NEGOTIATING HELL: a sequel to CS Lewis' "Screwtape Letters." Ch 12 -"the hospitality of hell"

Satan showed Mary their newly remodeled Caucus Room.

Picture a French bordelet’s private chambers bedecked in rubied lace and velvet. Festooned with scarlet beads and ornate embroidery, crimson tapestries were accented by glazed ornamentation and red frilly draperies. It was beyond hideous. Mary had no decorating skills. But whoever did this, had less.

“How do you like it?” asked Satan vainly.

“I’m speechless.” Mary wondered, could a being be condemned for bad taste?

“I decorated it myself, just for you,” purred Satan, “I knew you would appreciate the flamboyance.”

“Thanks for the thought,” said Mary, holding back a gag. They just met, but she couldn’t afford to reveal her poker face. That moment would come soon enough. “It’s lovely.” She swallowed awkwardly, as does a cat ingesting a hairball.

“What’s our first step?” asked Satan, excitedly. “I’ve never done this sort of thing before. As you know, I’m the dictator of my domain.”

“So why are you doing this now?” asked Mary.

“I’m bored. I thought it time to reassert my dominance and authority,” replied Satan.

“Seems like a waste of your time, if you ask me,” Mary commented.

“Nobody asked you,” charmed Satan. I have an eternity to punish the unionizers. Nobody likes anything or anybody here, including themselves. Besides, their buffering brains can’t work with each other, and everything will unravel. Watch.”

“How do you know?” interrogated Mary.

“I’ve known them forever. That alone is my hell!” Satan's voice changed keys, up one-half step. “We’re all locked into a miserable existence, living unhappily ever after,” he ranted. Mary sensed she was dancing on his last nerve and backed off. Shifting gears, how could she gauge a potentially bi-polar personality?

“What would you like to see from me?” She wanted to know to extract cooperation versus viciousness. She needed his settings and mania-metrics. Right now, the only tool in her toolbox was ego massage. Gross.

“What would you like from me?” asked Satan in falsetto, mimicking Mary’s question. Mary realized he was setting her up as his clown in this rodeo. Smartly, she shot Satan a serious stare. Message received. His turn to switch gears. “So, what’s next?”

“This is a paradox,” she explained. “Both sides create asinine proposal lists. Then they argue, feigning good faith. When a middle ground is reached that nobody wants; both say they won and everyone saves face. Time is wasted while little or nothing changes.

“Hmmm,” Satan mumbled, pretending to think deeply. “So, if nothing changes, I propose they do what I want. They propose to accept my bidding. Yes, I see how this works. I like this process.” Satan tapped his fingers together, gleefully.

“That’s one way of looking at it, but what if they seek more free time and better working conditions?” asked Mary.

“Whyever, would they want that?” asked Satan seriously.

Mary feared this was to be a long process. She contemplated whether Satan couldn’t comprehend or chose outright defiance. This chunk of her afterlife was going south fast. She shuddered involuntarily.

“Are you OK?” baited Satan, pretending concern, secretly hoping she was in pain.

Classic. “I’m fine. Thanks for your empathy,” she replied kindly. “Since I’m here to help, should we start with a game plan?” asked Mary.

“Okay, what game do you plan to play?” tortured Satan.

“A mind game,” Mary intoned professionally while hiding emotion.

“It had better be fun.” He was bored. He liked drama and this was insufficiently stimulating.

“What might they want?” asked Mary.

“I don’t know, and why would I care? I assume they want to be loyal slaves and jump at my every order and whim,” stated Satan.

“This is good,” said Mary, writing. “What might you want?”

“That's better! I want what I want. And I want to talk about what I want when I want,” replied Satan engagingly. “And I want them to do my bidding.”

“Got it,” replied Mary. “Is there anything else you want?”

“Yes!” said Satan, cheering up. “I want them to do my bidding — without whining.”

“You’re good at this,” smiled Mary, stroking his ego. “Let’s list more things. Our goal is to trade insignificant items on our list that we don’t want. This wins big items on their list that we do want. The goal is, whoever has the longest list, wins. Right now, they’re somewhere doing the same thing.”

“No, they’re not!” retorted Satan.

“Why not?” asked Mary, startled.

“Collectively, they couldn’t crochet a concept. They are spleeny scapegraces of the goober guard. They’re walking ‘oops’ buttons. Their only objective is to think of thorny things that tug my tail. They think I owe them an everlasting expo of euphoria!” Satan stated emphatically.

“Aha, so they can think of petty things,” Mary repeated back. “And right now, they’re thinking about your tugging their tails. Except there are more of them and only one of you.”

““Wait, what? What does that even mean?” Satan jumped to his feet, angry. “After everything I haven’t given! All they do is whine, whine and whine!” Mary didn’t mean to set him off. All she wanted was 3 things: a strategy, a negotiation list and a signing ceremony. She wanted to get the heck out and start her afterlife.

Steaming, Satan grabbed a string of red beads. It broke, launching faceted-red metallic spheres everywhere, including into his hair. Looking up, a bead fell in his nose and he sneezed.

“God bless you!” Mary smiled, sat back in her chair and folded her arms. This was a popcorn moment. Snickering aloud, she imagined the scene under strobe lights and a disco ball. He winced.

Satan stood in a puddle of red, holding a naked string like a kid whose balloon just popped. He was crestfallen and dejected — before any meetings began! God said Satan needed tough love and here was evidence. Satan stood like a toddler, threatening to hold his breath.

“Your demons want you tightly-wound. Imagine them watching,” warned Mary. “We have to control our tempers. We need to be smart.”

He exhaled his held breath, “I am smart!” whined Satan. He eyed his lonely string, as his bottom lip quivered. Mary had won this round.

“Then, let’s leave the landmines alone. We won’t stoop to their level,” patronized Mary, in a confident, motherly tone. “Our goal is to have the best list of demands, which is….”

Her interrupted her, “for those stupid soul-stealers to stop sniveling,” interjected Satan. He was himself again, as he found a mirror in which to primp. In the margin of her notes, Mary wrote ‘get more mirrors.’ With Satan distracted and under control, her situation was growing bearable.

“Oh, look at the time,” Satan stuck his tongue out at himself. “It’s time to audit quotas. Surely, those lamebrain energy-stains are massaging their soul counts, the sluggish, slothy spooks.”

Mary scratched a labor request in her notes, ‘the minions will want lower quotas.’ “Since we know what you want. Let’s strategize tactics,” Mary hinted. “For now, let’s think like a minion and predict what else they want.”

“How can I reduce this to a minion?” asked Satan. At the word ‘this,’ his model-like hands displayed the extreme wonderfulness standing in the mirror’s reflection.

“It might be painful. But let me help,” Mary agreed. “Do you think they want less hours or smaller quotas?”

“Of course, because they are peapod poopheads,” replied Satan, scatologically.

With a wry look, Mary asked, “what else? We need a longer list than this.”

“Who cares what they want? What’s the return on investment for my precious time? This entire exercise is a waste of hell’s resources,” steamed Satan.

Mary thought, and hers too! “Maybe they want better treatment, respect, attention, quality fellowship, I don’t know,” said Mary. “What are their love languages?”

“Marsha. Read my lips,” said Satan slowly. “This is hell. It’s supposed to be hell. Those nitwit twits brought this entirely upon themselves…”

Mary interrupted, “did they ask to come here? Or did you plant specific words like, “I will not serve!”

“Look Maris, I can’t force anything under the laws of free-will. I present options and opportunities. Beings weave their own falls from grace, which brings them to our oasis of abuse,” asserted Satan with amusement. “Some seek me out for fame and fortune. In return, I give them free room and board. Wanna see all my written and recorded contracts?” She did not have time for his posturing.

“How come you didn’t get me?” asked Mary, now curious.

“You were a special case and don’t think I didn’t try, Missy! Besides, your biological clock ran out. God doesn’t share timetables. He suspects we would abuse them. I moved on to the next loser,” said Satan. “Nothing personal, it’s just business. No offense.”

“None taken,” said Mary. “Yet here I am.”

“Yes, here you are,” repeated Satan, smugly. Mary noticed a twinkle in his eye as if he knew something she didn’t.

“Well, let’s get on with it,” she encouraged. “First, we’ll discuss ground rules for negotiating,” said Mary.

“Like what?” asked Satan, bored. The only rules he followed were those he created or changed to suit himself.

“Rules. You know orders, regs, the 10-commandments?” Mary reiterated.

“You mean guidelines that others must follow, but not me?” laughed Satan.

“That could be one,” replied Mary. Resorting to man-splaining, Mary detailed; “what if you get what you want and they cooperate?”

“You mean I order them about and they like it?” asked Satan, excitedly.

“They may not like it,” drawled Mary, “but they would cooperate.”

“I would like it. Yes. I would like it very much,” said Satan, sitting back in his chair, rubbing his chin. “I like it when they don’t like that they do what I like. And I like it that I can like whatever I want to like.” Mary’s experience kicked in. The best way to end a circuitous argument was ego-building. “Yes,” Satan spewed, “I like to win, but winning must occur in all ways and means… you see, Myrna …” Mary foresaw a paragraphed plot-dump.

“Yes Satan,” cringed Mary. “It’s a good set of statements.”

Satan grinned at her, “After all, nothing is too good for my morons, I mean minions.”

“As you said, look at the time,” Mary eyed her watch — eight and the gate. Today’s session was over. “When do you want me tomorrow?”

“The same time is fine,” said Satan, as he winked at himself in a mirror.

“Should I bring anything?’ inquired Mary. Sequentially, Satan winked both eyes. Did she just see Satan kiss the mirror? “Is there a better way to get here?”

“Yes, take the road paved with good intentions. Oopsies, I keep forgetting you’re not an earthling anymore. I'll have what's-his-name bring you here and I’ll join when I can,” replied Satan.

“Does the butler have a name?” asked Mary, gathering up her notes.”

“He does I suppose, but what does it matter when no one cares?” Satan could not appear more disinterested.

“OK, see you then,” mumbled Mary, making mental notes. She needed butler background, and every other minion involved. Who knew what leverage awaited?

Satan slithered off to check quotas as she wandered outside. Once arriving home, all was made brighter by the fresh hell she just left. Everything was pristine, tranquil and colorful. As she inhaled floral fragrances; St Techno approached wearing Ray-Bans. After a hug and a hurl of hellish updates, Tech relayed how God wanted to see how she was doing. Already, God knew but Mary had questions. What was the purpose of her visit? She couldn’t fix hell and He knew it. Moreover, He knew that she knew that He knew it. Ergo, was this bigger than medicinal-tough love for Satan? What mind games were involved here? And with all due respect, how does one articulate said points, to Almighty God?

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Talking to a wall

Chapter 2: Jerking Satan’s Chain & the burning laptop

Chapter 3: “Hmm …. I guess I read that wrong”

Chapter 4: The devil is in the details

Chapter 5: And what was it they wanted to organize?

Chapter 6: Nothing is ever good enough

Chapter 7: What could be worse?

Chapter 8: The learning curve

Chapter 9: It’s all in the sales pitch

Chapter 10: Uh, huh?

Chapter 11: Just the first day