Tim Pratt - Sympathy for the Devil

Dicolini: Who’s this guy? I never saw him before in my life.

He winks theatrically at Albergus. Faustus turns his ire on Dicolini.

Faustus: Late for class again, eh?

Dicolini: We a-no late.

Faustus: Why, the town clock struck not five minutes ago. It’s half past ten!

Dicolini: No it’s not.

Robin pulls an hourglass from out of his bottomless cloak. All the sand is in the bottom. He waves it at Faustus.

Dicolini: See, we’re right on time.

Faustus: Not according to that.

Dicolini: Atsa run a little fast. Shesa use quicksand.

Faustus: Oh no. You can’t fool me that easily. By that hourglass, it must be eleven o’clock.

Dicolini: Then class is over. Let’s go, Robbie.

Faustus: Hold on, Macduff. I’m not done lecturing.

Dicolini: Too bad. We’re done listening.

Faustus: Well, you can forget about leaving until my clock strikes eleven. Time is money, and my time is worth at least a couple of marks. You boys look like a couple of marks. Are you brothers?

Robin is insulted. He comes out of his seat, huffing and puffing as if he is about to go berserk.

Dicolini: My friend, hesa get pretty mad. You watch out or he give you a piece of his mind.

Faustus: No thanks. I wouldn’t want to take the last piece.

Dicolini: Atsa okay. He won’t notice.

Faustus: Well, if you say so. Come here, young man.

Faustus reaches for Robin’s arm but somehow finds himself holding his thigh. He pushes it away in disgust.

Faustus: Let’s take a look at your skull.

Robin pulls a glowing skull from his cloak and presents it to Faustus. The class recoils. Faustus pops open its mouth and relights his cigar from the candle burning inside. He tosses the skull out the window, stands Robin in front of the chart, and backs off a step to appraise him. Moon-faced Robin looks about as intelligent as a hardboiled egg. Faustus taps his pointer against Robin’s skull.

Faustus: The astral mind is responsible for contact with the spiritual world without the intervention of either seraphim or cherubim. You all know what a seraph is, don’t you?

Dicolini (standing): Sure. On my pancakes, I like a maple seraph.

Faustus: No, no. Cherubs, seraphs.

Dicolini: I no like a cherub. I like amaple.

Faustus: These aren’t food-they’re angels.

Dicolini: I no like angel food, either.

Faustus: Well, that takes the cake. Where was I?

Robin is rubbing against the chart like a cat.

Faustus: Let’s forget about the astral mind. That’s obviously not relevant with this subject. Don’t let me wake you, now. I’m not offending you by talking, am I?

Robin honks.

Faustus: Gesundheit. Moving south from the astral mind, we come to the inferior regions of the intellect. And when I say inferior, I mean inferior. The inferior mind, as you’ll remember from our last lecture, is responsible for worldly thought, for instance, how did your nose get that way, and wasn’t that a great plague we had last month. Worldly thought, of course, must be processed by one of the other organs before it becomes definable in emotional terms. The heart, for instance, controls affection, the liver, love, and the spleen, anger. Who can tell us what the kidneys control?

Dicolini (rising again): The kid knees keep their legs from bending backwards.

Faustus leans toward Albergus.

Faustus: Do you hear voices?

Dicolini turns around, raises his fists to accept the accolades of his fellow students. Faustus turns on him.

Faustus: A kid’s knees already bend backwards. Do you have any other bright ideas?

Dicolini: Not right now. I let you know.

Faustus: Do that. Drop me a postcard to warn me when you’ll arrive. If I had a couple more students like you boys I could change gold into lead.

Wagner sighs. He’s thinking of fair Helen. Meanwhile, Robin has moved to Faustus’s lectern and opens Faustus’s magic book. A small cloud of dust billows out. Robin pulls a kerchief out of his sleeve with a flourish, sneezes, then blows his nose with a loud honk. There is a flash of light and a smell of sulfur. When the smoke clears there is an imp standing on the edge of the podium. The class is astounded. Albergus stands up. Faustus stubs his cigar out on Dicolini’s hat. Robin, delighted, holds his hand out to the imp, which crawls up his arm onto his shoulder.

Faustus: Oh, no you don’t!

Dicolini: Come on, Robbie!

Faustus and Robbie dance back and forth on opposite sides of the lectern. Robin dashes for the door with Dicolini, who slams it in Faustus’s face. Faustus whips it open, looks out, comes back to the lectern and whirls on Wagner.

Faustus: As your punishment, you will retrieve that imp for me by midnight.

Wagner: But Magister, I didn’t do anything!

Faustus: Since when has that made any difference around here?

We are back in Faustus’s apartment, in the study. Faustus is there, idly leafing through a copy of Esquire. With him is monstrous Mephistopheles, a demon from Hell and Faustus’s servant.

Mephistopheles moves to stage front at points during this scene, addressing the audience directly in asides. Whenever he does, Faustus freezes in place in the background until Mephisto returns and takes up his place in the conversation.

Mephisto (aside): Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven, Lucifer told us. Little did I know that I would end up spending twenty-four years playing mindless practical jokes for a man purported to be the wisest scholar in Europe. When I fell from heaven, I knew I was in for a poorer class of associate, but I never thought it could get this bad. Why this is hell, nor am I out of it.

Clock: FOUR O’CLOCK. HOW MUCH LONGER DO I HAVE TO KEEP DOING THIS?

Mephisto: Midnight tonight, noble Faustus. Then do the jaws of hell open to receive thee.

Faustus: How late do they stay open?

Mephisto: Long enough to swallow thee up, soul and socks.

Faustus (holding up cigar): Light it.

The cigar magically flares up, and Faustus takes a few speculative puffs.

Faustus: And what happens after that?

Mephistopeles points to the wall, and a Gustave Doré engraving of Hell and demons is projected onto it.

Mephisto: Here is Dis, the city of Hell. You will be thrown into this perpetual torture-house. These are the furies, tossing damned souls on burning forks; their bodies boil in lead. Over here are humans broiling on coals that can never die. These souls that are fed with sops of burning fire were gluttons in their lives who laughed to see the poor starve at their gates. You shall see ten thousand tortures more horrid.

Faustus: You’re not much of a travel agent. “See Dis and die.”

Mephisto: Usually it’s the other way around.

Faustus: You’re right. Dis ain’t no joke.

Mephisto: Fools that will laugh on earth must weep in hell.

Faustus: You won’t settle for a moan in Cologne?

Mephisto (aside): Grubs on the eyeballs. Perhaps I’ll start him with that. But no sense doing the other side’s work for it. He might still repent.

Mephistopheles dissolves the vision of hell.

Faustus: By the way, have you seen Helen lately?

Mephisto: In your closet.

Faustus: In my closet! What’s she doing in there?

Mephisto: You told her to stay in it.

Faustus: I did? Oh, yes. Literal girl. Thank heaven for literal girls.

Mephisto: Heaven had nothing to do with it.

Faustus: Well, what am I supposed to do, swing both ways?

Mephisto: Shall I have her dress?

Faustus: It wouldn’t fit you. Work on your thighs.

Mephisto (aside): When he tires, I’ll strap him to a bed of razors.

Faustus (pacing): So she’s in the closet, eh? And here I stand bantering with the help. Get her out here pronto. If she won’t come, call for me, and I’ll go in after her. If I don’t come back, you can have my alembic.