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haps?
Brine looked at the withered little man in the rumpled flannel suit
and silly red hat.  Very close to paralyzed, he said.  I am Augustus
Brine. He extended his hand to the little man.
 Are you not afraid that by touching me you will burst into
flames?
 Is that a danger?
 No, but you know how superstitious fishermen are. Perhaps you
believe that you will be transformed into a toad. You hide your fear
well, Augustus Brine.
Brine smiled. He was baffled and amused; it didn t occur to him
to be afraid.
The Arab drained his cup and dipped it into the surf to refill it.
 Please call me Gus, Brine said, his hand still extended.  And
you are?
The Arab drained his cup again, then took Brine s hand. His skin
had the feel of parchment.
 I am Gian Hen Gian, King of the Djinn, Ruler of the Netherworld.
Do not tremble, I wish you no harm.
 I am not trembling, Brine said.  You might go easy on that
seawater it works hell on your blood pressure.
 Do not fall to your knees; there is no need to prostrate yourself
before my greatness. I am here in your service.
40 / Christopher Moore
 Thank you. I am honored, Brine said. Despite the strange hap-
penings in the store, he was having a hard time taking this pompous
little man seriously. The Arab was obviously a nuthouse Napoleon.
He d seen hundreds of them, living in cardboard castles and feasting
from dumpsters all over America. But this one had some credentials:
he could curse in blue swirls.
 It is good that you are not afraid, Augustus Brine. Terrible evil
is at hand. You will have to call upon your courage. It is a good sign
that you have kept your wits in the presence of the great Gian Hen
Gian. The grandeur is sometimes too much for weaker men.
 May I offer you some wine? Brine extended the bottle of cabernet
he had brought from the store.
 No, I have a great thirst for this. He sloshed the cup of seawater.
 From a time when it was all I could drink.
 As you wish. Brine sipped from the bottle.
 There is little time, Augustus Brine, and what I am to tell you
may overwhelm your tiny mind. Please prepare yourself.
 My tiny mind is steeled for anything, O King. But first, tell me,
did I see you curse blue swirls this morning?
 A minor loss of temper. Nothing really. Would you have had me
turn the clumsy dolt into a snake who forever gnaws his own tail?
 No, the cursing was fine. Although in Vance s case the snake
might be an improvement. Your curses were in Arabic, though,
right?
 A language I prefer for its music.
 But I don t speak Arabic. Yet I understood you. You did say,
 May the IRS find that you deduct your pet sheep as an entertainment
expense, didn t you?
 I can be most colorful and inventive when I am angry. The Arab
flashed a bright grin of pride. His teeth were pointed and saw-edged
like a shark s.  You have been chosen, Augustus Brine.
 Why me? Somehow Brine had suspended his disbelief and
denied the absurdity of the situation. If there was no order in the
universe, then why should it be out of order to be sitting on the
beach talking to an Arab dwarf who claimed to be king of the Djinn,
whatever the hell that was? Strangely enough, Brine took comfort
Practical Demonkeeping / 41
in the fact that this experience was invalidating every assumption
he had ever made about the nature of the world. He had tapped into
the Zen of ignorance, the enlightenment of absurdity.
Gian Hen Gian laughed.  I have chosen you because you are a
fisherman who catches no fish. I have had an affinity for such men
since I was fished from the sea a thousand years ago and released
from Solomon s jar. One gets ever so cramped passing the centuries
inside a jar.
 And ever so wrinkled, it would seem, Brine said.
Gian Hen Gian ignored Brine s comment.  I found you here, Au-
gustus Brine, listening to the noise of the universe, holding in your
heart a spark of hope, like all fishermen, but resolved to be disap-
pointed. You have no love, no faith, and no purpose. You shall be
my instrument, and in return, you shall gain the things you lack.
Brine wanted to protest the Arab s judgment, but he realized that
it was true. He d been enlightened for exactly thirty seconds and
already he was back on the path of desire and karma. Postenlighten-
ment depression, he thought.
6
THE DJINN S STORY
Brine said,  Excuse me, O King, but what exactly is a Djinn?
Gian Hen Gian spit into the surf and cursed, but this time Brine
did not understand the language and no blue swirls cut the air.
 I am Djinn. The Djinn were the first people. This was our world
long before the first human. Have you not read the tales of
Scheherazade?
 I thought those were just stories.
 By Aladdin s lamplit scrotum, man! Everything is a story. What
is there but stories? Stories are the only truth. The Djinn knew this.
We had power over our own stories. We shaped our world as we
wished it to be. It was our glory. We were created by Jehovah as a
race of creators, and he became jealous of us.
 He sent Satan and an army of angels against us. We were ban-
ished to the netherworld, where we could not make our stories. Then
he created a race who could not create and so would stand in awe
of the Creator.
 Man? Brine asked.
Practical Demonkeeping / 43
The Djinn nodded.  When Satan drove us into the netherworld,
he saw our power. He saw that he was no more than a servant, while
Jehovah had given the Djinn the power of gods. He returned to Je-
hovah demanding the same power. He proclaimed that he and his
army would not serve until they were given the power to create.
 Jehovah was sorely angered. He banished Satan to hell, where
the angel might have the power he wished, but only over his own
army of rebels. To further humiliate Satan, Jehovah created a new
race of beings and gave them control over their own destinies, made
them masters of their own world. And he made Satan watch it all
from hell.
 These beings were parodies of the angels, resembling them
physically, but with none of the angels grace or intelligence. And
because he had made two mistakes before, Jehovah made these
creatures mortal to keep them humble.
 Are you saying, Brine interrupted,  that the human race was
created to irritate Satan?
 That is correct. Jehovah is infinite in his snottiness. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]