What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [79]
They left the horse and made their way west, toward the neighborhoods of condos and students and university-centric debauchery and weird-but-not-really-that-weird stuff that makes Austin such a wonderful place to live.
“Where are we going?” asked Satan.
“Why? Are you bored?”
“Well, no. I guess not. Maybe a little.”
“Okay then. Watch this.” Eli strode out into the middle of the street and stepped up onto the median. He held out his hands. “My people!” A family of tourists paused to look, but then the tourist parents quickly ushered their tourist children away. An old lady grunted a mean old-lady grunt and waved dismissively. “Repent!” said Eli. A passing car honked, and Eli waved his hand in a complex signal that could have been a hex or a blessing. “The End!” He raised his arms for emphasis. “The End is near!”
His announcement complete, Eli headed back to the sidewalk. A naked guy, who had apparently been watching, yelled from across the street. “Yes!” He punched his fist into the air and flailed about. He whooped and spun and did a frantic dance. “It’s the end of the world!”
“It seems to me,” said Eli, “that the nudist contingency in town is somewhat larger than usual. It’s a bit odd, I think.”
Satan watched as the naked guy continued to celebrate by leaping about. “That guy can jump pretty high,” he said.
Eli nodded, joining the Devil in marveling at the athletic display. “Yes,” he said. “There is a reason why the Greeks used to compete naked.” He did not point out that the Greeks, in their nudist games, never had to try to outrun Humvees. It would have been a timely comment, though, if he had, because at that moment a very large and menacing Humvee roared up and skidded to a halt just inches short of the spot where the naked guy was writhing in a fit of ecstatic affirmation. The truck’s doors burst open and a bunch of soldiery types leapt out. They wore mean expressions and even meaner boots, and the two in front tackled the naked guy.
“The Governor’s new police force is … enthusiastic,” said Eli.
“Whose? What?” asked Satan. “What is that?”
Eli paused from his spectating for a moment and turned to look at Satan, who was hunched over slightly, staring at the Humvee with the kind of squinty eyes that are universally acknowledged to be the pantomime sign of “I can’t see very well.” It’s not entirely clear why squinting is supposed to make it easier to see stuff, but nobody ever said these things have to make sense.
“What is that symbol?” asked Satan. He pointed to the star painted on the side of the military truck.
“It … looks like a star,” said Eli. He did a little bit of hunching over and squinting himself and then nodded. “Yep. That’s what it is.” He nodded some more. “A star.”
Satan stood suddenly and turned to Eli. “Where am I?” he asked.
Eli looked at Satan’s feet and then back up at his face. “I’d say you’re about two feet – maybe eighteen inches – from me,” he said. “And I’m right here.” He offered Satan a reassuring smile.
“No, no,” said Satan impatiently. “I mean: What is this place?” He waved his arms, gesturing to the world in general.
“Downtown?”
Satan scowled. His eyes glowed just a teensy bit, but Eli didn’t notice.
“Austin?”
“Okay.” Satan nodded, apparently mollified, but then turned back to look at Eli abruptly. “Where is Austin?”
“Texas. The Lone Star State. Austin is the capital of Texas. It was an Independent Republic from 1836 to 1845. And there are those who believe—”
The Devil exploded. “Texas! That’s it! I… I think I hate… Texas!” He threw his arms up, and stomped around a bit, making unintelligible ranting sounds to himself. A few, lonely wisps of smoked rose from the little strip of grass that ran along the sidewalk.
“What,” asked Eli, turning his head to the side, “is wrong with Texas?”
Satan stopped and stared at Eli looking a little bit lonely and lost. It was a second before he spoke. “I don’t know,” he