The Least of These, Our Brother
And the man had been lying there, flies buzzing around the open wounds in his face. The road was busy, but his eyes had swollen shut. He felt the small wind of passersby as they hurried by him, and rasping from a throat clogged with dirt and dust from the road, he called out, feeble and weak, for mercy.
He felt the air shift, felt the proximity of another person, and he tried to raise an arm, a supplication for kindness. The voice was strong, and the man standing over him said,
“I am just a humble store clerk, and I have many mouths to feed. But I promise you, when I finally get that windfall of money, when my ship comes in, I will come back and I will help you.”
The man tried to call out, tried to say “wait,” but his voice was made of air. Soon, another soul stopped. The man could almost hear the person deliberating, weighing what he might say.
Finally, he said, “I am a good person, and every Sunday I give some of my earnings over to my church. They help so many, but you don’t fall into the category of those who are entitled help from my church, I’m sorry. But… I will pray for you.”
Days and nights passed and the man felt himself floating in and out of a dream, a dream of pain and thirst and isolation. He thought he was dreaming, then, but he heard the distinct click of a woman’s heels. He heard her make some sympathetic noises. He tried to ask for help, but his voice had dried.
The woman took in a deep breath and said, “I wish I could help you, you poor thing. But, you see, I am working on loving myself. I can’t really do anything for anyone until I learn to love myself. At least, that’s what my therapist says. You know the saying about being on an airplane and when the oxygen mask comes down, you have to secure your own…”
The man faded into a black night. When he awoke, his head was on a soft, cool pillow. He licked his dry lips and then felt something against them — plastic. A straw. He took it in his mouth and gulped fresh, cool water. He felt tears of gratitude in his eyes. He opened them, but only his right eye could take in the light. He saw a man busy next to him, laying out fresh garments. He cleared his throat and spoke:
“You must have the means to have saved me like this,” he said.
“No, not really,” replied the man.
“Oh, then you must be from some church or charity — “
“No,” he said.
“Well, then. You must have self-love to be able to give of yourself like this and show me mercy — “
“Um, no, not really. I mean, I guess I’m okay. But no self-love to speak of.”
“I don’t understand, then. How did you come to help me?”
“Look, I just work here. The ambulance guys saw you on the street and picked you up, is how I understand it. Someone will be in after a bit to talk about the financials and all of that. I’ll be back in a while to check your vitals.”
The battered man let his eyes roam the hospital room. He saw the IV hooked into his arm. He closed his eyes and with his thoughts, released his spirit from the corporeal form lying in the bed and ascended, past the ceiling, past the building, up through the air, clouds, and into the heavens, back to his father.
When the spirit arrived, he transformed into his natural state: God’s eldest son, Lucifer. Lucifer stood before God the Father and waited. God let out a heavy sigh and shook his head.
Lucifer spoke. “Well?”
God sighed again. “I dunno. I guess I see your point. So what, another flood, maybe?”
Lucifer shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
God rubbed his chin for a moment. “I don’t get it. I mean, my first commandment is to have no other God’s before me.”
“Yeah? And?”
“So if I’m, you know, number one down there, why don’t they listen to my ‘thou shalts’ and stuff?”
Lucifer shrugged. “Just a thought, but maybe you shouldn’t be number one. Maybe ‘number one’ for them ought to be, you know, each other.”
God thought about that. “Mmm, yee-ah, I dunno. You know me, I’m jealous, vengeful, and…I do like being number one.”
“Yeah,” Lucifer said. “Funny how they created you like that, huh?”
“Ooh, Lucy, I hate it when you do that. It’s like when people refer to my religions down there as ‘mythology.’ Pisses me off.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“I created them!”
“So you’ve said.”
“And not only did I create them, I created them in my image, me-dammit!”
“Yep. And I must say, they are the spitting image, across the board.”
God shakes his head, stumped. “I just don’t get it.”
Lucifer waited patiently, regarding his father.
“Ooh, listen!” God said excitedly, “Someone’s singing me a hymn! Ah, yes! Gospel! I love that shit! The clapping, the rocking back and forth — gotta buzz. Talk to you later, ‘kay?”
“All righty,” said Lucifer.
After his father left, Lucifer descended back down to Earth. He listened to all of the uttered prayers to God, and heard cries of anguish as the whole of humanity walked in darkness. He passed by churches and heard the multitudes of choruses singing their praises to God.
He heard God’s name invoked before a bomb went off in a crowded marketplace. He heard fathers banishing gay sons and daughters from their Christian homes in God’s name. There were pious prayers directed toward God from ruling bodies and elected officials, presiding over the welfare of the huddling masses.
As Lucifer walked down a dark urban street, barren and sepia-colored in the waning moon’s light, a disheveled man appeared out of a darkened doorway. He had a wildness in his eyes; the untamed gaze of a soul in pain, a soul lost in the din of humanity. His clothes were tattered, and the stink of unwashed skin surrounded him. His hands trembled, his frame wracked with need.
The man tilted his filthy face toward Lucifer and said in a tremulous voice, “Will you walk with me a while, Brother?”
Lucifer collected the man under his arm, and they walked together, long and deep into the gathered chilled night, a distant church bell sounding, heralding the whispering hour of the early morn.
~J.A. Carter-Winward
