The Mysterious Stranger | Page 8

us suddenly, that name did, and our work dropped out of our hands and broke to
pieces--a cannon, a halberdier, and a horse. Satan laughed, and asked what was the matter.
I said, "Nothing, only it seemed a strange name for an angel." He asked why.
"Because it's--it's--well, it's his name, you know."
"Yes--he is my uncle."
He said it placidly, but it took our breath for a moment and made our hearts beat. He did
not seem to notice that, but mended our halberdiers and things with a touch, handing
them to us finished, and said, "Don't you remember?--he was an angel himself, once."
"Yes--it's true," said Seppi; "I didn't think of that."
"Before the Fall he was blameless."
"Yes," said Nikolaus, "he was without sin."
"It is a good family--ours," said Satan; "there is not a better. He is the only member of it
that has ever sinned."
I should not be able to make any one understand how exciting it all was. You know that
kind of quiver that trembles around through you when you are seeing something so
strange and enchanting and wonderful that it is just a fearful joy to be alive and look at it;
and you know how you gaze, and your lips turn dry and your breath comes short, but you
wouldn't be anywhere but there, not for the world. I was bursting to ask one question--I
had it on my tongue's end and could hardly hold it back--but I was ashamed to ask it; it
might be a rudeness. Satan set an ox down that he had been making, and smiled up at me
and said:
"It wouldn't be a rudeness, and I should forgive it if it was. Have I seen him? Millions of
times. From the time that I was a little child a thousand years old I was his second
favorite among the nursery angels of our blood and lineage--to use a human phrase--yes,
from that time until the Fall, eight thousand years, measured as you count time."

"Eight--thousand!"
"Yes." He turned to Seppi, and went on as if answering something that was in Seppi's
mind: "Why, naturally I look like a boy, for that is what I am. With us what you call time
is a spacious thing; it takes a long stretch of it to grow an angel to full age." There was a
question in my mind, and he turned to me and answered it, "I am sixteen thousand years
old--counting as you count." Then he turned to Nikolaus and said: "No, the Fall did not
affect me nor the rest of the relationship. It was only he that I was named for who ate of
the fruit of the tree and then beguiled the man and the woman with it. We others are still
ignorant of sin; we are not able to commit it; we are without blemish, and shall abide in
that estate always. We--" Two of the little workmen were quarreling, and in buzzing little
bumblebee voices they were cursing and swearing at each other; now came blows and
blood; then they locked themselves together in a life-and-death struggle. Satan reached
out his hand and crushed the life out of them with his fingers, threw them away, wiped
the red from his fingers on his handkerchief, and went on talking where he had left off:
"We cannot do wrong; neither have we any disposition to do it, for we do not know what
it is."
It seemed a strange speech, in the circumstances, but we barely noticed that, we were so
shocked and grieved at the wanton murder he had committed--for murder it was, that was
its true name, and it was without palliation or excuse, for the men had not wronged him
in any way. It made us miserable, for we loved him, and had thought him so noble and so
beautiful and gracious, and had honestly believed he was an angel; and to have him do
this cruel thing--ah, it lowered him so, and we had had such pride in him. He went right
on talking, just as if nothing had happened, telling about his travels, and the interesting
things he had seen in the big worlds of our solar systems and of other solar systems far
away in the remotenesses of space, and about the customs of the immortals that inhabit
them, somehow fascinating us, enchanting us, charming us in spite of the pitiful scene
that was now under our eyes, for the wives of the little dead men had found the crushed
and shapeless bodies and were crying over them, and sobbing and lamenting, and a priest
was kneeling there with his hands crossed upon his breast, praying; and crowds and
crowds of pitying friends were massed about them,