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With
Pandora’s box once again wide open, I received a request to conduct a very
unusual interview on behalf of a very unusual client.
In one sense of the word, this was a rather ordinary assignment, for I
was simply to conduct another interview with another celebrity on another issue
of the day -- to find out how he votes on the issue and why.
This request, however, was extremely unusual with regard to the identity
of both the celebrity to be interviewed and the individual who requested it.
My editor relayed to me a request from Lady Gaia (Mother Earth) to
interview none other than “The Devil” himself.
Now,
I’ve interviewed a lot of celebrities in my day, but needless to say, when I
was asked to do this interview, I was more than a little bit hesitant.
My first reaction was, “What? You’re
either kidding or crazy! You want
me to represent Mother “E” and interview the most loathsome being in all of
God’s creation?”
My
editor’s response was, “Just think about this for a moment.
You’ll get to conduct the most unusual interview in all of modern
journalism, and, if you survive, you’ll get yourself listed in the journalism
history books.” His words “If you
survive!” implied an alternative I didn’t like at all.
Well,
to make a long story short, he touted the benefits eloquently for several
minutes, fattened my wallet twice, and punched my ego-button several times, so
before I knew it, I’d agreed to do the interview.
After I’d walked out of his office, it took me less than twenty minutes
to develop serious reservations about what I’d agreed to do.
I
knew I was stepping way out of character, because my prior thrill seeking had
been confined mostly to enjoying the mystique of feminine charms and rarely
involved anything more dangerous than driving too fast.
And now, I’d agreed to a face-to-face meeting with “His Satanic
Majesty -- The Prince of Darkness -- the Personification of Evil.”
When
I finally realized that this was real and that my editor wasn’t kidding, I
became certain that it was I, not he, who was crazy.
In the intervening three days until our meeting, shivers went up my spine
every time I thought of this interview.
Nonetheless,
at the appointed hour, there I was, alone on a small, rented, cruising yacht
anchored fifty yards offshore in Coos Bay, Oregon.
The crew had been instructed to return and retrieve both me and the yacht
exactly two hours after sunset -- NO MATTER WHAT!
I
sat impatiently with tape recorder and notebook in hand.
I sat quietly -- at least on the outside I was quiet.
Although I didn’t know whether or not they’d work, I secretly also
had a crucifix and small bottle of freshly blessed holy water in my left jacket
pocket. I waited anxiously, hoping
that “The Devil” would not show up. As
the last flicker of afternoon sun sank beneath the ocean, I scoured the horizon
looking for an approaching boat. Other
than empty ocean and darkening sky, my vision captured only one, lone seagull
flying north along the shore as it headed for its nighttime roost.
With
straining eyes, I continued to search the sea around me as the evening, coastal
fog oozed in from out of nowhere and covered everything with a dull gray
sameness. The horizon on the ocean
side became indistinguishable and the shoreline began to disappear into the
blackness of the hills beyond. All
too soon, the semi-darkness engulfed everything, including my mind.
I thought, “What am I doing here?
What have I gotten myself into?”
But, alas, the die was already cast, so all I could do now was wait --
and hope.
I
had little comfort now -- only the sight of a few of the brightest stars
directly overhead, the two small yacht lights that shone from either side of the
walkway and a gentle rocking of the yacht, itself.
Fear and hope escalated their tug of war in my head.
Was he really coming? Was
this some kind of sick joke? What
Am I doing here? How do I get back
to shore? My mind was full of
questions, but empty of answers.
In
a brief respite from my visual search, I closed my eyes and rubbed them gently.
Without conscious effort, I found myself taking in deep a breath and
letting it out with a sigh. Upon
exhaling, my body seemed to relax somewhat, particularly my stomach, so, with
eyes still closed, I intentionally repeated the deep breath, this time with an
even deeper inhale, and an intentional focus on relaxing my body as I exhaled.
I
folded my arms in a relaxation mode that my grandmother used to call “rock the
baby”—with the insides of my wrists touching each other, with each hand
lightly holding the opposite forearm, and both arms resting easily against my
abdomen. With the life energy that
is normally expelled from the body by way of the hands now circulating back into
me, I began to feel calmer and more relaxed.
Upon
assuming this posture, I almost immediately became aware of the gentle rocking
of the boat and rhythmic splash of the waves as they announced their presence
against the hull. I sat, eyes
still closed, listening to the waves and listening for anything else I might
hear. Other than the peaceful,
repetitive cadence of the waves, I heard only the sounds of my breathing.
In retrospect, I do not remember whether I sat there for a single moment
or a minute or two.
All
I know is that when the yacht lurched suddenly and turned slightly starboard, my
dramatic shift from semi-relaxed to hyper-alert was equal in speed to that of my
pet cat, Murphy. My eyes popped open, my
body stiffened, I sat bolt upright and could actually feel my heart beating
against my shirt.
Before
me on the bow sat a shadow. I
blinked several times to be sure I was actually seeing someone.
Yes, indeed, there was someone, or some thing
on the bow. Then the shadow moved,
and I could see it was a man, or, at least, what appeared to be a human male
sitting on the bow. I caught my
breath, and, with apprehension and anxiety, I addressed my dreaded guest.
T.L.C.
Sir. . . Is that you?
Big
D This is the appointed
place and the appointed hour, is it not?
T.L.C.
Mr. Devil . . . God-Father D’ Evil . . . Yer’onher
. . . Ahh . . .
Sir . . . How
shall I address you?
Big
D Just call me Big D.
T.L.C.
Is that for Big Daddy, Dallas, or The Devil?
Big
D As you will.
T.L.C.
I’ve set a chair here for you.
With
an air of authority which matched his deep, penetrating voice, Big D slid off
the bow and slowly moved across the deck in my direction.
As he approached, I went into complete panic.
My whole body began to shake. I
strained to control my anal sphincter. In
desperation, I thrust my left hand deeply into my jacket pocket and, with
trembling fingers, clutched both the cross and the holy water.
For a split second that seemed like an eternity, his eye fixed on my left
hand. He paused slightly, hardly
enough to notice, and then . . .
_______________________________
Copyright
© 2000 Revisions Copyright 2001-2004 Rev. Robert E.
Coté
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