Here we go...
1. I hope you'll enjoy this, and indulge me. My "drama" writing isn't perfect... please be kind. I've posted in this format before, and have never had a problem, so fingers crossed!
2. Fair warning: this part of the story explores bits of Aziraphale's past (that I invented) that perhaps not everyone will like. Keep in mind that searching for dichotomy in one's life is a theme that I feel is pervasive in the Crowley/Aziraphale friendship (or whatever it is), and for them, it's a powerful drive. That's all I will say about it until afterwards
3. Yes, I've lifted bits of my dramatis personae text directly from Terry and Neil. But apt is apt - no need to reinvent the wheel!
Hope you enjoy!
And here we begin The Game, or the experiment, if you will, designed by Arthur Aron.
Crowley talks Aziraphale into talking. And they dig in! Feelings, the past, humor, it all comes bubbling up to the surface, and this is just the beginning!
DRAMATIS PERSONAE:
Aziraphale (An angel, and part-time rare book dealer. Possessed of a truly staggering capacity for denial, especially where matters of the heart are concerned.)
Crowley (An angel who did not so much fall as saunter vaguely downwards. Hedonism is his main "demonic" quality, which means he is rarely in denial about anything.)
ACT I:
(March, 2021, AZIRAPHALE is in his flat above his bookshop, preparing to roast a chicken, as per the book, 'Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat.' The telephone rings downstairs in the shop. He puts down his whisk, leaves the buttermilk mixture and a raw chicken on the counter to answer it. He wipes his hands on the apron he is wearing, runs down the spiral staircase, and picks up the phone.)
AZIRAPHALE: Hello?
CROWLEY: It's me. What're you up to?
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, I've ordered the book 'Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat,' and there's this lovely recipe for buttermilk marinated roast chicken…
CROWLEY: So, still making love to your oven, then?
AZIRAPHALE: No, indeed! I've recently purchased an Instant Pot! It's ever so handy for stews and dumplings and things… thought I'd try my hand at chicken! (Said with a slight chirp.)
CROWLEY: (Smiles, but does not allow his delight to be heard in his voice.) Ah, yes, making love to an Instant Pot is so much better. I've just phoned to ask if you'd be interested in playing a little game with me.
AZIRAPHALE: Is it Ibble Dibble?
CROWLEY: Aziraphale, you promised me in 1892 that you would never say those words again. Besides, we don't have a crowd of people, and you've got to be, as they say these days, in-person, to play.
AZIRAPHALE: Not necessarily…
CROWLEY: It's not fucking Ibble Dibble! Now, do you want to do this or not? 'Cause I'll be happy just to return to my bed for the duration…
AZIRAPHALE: No, no, Crowley. What've you got in mind?
CROWLEY: It's just some questions.
AZIRAPHALE: Questions about what? History? The arts? Cuisine?
CROWLEY: No, not trivia questions. Questions that require more thought than that. And that do not have right or wrong answers.
AZIRAPHALE: What's the object of the game? How does one win?
CROWLEY: Oh, angel, it's not about winning and losing. It's about the journey. Or did you learn nothing from Armageddon?
AZIRAPHALE: So, the game has no objective, we just ask and answer questions?
CROWLEY: No, no, there's an objective.
AZIRAPHALE: Well, don't you think I should know what it is?
CROWLEY: Er…no. Is that a problem?
AZIRAPHALE: How am I supposed to…
CROWLEY: Don't you trust me?
AZIRAPHALE: (Silent for a few moments.) Of course.
CROWLEY: Well, then?
AZIRAPHALE: All right, Crowley. How does it work?
CROWLEY: It's a list of questions, and we both answer them as honestly as we can. It'll be… eh, I reckon, good conversation. It'll pass the time.
AZIRAPHALE: Sounds intriguing. I'm working on a Scotch – is that all right, or should I keep my senses sharper?
CROWLEY: A Scotch! Fantastic idea! I'll join you. But I reckon we shouldn't get too soused. (Crowley brings his phone into the kitchen.) Meanwhile, I'll ask the first question. Ready?
AZIRAPHALE: Ask away.
CROWLEY: If you could invite anyone to dinner, living or dead, who would it be?
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, now, that is deliciously thought-provoking.
CROWLEY: Told you.
AZIRAPHALE: But it's a difficult question – who would I invite to dinner? I've met so many people, so many extraordinary musicians, writers, prophets. And funnily enough, I probably could, at least in theory, have dinner with someone who is dead, couldn't I?
CROWLEY: Indeed. But, you know, if you wanted someone truly interesting, you'd need my help.
AZIRAPHALE: (A long pause.) Well, Crowley, after six thousand years, I've never had a better dinner companion than you, so…
CROWLEY: (A short pause, and a hard swallow.) Really? That's your answer? Me?
AZIRAPHALE: Of course. Oh, we do so have some good times at table together, don't we? And I will admit that I miss it quite a bit, in this current climate of self-isolation.
CROWLEY: I miss it, too, angel.
AZIRAPHALE: So, what is your answer?
CROWLEY: Never mind, let's just move on to the next question. (He can be clearly heard gulping down a drink.)
AZIRAPHALE: No, no, if the game is played by both of us answering the questions, then answer the question, Crowley. You can't just interview me, and throw in your two cents when it's convenient – that's not sporting!
CROWLEY: I'm a demon, since when am I sporting?
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, I understand. Your answer is the same as mine – you'd invite me to dinner, given the choice of everyone ever, and you just don't want to admit it. (Giggles.) Don't worry, Crowley, your secret is safe with me.
CROWLEY: Fine, yes. Are you happy?
AZIRAPHALE: Yes, quite! But, my dear friend, if you didn't want to answer the first question, why did you bring this game to me?
CROWLEY: I didn't look at the questions first – that ruins the game.
AZIRAPHALE: How so?
CROWLEY: (Mumbles.) It just does.
AZIRAPHALE: What?
CROWLEY: It just does!
AZIRAPHALE: How many questions are there, anyway?
CROWLEY: Thirty-six.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, good grief. Am I going to have to pull each and every answer out of you? Because if so, I'd rather just play Ibble Dibble.
CROWLEY: Ibble… ugh. Thin ice, angel. Razor thin!
AZIRAPHALE: (Laughs.) Just ask the next question, would you?
CROWLEY: Would you like to be famous? If so, in what way?
AZIRAPHALE: Well, I quite fancy the idea of being a famously scathing restaurant critic. Perhaps a Celestial Gordon Ramsey – cuttingly critical, but in my own style – not in his style of shouting and belittling people. And like him, I would devote my time to helping restaurants that don't pass muster to improving themselves. I could do a lot for them, given my unique abilities.
CROWLEY: So, you'd use your Heaven-sent magical powers to bless… restaurants? And have a reality show about it?
AZIRAPHALE: I reckon I've spent six thousand years blessing mankind in small ways, some of which I didn't even want to do… why not give myself this? Peace, praise and prosperity would come to the proprietors of these formerly awful eateries, and I, as a connoisseur, would get a whole bunch of new, tasty dishes to try! It would be an embarrassment of riches! And, you know, there's nothing that says I couldn't continue to be a benevolent angel as well.
CROWLEY: Okay, I see… fair enough. I always thought I'd be a good journalist.
AZIRAPHALE: A journalist? Really? Would you be able to remain impartial enough to do that?
CROWLEY: Pff, no! Where do you get off thinking journalists are impartial?
AZIRAPHALE: Well, in order to deliver the facts in a detached manner…
CROWLEY: Angel, no journalist has ever done that, even before Fox News and social media and all that rubbish. I just think it would be fun to be there while history unfolds, put my stamp on it, tempt the people involved, then write about it in the papers, or wherever, with my own spin.
AZIRAPHALE: That does sound appropriately diabolical. For you, that is.
CROWLEY: Come to think of it, I look good in a suit. I'd make a good on-air correspondent, as well. Only trouble is, I wouldn't be able to show my eyes.
AZIRAPHALE: I hardly think that would be the only problem, but it's all hypothetical, I suppose.
CROWLEY: Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?
AZIRAPHALE: Is this the next question?
CROWLEY: Of course. It would be quite the non-sequitur, if it weren't.
AZIRAPHALE: Then my answer is no. Honestly, why would anyone rehearse a phone call?
CROWLEY: So as not to sound like an arse.
AZIRAPHALE: That's ridiculous.
CROWLEY: I've been known to rehearse the occasional phone call… especially if I'm afraid of rejection.
AZIRAPHALE: If someone is going to reject you on the basis of your telephone manner, then what do you want with that person?
CROWLEY: (Chuckling.) Touché. Okay, angel, what would constitute the perfect day for you?
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, that's a tough one…
CROWLEY: No, it isn't!
AZIRAPHALE: It isn't?
CROWLEY: No! It would be a day when you could eat everything you wanted, at all your favourite places, read some dusty old book while you do it, have Schubert or Elgar playing in the background, and finish it off with a Brandy in your bookshop.
AZIRAPHALE: All right, clever boy, then what exactly would I be eating?
CROWLEY: Let's see… you'd be at Rooster's bright and early, and have a potato-starch bagel, with gravlax, dill sauce, a poached egg, and a side of honeydew. You'd likely wash it down with either French-press coffee or a Mimosa, dependent upon the mood. I think then, you might wait an hour, then sidle up at Ghearmáinis for their Soda Bread Pretzel dippers. Would you have brown mustard sauce, or Guinness cheese? I'd say both – why not indulge, eh? How am I doing so far?
AZIRAPHALE: Disturbingly well.
CROWLEY: Of course. Then, around the noon hour, I think we might catch you at your old favourite, the Ritz, for their Beef Wellington. Of course, that takes forty minutes to prepare, so while you're waiting, you'd have a cup of Oxtail Consommé prepared with beetroot instead of swedes, and a glass of Krug Grand Cuvée. Or maybe something from the Lafite Rothschild collection… hard to say. For dessert, you'd sneak down the street to Philippe's, to find out what was on that day. If he had something made with raspberry reduction, no matter what it was, you'd have it, with Earl Grey. If he didn't, you'd have whatever he recommended… which is usually something loaded with chocolate.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh yes… and lately, he's been adding sea salt to absolutely everything! It's been wonderful!
CROWLEY: Then, I'd say, you'd take a bit of a break with a stroll through St. James' Park, maybe sit on a bench and read some Jane Austen, or Mother Shipton. Eventually, you'd have high tea at Harrod's. Pouilly Fuissé or more Earl Grey, perhaps, with their crawfish hors d'oeuvre, with extra garlic and roasted lemon wedges done specially for you. Dinner would be sushi, of course, at Yashin. You'd start with yellowtail and unagi nigiris, then graduate to the bizarro rolls on the menu. Then, you'd have some sake, and pretend like you're finished, but then ask the chef what "off-menu" rolls he could recommend, and he would then serve you whatever weird concoction he and his partner have been joking and/or fighting about in their spare time. Even if it's peanut butter and sea urchin, you'll love it because it's what you do.
AZIRAPHALE: Peanut butter and sea urchin? I find that distressing.
CROWLEY: And since Japanese desserts don't appeal to you, I'm thinking gelato from that street vendor you like.
AZIRAPHALE: Ah yes, Carlo. Such a lovely man.
CROWLEY: I'm thinking either Limoncello or espresso flavoured.
AZIRAPHALE: My current favourite gelato is Elderberry aniseed.
CROWELY: Oh, well, I stand corrected. But I think on the rest of it, I was dead on.
AZIRAPHALE: So, you think the perfect day for me would be all about food?
CROWLEY: And reading. Oh, and then afterwards, you'd retire to the bookshop and have a Brandy while you bliss out on classical music, probably St.-Martin-in-the-Fields recordings.
AZIRAPHALE: But aren't you forgetting something, Crowley?
CROWLEY: Well, let's think… Mimosa, Beef Wellington, champagne, sushi, gelato, books, music… what else is there?
AZIRAPAHLE: How about a dinner companion? And/or a lunch or breakfast companion?
CROWLEY: Oh. Okay, well…
AZIRAPHALE: No day could be perfect without that. And I've already established my ideal mealtime companion, have I not?
CROWLEY: You have. You've flummoxed me again, angel.
AZIRAPHALE: Why? You know that no meal is ever quite what it could be, unless you're there, watching me consume it. (A pregnant pause.) Oh, I can't believe I just said that out loud.
CROWLEY: What, that you've noticed me watching, and you like it?
AZIRAPHALE: Yes. I'm feeling anxious now… peanut-butter-and-sea-urchin anxious. But shame on you for thinking I could ever have a perfect day without you!
CROWLEY: You know I'd probably give you truckloads of shit over the sheer volume of food.
AZIRAPHALE: Yes, and/or the stuffiness and fussiness of my orders, my coyness about it, how that one time, I ordered a Sake-Chambord cocktail and immediately regretted it. But you know I wouldn't have it any other way. I want you there, lecherous observance, sarcastic comments, and all.
CROWLEY: Well then… good. Let me know when you're ready to have the perfect day, and I'll try and clear my busy schedule. Of sleeping.
AZIRAPHALE: We'll have to wait until the Ritz re-opens, but all right.
CROWLEY: My turn? To talk about my perfect day?
AZIRAPHALE: Allow me. I fancy that you'd put on your favourite Hugo Boss blazer and a pair of leather trousers, and begin your day with a drive out to the middle of nowhere in the Bentley. You might have packed some cigarettes, but you'll definitely have stowed some whiskey away in the boot. You'd enjoy a meandering car ride, but eventually find a town you like – probably a seaside town, such as Torbay, get merrily drunk whilst sitting in the car for a bit, or maybe on the bonnet, watching people pass. Then you'd lock up the car, and saunter about a bit, just to be seen. Perhaps you'd be propositioned. And if that happened… well, I don't know if you'd partake or not, but you would definitely toy with this person at the very least, and probably tempt them into some minor transgression not likely to get them arrested nor damned for all eternity, but perhaps give them a good story to tell their grandchildren. I think you'd probably buy a new jacket, or visit a local coiffeur.
CROWLEY: Oh, this is much better than anything I could have come up with!
AZIRAPHALE: Then, I see you sitting on a park bench or retaining wall with your whiskey, watching the sun set, drinking. Intermittently walking up and down the beach railing against the Almighty with a fist in the air. You'd possibly do that all night, or sleep in the sand, then drive home the next morning, very much the same way you drove out – meandering, in the Bentley, with great hair, and few cares.
CROWLEY: Angel, I think I'd very much like to have that day.
AZIRAPHALE: Well, I know my best friend well.
CROWLEY: Except… well, one thing is missing.
AZIRAPHALE: What? A Heavenly foil to make your temptation all the more villainous to carry out?
CROWLEY: And to make getting drunk on a park bench all the more interesting.
AZIRAPHALE: I do love Torbay. If you'd like to have that day, I'll be glad to act as your Heavenly foil, Crowley.
CROWLEY: And for the record, I don't succumb to propositioning. Anymore. The temptation would be something of the mischievous variety… like stealing ducks from a pond.
AZIRAPHALE: Ducks? Again?
CROWLEY: Or throwing rocks at seagulls.
AZIRAPHALE: Honestly, what is it with you and water birds?
CROWLEY: And if we're fantasising about the perfect day, and talking in hypotheticals, and I am to answer the question openly and honestly, as that is the rule, yes?
AZIRAPHALE: Yes, as you have set forth.
CROWLEY: Well, then, with all of that in mind, I must say that the perfect day for me would include a bit of a kiss and cuddle.
AZIRAPHALE: Erm, you mean…
CROWLEY: Yes, a canoodle! A broom-closet grope! Something! Ideally, I'd have someone's legs wrapped around me in some capacity… or mine around them, that would be okay, too.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, my!
CROWLEY: We're talking perfect, right?
AZIRAPHALE: We are.
CROWLEY: And you were cross with me earlier when I didn't want to be honest.
AZIRAPHALE: I was.
CROWLEY: Well, there you go. Honesty. But angel, I don't just do that sort of thing with strangers anymore. It hasn't been part of my demonic repertoire in quite some time. And as a man, and a hedonist, Anthony Crowley, the bloke who wears leather trousers and drinks whiskey…well, it's not part of his repertoire either.
AZIRAPHALE: But it would still be part of your perfect day.
CROWLEY: Yeah, because I miss it. It's fun. It's all part of these meatsacks we call bodies – like when you eat your favourite foods – and it can be bloody glorious. But I stopped shagging randos a long time ago, because it became an empty exercise.
AZIRAPHALE: I see.
CROWLEY: But, do you know what is not an empty exercise?
AZIRAPHALE: What?
CROWLEY: This. What we're doing now.
AZIRAPHALE: I think you're right about that.
CROWLEY: This is a bit of perfection that I would take with me on my journey to Torbay, or wherever.
AZIRAPHALE: Along with…
CROWLEY: Yes, the pleasures of the meatsack.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, dear, Crowley. Erm, will you excuse me while I refill my glass?
CROWLEY: Yeah – do what you gotta do. (A long pause ensues, during which Crowley can hear glass and ice clinking.)
AZIRAPHALE: All right – I needed another swallow. I'm finding that the anxiety is rising…
CROWLEY: No, no, don't be anxious, angel. That's the last thing I want.
AZIRAPHALE: Well, what do you expect, Crowley? You're talking about… And I'm… I'm an angel! I'm reluctant to breach local lockdown protocols, let alone… let alone…
CROWLEY: Okay, okay, I'm sorry… do you want to stop?
AZIRAPHALE: That depends. Is the next question as fraught as the last one?
CROWLEY: The last question wasn't fraught… we made it fraught. You and I make everything fraught.
AZIRAPHALE: That doesn't help me!
CROWLEY: Fine, the next question is, when was the last time you sang to yourself? When was the last time you sang to someone else?
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, that's a nice question – I like that one. And the answer is, this morning in the shower, I sang to myself. I tried my hand at the Brindisi from 'La Traviata.'
CROWLEY: And, how did it go?
AZIRAPHALE: Not too well – it's operatic, and I've never been much of a singer, try as I might. But I did enjoy myself! But the last time I sang to someone else... oh, it must've been when we were living with the Dowlings. Warlock used to ask me to go on walks, so I'd teach him English folk songs as we went.
CROWLEY: Lovely lad, Warlock. Used to ask me to sing to him, as well. I sang a lot of lullabies about destroying the world.
AZIRAPHALE: So, is that the last time you sang to someone else?
CROWLEY: Well, yesterday I did croon 'Kashmir' to my plants.
AZIRAPHALE: You did what?
CROWLEY: Well, I've been feeling guilty for the way I've treated them, so I decided that instead of threatening them, I'd, you know… treat them to a bit of Led Zeppelin. And a dance. You know… it's a thing. Sing to your plants.
AZIRAPHALE: I'm going to let the revelation about you threatening your plants just lie there. And instead, I have this to say: Crowley, I'm very, very sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to witness this – your plant song and dance. For the good of our friendship…
CROWLEY: Er, that would be a hard 'no'.
AZIRAPHALE: We're friends, we ought to be sharing the joys and sorrows of our lives with one another…
CROWLEY: No!
AZIRAPHALE: (Laughing.) Well, will you at least record it next time? I have a device now so as to watch that sort of thing…
CROWLEY: Yeah, sure, I'll do that.
AZIRAPHALE: You won't, but now I know you have done it, I can imagine it in my mind, and no-one can ever take that away from me.
CROWLEY: I should have lied.
AZIRAPHALE: But you didn't, and for that, I feel the greatest of affection for you, Crowley.
CROWLEY: Okay, next question. If you were able to live to the age of ninety and retain either the mind or body of a thirty-year-old for the last sixty years of your life, which would you want?
AZIRAPHALE: Oh dear. I'm afraid I have absolutely no perspective on this question. You and I have been looking at ninety in the rearview mirror for so long, it doesn't even bear thinking about.
CROWLEY: Yeah, you probably have to be human to answer that one properly.
AZIRAPHALE: But I would think that retaining the mind of a younger person would be much more beneficial. Staying sharp, remembering things, learning anew until the day you die… it would be such a coup!
CROWLEY: Really? I'd go with the body.
AZIRAPHALE: Why?
CROWLEY: You have to ask?
AZIRAPHALE: Er, no. I don't.
CROWLEY: Next question. Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?
(After a pause, the two of them both burst out laughing at the same time. No words are exchanged until…)
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, thanks, Crowley, I needed a good laugh. Next question?
CROWLEY: Okay… name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.
AZIRAPHALE: My partner being you? The one with whom I am playing this little game?
CROWLEY: I would hope so.
AZIRAPHALE: Well, am I allowed to state the obvious, or do I need to be creative?
CROWLEY: It doesn't say, but I'd like to hear you be a bit creative. I mean, we both know the basics of what we have in common…
AZIRAPHALE: A lot more than one might think.
CROWLEY: Supernatural, jobs we're reluctant to do, idiot bosses, powers, six-thousand years, et cetera, et cetera. But dig deeper, angel. What else is there?
AZIRAPHALE: Well, we both have a love of humanity, do we not?
CROWLEY: (Grumbling.) Yes, yes, I suppose.
AZIRAPHALE: Love of a good Scotch, of course. And Châteauneuf du Pape.
CROWLEY: That's all you've got – humans and alcohol?
AZIRAPHALE: (Clears throat uneasily.) Well, no, but… well, I thought we were trying to keep this lighter, weren't we?
CROWLEY: Well, in that case, we both hate Rodgers and Hammerstein…
AZIRAPHALE: We do?
CROWLEY: Erm, yeah!
AZIRAPHALE: I know I've been quite vocal about my feelings on Rodgers and Hammerstein, especially 'The Sound of Music,' but you?
CROWLEY: You didn't honestly think I was a fan?
AZIRAPHALE: (Chuckles.) Well, I guess I didn't think that through, did I?
CROWLEY: Okay, let's see two more things we have in common that won't cause you to swallow your tongue… Oh, I know! We both hate riding horses, and we both hate Nazis.
AZIRAPHALE: So, all you can think of is hate?
CROWLEY: But it's a good hate.
AZIRAPHALE: A good hate?
CROWLEY: People can bond just as much over things they dislike in common as things they like in common. It's a hate that brings individuals closer.
AZIRAPHALE: (Sceptically.) Is it, now?
CROWLEY: Yep. No doubt.
AZIRAPHALE: Well, I say, Crowley, horseback riding and Nazis, one of those things is something that nearly everyone on Earth universally hates. The decent humans, anyhow. Surely you can do better.
CROWLEY: (Tuts, with tedium.) Fine. How about, neither of us were fans of Harriet Dowling?
AZIRAPHALE: Now that is the truth.
CROWLEY: Huzzah! Okay, moving on. For what in your life do you feel most grateful.
AZIRAPHALE: (Is paralyzed with his mouth open, and a panicked look in his eyes, which CROWLEY, of course, cannot see.)
CROWLEY: Angel? Hello?
AZIRAPHALE: Erm, yes, hello. Sorry, I… I find that I'm a tad tongue-tied.
CROWLEY: Yeah, me too. I'm sort of glad you have to go first.
AZIRAPHALE: Who says?
CROWLEY: No one, I suppose. Fine, I'll go first. (Takes a deep breath, and sighs.) There have been a handful of things that have made these long, long six thousand years tolerable – more than tolerable – as I've moved through temptation after temptation, and working basically as a slave to evil itself. So, I'm thankful for that handful of things. Especially, well… the reliable things.
AZIRAPHALE: How very non-demonic of you, Crowley.
CROWLEY: Yeah, I know. But I'm not a garden variety demon, as you know.
AZIRAPHALE: I do know. I suppose my answer would be something quite similar. Six thousand years is a long time to knock about with only good deeds to do. Every human I've ever been fond of has died or will definitely die before me. Every place I've ever been fond of has got something built on top of it, or will have, eventually. So, anything that has been reliably by my side, to make the slog forward more interesting, I'm grateful for it.
CROWLEY: (Very softly.) Well, at the risk of causing fraught-ness… you're welcome.
AZIRAPHALE: Right back at you.
CROWLEY: If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, we're moving on to the next question, are we? Well, I suppose this question is aimed at someone who had a childhood.
CROWLEY: Yeah, that's not exactly us, is it?
AZIRAPHALE: No, but… I was reared and trained in Heaven, as a non-corporeal entity before the Creation – we both were. I suppose we could think of that as a childhood of sorts. In which case, I wish that I had been informed of the necessity of dichotomy.
CROWLEY: Interesting!
AZIRAPHALE: Instead, I had to take millennia to learn it. Heaven is all good deeds, good deeds, good deeds, be good, love good, only good is good…. Ugh, it's exhausting. And meaningless, on its own! It only has meaning because Evil exists to keep Good on its toes.
CROWLEY: You're very right. But unfortunately, angel, I can't really see Heaven changing its policy on how angelic forces are reared in their 'goodness education.'
AZIRAPHALE: Based on recent events, frankly, neither can I.
CROWLEY: Okay, well, as long as we're going back to the Dark Times, I suppose I've always been fairly bitter about never having been given a second chance.
AZIRAPHALE: By the Almighty, you mean?
CROWLEY: As much as it pains me to say it, yeah. I am imperfect, like all sentient beings. I made a mistake. A slap on the wrist might've done the trick, you know? Instead, I'm fired from the celestial realm… and I do mean fired. Literally.
AZIRAPHALE: Maybe She had a plan for you. Maybe she was looking for an excuse to send someone competent to Hell. Maybe you were meant to be something like a mole.
CROWLEY: Thanks, angel, but not matter how you slice it, I'm fallen. And there ain't nothing I can do about it.
AZIRAPHALE: I'm sorry. But at least you're free now. Well, free-ish. We both are.
CROWLEY: Yeah, that's something, eh? All right, next, take four minutes and tell your partner your life story, in as much detail as possible.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh goodness me.
CROWLEY: Yeah, that seems like it could take longer than four minutes.
AZIRAPHALE: Yes, but… are you afraid we'll both grow old and die before we finish?
CROWLEY: (Chuckles.) Sarcasm, angel. Very nice.
AZIRAPHALE: Thanks. You know, for the sake of brevity, let's shorten the question to, take four minutes and tell your partner some things about your life's story that they may not know.
CROWLEY: Okay, I can do that.
AZIRAPHALE: I'll go first. In the thirteen hundreds, I kept a pet snake.
CROWLEY: You what?
AZIRAPHALE: I hadn't seen you for almost a century and a half, and well… I thought it might cheer me up to have a pet snake.
CROWLEY: And?
AZIRAPHALE: It did, somewhat!
CROWLEY: That's… well, it's kind of adorable.
AZIRAPHALE: And have I ever told you, I quite enjoy brushing my teeth?
CROWLEY: What?
AZIRAPHALE: It's… minty! And a bit of a massage for the gums. Don't tell me you've never tried it!
CROWLEY: I've never tried it. I rely on my own mystical, demonic will-power to stop my teeth falling out, thank you very much. Keep talking.
AZIRAPHALE: Let's see… I have never learned how to drive a motor vehicle.
CROWLEY: Not surprised.
AZIRAPHALE: Sometimes, I tell people my bookshop is haunted, just so they won't come back.
CROWLEY: (Cackles.)
AZIRAPHALE: Sometimes I take bus rides around town, just for fun.
CROWLEY: That's just sad.
AZIRAPHALE: No, it's exceedingly interesting! All the different stories you hear, in myriad different languages…
CROWLEY: Okay, look, now, this is all just fun facts. Entertaining, but not probative.
AZIRAPHALE: Well, then, what would you like to know?
CROWLEY: Tell me about life. Tell me what you were doing between 141 and 537 AD when I didn't see you for nearly four hundred years.
AZIRAPHALE: (Pauses.) Why, er… why that period in particular?
CROWLEY: I dunno, I've just always wondered. If you don't like that, then tell me about what you and Shakespeare got up to when I was in Edinburgh.
AZIRAPHALE: Excuse me?
CROWLEY: Oh, come on! You know what I'm talking about!
AZIRAPHALE: I most certainly do not! I mean, we retired to an alehouse together to raise a glass after the success of 'Hamlet,' thank you very much, Crowley, but…
CROWLEY: Just an alehouse? Just a glass? Didn't raise anything else?
AZIRAPHALE: (Gasps.) Crowley! How dare you ask me a question like that!
CROWLEY: Well, it's not out of the realm of possibility!
AZIRAPHALE: Of course it is! I am angel! I do not engage in casual… in… in… Besides, Shakespeare had a wife! Oh, good Lord, Crowley, is that what this is about? This whole exercise?
CROWLEY: Is what what this is about what? What?
AZIRAPHALE: Is this simply a way for you to get your kicks by getting me to tell you some lascivious tale about… about…?
CROWLEY: Angel, it's not about me getting kicks from hearing dirty stories. Believe me.
AZIRAPHALE: Then what is it about?
CROWLEY: (Gulps, and is silent for a time.) Never mind. Forget I asked. Shall I go next?
AZIRAPHALE: (Reluctantly.) No, wait. I think I understand you, Crowley.
CROWLEY: You do?
AZIRAPHALE: Of course – you know I do. I always have. And if you want to know those things about me, then I suppose I don't mind telling you. After all, even though you're not involved… well, everything about me involves you.
CROWLEY: Erm… wow. Okay.
AZIRAPHALE: During that four-hundred-year block of time you mentioned, in the early centuries in the years of Our Lord…
CROWLEY: Excuse me?
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, shut up, you know what I mean. 141 to 537 AD, I had a lot of time to think, and I did decide on two separate occasions during that interval that having relationships with humans wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for me.
CROWLEY: Seriously?
AZIRAPHALE: Yes. I mean, again, I hadn't seen you in ages. And we had, at that point in 141, just come off a fairly intense period, during which we spent oodles of time together… drinking, singing, laughing, talking, philosophising, getting to know one another better than I ever imagined that we might.
CROWLEY: That's right. We met up for that Bacchanalia each year, didn't we? Watched the Maenads then went up the hill and drank barrels of wine. An annual event for what? Two centuries until…
AZIRAPHALE: Yes, until I got called here to Anglia to a new post, and a new life.
CROWLEY: Not to mention, Constantine kind of put the kibosh on the Maenads. Buzzkill.
AZIRAPHALE: The point is, well, I suppose one might say that I missed you. All those years, all those festivals of drinking and dancing and temptations and blessings, and suddenly, here I was on this foggy island with no you, and… I may as well admit, bizarre things happen to me, Crowley, when you're not in my life. I lose perspective. I lose everything – even myself, after a fashion. That dichotomy that we both know is so important to a balanced existence, it just seems to dissipate from my grasp. I know that the hedonistic and dark bits of life are necessary to function, as well as the angelic bits, but I don't know truly how to keep that going on my own – you're my only connection to balance! When you're not with me for long stretches, things become hazy… Not only do I crave companionship, but also a measure of relief from the tightness of my existence that I cannot get from anyone else. But, in those years, I sought that companionship, that relief from myself, with humans.
CROWLEY: Holy shit, Aziraphale. I did not see this coming.
AZIRAPHALE: Well, it's not as though I was a loose cannon, or a gigolo, or whatever you might call it. In the third century, I blessed a woman who had been taken prisoner by marauders, and helped her escape. For the first month afterwards, she was so frightened, so on-edge, that she wouldn't let me leave her side. In those close quarters, I grew to like her quite a lot, and I stayed with her for a couple of years, until she died of… actually I don't remember exactly. I think she stepped on a rusty nail.
CROWLEY: Stayed with her for a couple of years? As in, you lived with her?
AZIRAPHALE: Yes.
CROWLEY: You lived with a woman. Like… lived in sin.
AZIRAPHALE: I hate that phrase, but… yes.
CROWLEY: I am… I am… I… just fucking stunned.
AZIRAPHALE: Well, there's really no need for…
CROWLEY: No, seriously, if you walked up to me on the street, poured lemonade down my trousers, bit me right on the nose and called me Vivian, I could not be more stunned than I am right bloody now.
AZIRAPHALE: Yes, well. That episode of my life, it turned out to be a blip.
CROWLEY: A blip that included something like domesticity, and all that that entails?
AZIRAPHALE: If you mean the physical bits, then yes, it did. And I found that many folks were judgemental about that sort of thing, given that we were unmarried.
CROWLEY: Er, shyeah! Welcome to fully half of my life as a tempter!
AZIRAPHALE: The point is, I helped her, we kept each other company, and it was nice. She got, I think, what she needed from me, and that's fantastic. But the same could not be said of me, from her. She had no idea I was an angel – I had to hide so much of myself from her, and the… you know… the physical…
CROWLEY: The sex?
AZIRAPHALE: Yes, well, I found that it wasn't all it had been touted to be.
CROWLEY: Are you kidding?
AZIRAPHALE: No, not kidding. But my attitude changed later on, so let me finish my story.
CROWLEY: Please. It'll give me time to figure out how to recover from swallowing my own tongue.
AZIRAPHALE: I could have saved her from death, of course, but that would have alerted the higher-ups to an abuse of my magic, and it seemed unnatural anyhow. After all, she was twenty-seven, and getting on in years. And after she died, I was saddened, of course, but I didn't feel gutted as I should have. And I wondered if I was far too eternal to appreciate the full weight of an ephemeral life.
CROWLEY: I've wondered that myself.
AZIRAPHALE: Or was it just that I had to hold back so much from her, that I could never become fully invested, and my status as an angel sabotaged the whole thing, even before it began?
CROWLEY: You were having existential relationship crises before that was even a thing. Bravo, angel.
AZIRAPHALE: I'd say we've both been having those crises since the very Beginning, wouldn't you?
CROWLEY: (Gulps.) Erm, yes. Now you mention it. Yes.
AZIRAPHALE: (After a pause, and deep breath.) So she died, and for a while, I just thought, it was a lark, I tried it, didn't like it – on with my life. And then, in the fifth century, I was travelling back to Londontown from the cliffs, and our coach was stopped and robbed by a young chap who, it turned out, had been on his own since the age of five, using thievery as a means of survival.
CROWLEY: CROWLEY: I think I see where this is going. I think it's going to hurt.
AZIRAPHALE: I talked him down from robbing us – I did nothing more angelic than simply to show him kindness. But it was such a novelty for him that he wept. Then, much to the chagrin of the other passengers, I invited him into the coach with us, and brought him back to Londontown. I had a little room at an inn which I called a sort of home then, and I only meant to have him with me for the night – get him some broth and bread from the kitchens, and a place to sleep well, and be warm for once. But in the light of day, all he could do was weep.
CROWLEY: Wow. The Florence Nightingale effect works for you, doesn't it, angel?
AZIRAPHALE: Hush. Anyway, day after day, he couldn't leave. He told me his story, I told him mine – in cryptic metaphors of course. And after a couple of weeks, we abandoned any pretention that he would leave. That craving for companionship and dichotomy had never left me, Crowley, and it had been two centuries since I had sworn away from it all… I thought it might be time to try again.
CROWLEY: (Flatly.) And how long did this last?
AZIRAPHALE: A year. Maybe eighteen months. It felt so brief, it might have been a sneeze.
CROWLEY: What happened?
AZIRAPHALE: Well, suffice it to say, I only THOUGHT people were judgemental about an unmarried man and woman having a physical relationship. I was naïve, and had had no idea what I was in for with that lad. Once people found out…
CROWLEY: Ah. A mob with pitchforks? Or was it a stoning?
AZIRAPHALE: It never came to that. Fortunately, the innkeeper was gracious enough to call us horrible names, and then actually warn us of an angry hoard of upstanding, God-fearing men, who were planning to drag us out of our room and hang us in the town square at midnight.
CROWLEY: As upstanding, God-fearing men have often been wont to do.
AZIRAPHALE: Of course then, he kicked us out of the building, after which, we decided to go our separate ways. And to be honest, apart from some soul-searching in the months afterwards, I haven't given that chap much thought since.
CROWLEY: And in your soul-searching, what did you discover?
AZIRAPHALE: Well, for one, if I'm going to think of myself as a physical being – and I'm not saying I am – and if my sparse experience is to be any indicator, then I prefer men to women. Perhaps I simply preferred one experience over another - the physical experience with him was much more in keeping with the intensity and ecstasy I'd often heard about, and I most definitely understood the human condition a bit better after spending time with him. But perhaps that was just the individual chemistry, and things would be different were there a different woman in my life, or a different man. And don't forget, I'm not supposed to be a sensual being, and my proclivity for any of it has waxed and waned a great deal over the years, and the whole thing was meant to be experimental anyway.
CROWLEY: Ah yes, of course.
AZIRAPHALE: But my preference being what it is, I chose not to have anymore relationships partly because it would have been, historically, much more difficult overall.
CROWLEY: Definitely. What else did you learn?
AZIRAPHALE: That even though my relationship with him was more fulfilling than my relationship with her, I still had to keep so much of my true self concealed from him, that the final conclusion was, I can't ever have what I need from a human, because I'm an angel. I love humanity, but if I'm to keep my sanity, my dignity, I have to love it while not being too much a part of it. There's too much entropy involved, too much impermanence.
CROWLEY: I'm guessing that's where I come in.
AZIRAPHALE: Absolutely. A hundred years passed after parting from my erstwhile highwayman – which, now I think of it, he probably went right back to being… er, anyway, it was early in the sixth century, and I was informed that you, Crowley, might have been dispatched to Anglia, and that I was to keep my eye out for you. I was overjoyed, and only needed wait about three decades to find you out in a field in Essex… do you remember?
CROWLEY: Of course! First time seeing you in four hundred years, and having to keep my cool… I nearly sweated through my armour! Though the place was so damp, who would have been able to tell?
AZIRAPHALE: I feel a little sheepish thinking on that meeting now… I felt acutely aware of how I had coped with the absence of you, and how unnecessary it was, and potentially destructive, it could have been. I think that was the longest interval we've ever gone without contact with one another, and I have never given a second thought to finding companionship and dichotomy anywhere else. It's just absurd to think anyone mortal could give me anything like what you do. Which is why, in the fourteenth century when I knew you were hiding underground until the plague was over, I kept a snake. The reminder of you was palpable, and it helped me feel less lonely, and ever so slightly naughty. At least enough to get me through the Black Death.
CROWLEY: (Sighs.) Oh, angel. I wish I had such innocent stories to tell.
AZIRAPHALE: Don't worry, Crowley, I don't expect anything about you to be innocent.
CROWLEY: Are you ready for me now? We agreed on taking four minutes to tell each other some things about our lives, that the other may not know, and there's a lot you don't know.
AZIRAPHALE: I took longer than four minutes, probably. You might do as well. It's okay, we're not getting any older.
CROWLEY: I mean, you have two stories of lovers and varying amounts of fulfillment. I could tell you hundreds. Thousands. People I bedded… some I liked and stayed with for a few months, some I just used, some I simply tempted and disgraced later. None of whom I loved.
AZIRAPHALE: (Extremely calmly.) Why don't you just focus on a few highlights?
CROWLEY: Highlights? Well, I mean, if I slept with someone, or canoodled them in a closet or a stable or what-have-you, it was always work-related. I never really felt anything for anyone…
AZIRAPHALE: In the end, neither did I.
CROWLEY: Still, I don't have anything meaningful to tell. (Pause.) Well, except…
AZIRAPHALE: Yes?
CROWLEY: Except for the fact that when there are decades, centuries, between when you and I see each other, weird things happen to me, too.
AZIRAPHALE: Do tell.
CROWLEY: Well, it's not much, really. I start… eating things.
AZIRAPHALE: What things?
CROWLEY: Things. Like milk cake with coconut frosting. Gravlax with dill sauce. Madeleine tea cakes with Lady Grey.
AZIRAPHALE: Those are things I like!
CROWLEY: I know. I guess if I can't be with you, at least… well.
AZIRAPHALE: (Gulps.) I find that I'm quite moved.
CROWLEY: Well, good. Back in the days you're referring to, those first few centuries AD, I ate a lot of oysters. Turned out to be somewhat counterproductive to trying not to… erm…
AZIRAPHALE: But you never sought out companionship to replace what we have?
CROWLEY: Not really. But I did…well…
AZIRAPHALE: Yes?
CROWLEY: No, never mind. Maybe we should just move on to the next question. I feel like we've beaten this one to death.
AZIRAPHALE: No, we have not. Talk to me, Crowley. You haven't sought out actual companionship with anyone else, if I wasn't with you for ages, but you did… what?
CROWLEY: Well, to make 'encounters' with others more interesting, I did, on occasion, pretend they… were… you. (Trailing off.)
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, Crowley! That's lovely! Er, I think. Is it lovely?
CROWLEY: I always thought so.
AZIRAPHALE: I mean, officially, I should be feeling revulsion but…
CROWLEY: Officially? You've rarely ever felt anything you were supposed to 'officially' feel, angel – why start being concerned now?
AZIRAPHALE: Indeed. Anything else?
CROWLEY: No, but I will wonder aloud, why the two of us feel the need to be so confessional about our sexual connections with others.
AZIRAPHALE: That is interesting, isn't it? I've been wanting to tell you about it for a long time, it just seemed that there was never an organic opportunity to do so.
CROWLEY: Yeah, it almost feels… inevitable? Is that the right word?
AZIRAPHALE: Like it was something we were going to have to work through, one way or another?
CROWLEY: Yeah.
AZIRAPHALE: Inevitable is one of the right words, yes. Funny – when we started this conversation, I didn't realise we were working through something.
CROWLEY: You didn't?
AZIRAPHALE: No – not consciously. Did you?
CROWLEY: Yeah, but… okay, let's move on, eh?
AZIRAPHALE: Yes, let's.
CROWLEY: If you could wake up tomorrow having gained one quality or ability, what would it be?
AZIRAPHALE: That's a difficult question. You and I can already manipulate matter and defy the laws of physics. What other ability could we possibly ask for?
CROWLEY: Better fashion sense, Aziraphale?
AZIRAPHALE: More patience, Crowley?
CROWLEY: Listen, maybe you don't see it, but I'm the most patient guy you know.
AZIRAPHALE: (Low, quietly, seeming to understand.) Yes, I reckon you are. (Voice pipes up.) In which case, I would like to gain the ability to communicate with you a bit better. My fashion sense is actually top-notch in my book.
CROWLEY: Communicate with me better? Really?
AZIRAPHALE: Yes, on account of your patience. I would like to reward it, but I find that I can't. Not completely.
CROWLEY: I think you're communicating just fine.
AZIRAPHALE: (Pause.) You know, Crowley, maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if you were to join me at my bookshop.
CROWLEY: Really?
AZIRAPHALE: Yes – do you fancy it?
CROWLEY: But what about breaking the rules?
AZIRAPHALE: Well… sometimes I crave companionship and dichotomy. Which means, I suppose, I would like someone to talk to in-person and I want to do something naughty.
CROWLEY: Very good! I'm rather excited to see this part of you! I'll be there as soon as I can.
AZIRAPHALE: One thing. Does the offer still stand to bring over a case of something drinkable?
CROWLEY: Of course.
AZIRAPHALE: I would like to request a good Grand Cuvée, preferably Krug.
CROWLEY: Champagne. Are we toasting something?
AZIRAPHALE: Perhaps. But ever since you mentioned it, I find myself craving it.
CROWLEY: Your wish is my command. Give me an hour or two to find a wine shop that has it, and then pick it up and get to your place.
AZIRAPHALE: All right. Thank you.
So what are your thoughts?
Are they in character? Are their pasts (especially Aziraphale's) appropriate to the thread of their lives? Do the angel's trials at romance make sense? Read: have I explained his motivations well enough?
Also, have you looked up Arthur Aron's study yet, and/or figured out the game?
Any other wonderings, concerns, favorite bits, etc? Please leave a review - it will make my week! Thanks so much for reading!