doesn’t have a LensCraftsmen, either.
“This one seems ready to be put away, Mira. Do you think you could examine the shelves, and file the proper placement? It’s all alphabetical, so I’m sure you won’t have any trouble,” he said, now facing the dark wood. I watched the back of his head, his hair shifting slightly under the lights. Highights in a color I couldn’t imagine. He gently placed the file on my desk.
Then I was back in reality. “Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll get right on it.”
“See that you do. I’ll be in my office if you need anything. Oh, and welcome,” he said as almost an afterthought, and he walked away and I could hear the smallest ruffle as he sat down at his large, dark desk and began working on something that apparently required an inkwell and a feather.
I picked up the file he’d left on my desk.
It was blank.
How could I file something that had no name or title?
Considering my situation, that it was only my first five minutes on the job, and that I didn’t want to appear helpless, I looked around, and decided the only thing to do was break confidentiality and look inside to find a name. Perhaps I could make a label, too, while I was at it, although I did notice that the Angel of Death didn’t prefer computers. Perhaps I’d have to shovel coal later, too, to keep the place warm.
But somehow I didn’t think so.
Just a bit nervous with my fingers cooled – I timidly opened the file.
Lots of note pages filled with scribble. Doodles on the side – funny drawings of strange animals and people, sometimes strange geometric shapes. No runes, or swear words – in fact, when I tried to read the notes to find something to file it under, the words just didn’t make sense.
He did say it was alphabetical, didn’t he?
Humming a bit under my breath, which I’m known to do in certain situations involving utter, well, not confusion, but simple misunderstanding, I walked the folder over to the bookshelves. I placed it gingerly in a blank space along one shelf, and pulled out a binder. Perhaps there was guidance on the shelves themselves.
The binder was lighter than it looked. I thought it was full – but when I tugged on it to pull it out, I could feel the weight of it was no more than one purchased at the store, still wrapped in clear plastic. It smelled new, too.
I opened it. There was one piece of paper inside. One little slice of the work of the Angel of Death. Just a few words on it, with no apparent reason.
I didn’t want to ask for help. There must be some way to find order out of this tiny microscopic chaos, I thought to myself. I could hear the Angel of Death shuffling papers in his office. I froze at the shelves.
“How’s it coming along, then, Mira?” he asked. He sounded calm. If only he knew. “Everything going well out there?” He got up out of his chair and came to the doorway.
“Oh, just fine, Sir. Oh! Sorry, do you have a proper title – I don’t know what to call you.”
The Angel of Death looked me over – up and down. He put his hand up to his chin, and thought of a bit, considering.
“Are you comfortable with my first name?”
I gulped.
He sighed. “Rav will do, Mira. It’s the proper title, after all. I am a teacher, even in the worst of times.”
“Yes, Rav.”
He clapped his hands. “Well, then, back to work.” And he went back to his desk, almost in a flash of light. I’d never seen an angel move that fast.
Alone again. I looked at the shelves, eyeing them over, thinking about a possible solution. I could reorder them all to my liking, but I wasn’t sure if I was going to stay. Something less permanent, then.
Walking away from the shelves with the manila folder in hand, now warm to my touch, I wandered back to the desk and took a long look at the office. There wasn’t much to look at. But I remembered the little demon’s words – the solution closet. Supposedly, I could’ve asked for that too, but I’m not that dependent on conventional solutions.
I wondered if waving my imaginary magic wand would do anything to locate the closet.
To Be Continued ...