Chapter Text
Athens, Georgia 1972
Satan found God between the blacksmith and the basket-maker, examining the caramel apple booth with interest. As her eldest made his way through the crowd at the North Georgia Folklife and Storytelling Festival, she felt grateful to be back in his good books.
They made up ages ago, of course. It started that night in Gibeah, after Azrael left her beside the concubine’s broken body - evidence of her failure to be whatever it was they all needed. Satan comforted her then, and sat with her through the long night. She wanted to burn it all down, but if the Flood taught her anything, it was the futility of extremes. It would not matter if she restarted humanity with two people or two hundred; as long as they were alive and free, people would be free to hurt each other.
Satan didn’t try to convince her, one way or another. He didn’t say “I told you so.” He only listened and kept her company. It was their first step together on the long winding road to what they had become. Eventually they gained something through the journey, better than worship and reverence, more enduring than rebellion and blame - friendship, against all odds.
As he approached, heads turned in his direction. His corporation was a striking one – tall, auburn-haired, with blue-green eyes and high cheekbones.1 He’d come a long way since the Beginning, but he was still vain. She quite liked him that way, and besides, she couldn’t judge. Her corporation was also attractive; she noted the humans’ appreciative smiles with the clinical interest of a scientist.2
“Did you watch me?” Satan asked.
“Of course. You played beautifully,” God replied.
“Right. And did you bet against me?”
“Of course.” She smiled and pulled a wad of cash from her pocket.
He snorted and took it, counted it quickly. “Twenty-five dollars?”
“Is it enough to buy one of those hats you like?” He couldn’t really pull off a Stetson, but she would never tell him that.
“I doubt it.”
“Surely you could tempt them into cutting a deal.”
“I’d rather you negotiate on my behalf. That would make up for coldly cashing in on my loss. You cheated, no doubt. Did you look into the future?”
“No,” she said, soberly. “You were right about that. It’s a bad habit, and it never helps. I’ve been trying to cut back. I didn’t cheat at all. I bet on Johnny because I’ve heard both of you play the fiddle.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
They bickered all the way past the haberdasher and forgot to stop. It was a gorgeous autumn day on planet Earth – sunny and golden, crowned with autumn leaves. The air smelled of popcorn, barbecue, and campfire smoke. They stopped to listen to a country band, fronted by a talented young man called Charlie Daniels.3 Finally, they made their way to a tent where a Cherokee storyteller was taking the stage. They sat together on folding chairs in the back.
“You and your stories - you never change, really,” Satan said.
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve changed immensely,” God said. Peripherally, he studied her but said nothing.
It was the story of Selu, the first woman - the corn goddess. Her twin sons spied on her while she made corn from her body; exposed, she had to die. She instructed her sons to drag her body along the ground, so more corn could grow, and they could eat.4
There were so many stories about God: some hideous, some hilarious, and none completely accurate. But the facts were less important than what the stories meant, and how they made people feel. God had always liked the tale of Selu. It would be a good way to go, becoming nourishment for others. When the story ended, Satan offered his arm, and they left the tent together.
Satan asked, “Have you heard from your son lately?”
“No.” Jesus was still furious with her. He had closed their connection, but she knew that much.
“Are you still planning to…?” Satan trailed off, but she understood.
“I cannot, unless he agrees. I cannot even approach him, unless he wants me to.” Jesus did not understand. She should have explained, but she never developed the habit, and consequently was not very good at it. She should have told him the story of Selu. “He must come to me.”
Satan shook his head impatiently. “That could take millennia. He’s as stubborn as you.”
“Perhaps. But I’ve learned a few things, watching human mothers. When your children are grown, you have to let them go their own way and have patience. You’ll understand, when you become a father.”
“Is that still happening? I thought you said Armageddon wasn’t going to be a thing.”
“It won’t, in the end. But you’ll have a son. I saw that much.”
“So, you’re just going to wait?” Satan frowned.
“Not just. I’m going to make the most of everything – hear their music, listen to their stories, swim with the whales. And… I have a plan.” She smiled at him. “When a mother fails to reach her children, a friend may succeed, instead.”
Satan laughed. “You can’t talk to him so you’re going to send someone else?” He looked thoughtful. “That might work, actually – who are you going to send?”
“I know an angel or two that might tempt him,” God said.
Satan looked at her doubtfully. He taught her what doubt was, in the Beginning. His doubt no longer surprised her, but what he said next did.
“When it’s time, I want to go with you.”
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1 – Four decades later, God might have noted Satan’s corporation bore a remarkable resemblance to the actor Benedict Cumberbatch.[return to text]
2 – God’s corporation does not bear a remarkable resemblance to Frances McDormand (no disrespect to the actor, who does a wonderful job voicing God in GO). Satan and God can’t both be White people in my fanfic. Let’s say she bears an uncanny resemblance to the actor Shohreh Aghdashloo, as a nod to her role as Mary the mother of Jesus in Mrs. Davis.[return to text]
3- This chapter is of course inspired by ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’ by the late Charlie Daniels.
4- There are different versions of Selu’s story. This one is adapted from a version on the Native History Association website.