Of Angels

By Colorain

Disclaimer: Doctor Faustus the play belongs to Christopher Marlowe. This was an actual assignment for my Renaissance Lit class (creative writing! awesome, right?), and I rather like how it turned out, despite the kinda "essay-like" feeling it's got. I mean, I had to make this into an intellectual paper, you know. Hmph.

I think that Hell must be a different place for each of the damned, their deepest fears and weaknesses haunting them for all eternity. I watch the lost souls as I navigate the underworld, careful not to catch a gaze for too long, else I drown in their sorrow. They are screaming, moaning, tearing at their bodies, in fruitless attempts at ripping themselves apart, but physical pain and death are nothing here but temporary reprieves.

I pass them all quickly, wanting nothing more than to leave this Hell, when a movement catches the corner of my eye. I turn, half-afraid of what devil I'll see, what torture I will be subjected to.

The man who comes into my vision drops the arm he had been holding up, not as if he is weak with age but weary of it all. He intrigues me. I draw closer to him.

"I think, perhaps, that I have been sent to you," I say to him, and intelligent eyes rise to meet mine. I blink. There is no pool of hate or anger in this man. He seems as if not even to be damned, and I find myself wondering why he is here for the briefest of moments. I know he has done something to be in Hell — perhaps even what he has done, if indeed he is the man I seek. It is better to wonder of what plagues him, of his fears and ultimate fate.

"I am John Faustus," he tells me, and I nod to him. It is an oft-whispered rumor that the blood of gods runs through his veins, and I can believe it. On Earth, he acquired four lifetimes of learning. Heaven, his birthright, called to him so deeply he turned from it in fear. It would explain why Lucifer wanted him so badly, the child of God.

"You are an angel, perhaps," he says, and although it is not a question, I grant him a small smile. An angel's smile is said to bring mercy and good luck to the receiver, and the smile of an angel in Hell just might break it apart. But Hell still stands.

"I have come to hear your last confession." In his eyes, I could be an angel, a priest, someone that walked with God. Someone more faithful than he. It isn't something I can know for sure. Perhaps how he sees me will alter what he will say to me. It's a risk I have to take. We are omitting these words, him and I, full sentences unvoiced that nonetheless pass between us. They are taken in and understood, if nothing else.

"God is loving." I continue. "God is good. He wants to hear your voice. He misses you." Faustus briefly shuts his eyes. "And I him," he says, his voice breaking. I leave him in his grief, not allowed to touch him. Any physical contact with the man and I too will become lost in Hell, forever.

"Do you repent?" I ask him quietly, scanning his face for reaction. There is none that I can see. I wait.

I have not noticed it till now, but there are no others in Faustus' Hell. There are no screams from the other damned. The quiet is like death.

I am about to speak again when he interrupts me. "I do not know if I repent." I hide my surprise well. I have been told that Faustus was a man above men when he lived, and I now believe it, but he is still an enigma. I understand him now. Deprived of all contact, his brilliant mind unwithering, Faustus imagines all of his possible futures had he believed in the beauty and forgiveness of God.

"Why do you not?" I try to keep my questions quiet, unobtrusive so he might divulge to me his story.

He smiles tightly. "What right have I to ask for the mercy of the Lord? Even when He tried to guide me, I turned away from Him. What is the point of asking me if I repent, knowing that it matters not? I remain in Hell for all eternity. Repentance is not the question you should be asking me."

My eyes flash at his arrogance, but I stay my anger. "Then perhaps I should not do the asking. Perhaps I should let you tell me what you will in your own time."

The man inclines his head at me, almost as if he is accommodating me, and not I him. I suppress the urge to simply leave, for I doubt anyone would begrudge me doing so. Doctor Faustus can be quite intolerable.

But I owe it to him to stay and hear him out. There is so much to learn from him, I cannot go. His story cannot be ignored, for human evil will not go away.

~*~

"I almost wish that I had never been born, now that I have no future. I never understood exactly why it seemed I could not stop learning, when those around me were content to be mere scientists, or physicians, or tavern owners. I looked down my nose at their ignorance while envying them their bliss.

"I had no peers among men. That people even considered me an acquaintance was a concept harder to grasp than anything I studied in school. The scholars . . . the scholars who came to me in my hour of need . . . I did not deserve that. They prayed for me, for Faustus the damned. They saw in me perhaps some goodness I had possessed once, but long since lost.

"They gave me a proper burial. You have, I think, no idea of what that means to me. I was more than just a teacher, more than just an elder to someone. It was a relationship I did not fabricate, for I had no need to. It existed without me forcing it.

"I craved the basic human contact my intellect cried against me taking. But I could not take a wife through the powers of the devil; I was given a whore. When anyone I had wronged tried to speak out against me — the horse trader, the hostess, and all the others — I silenced them. I think a part of me knew I was wrong. I simply didn't want to hear it, not from the lips of those I still thought of as simpletons.

"I realize the puppet show I played with them on Earth was a mirror of what Lucifer was doing to me, but I was too stubborn to see the danger I was in. Too sure of myself and my intellect, I thought that I could outsmart the devil. Hell doesn't seem like much until you're staring it straight in the face. I was terrified beyond reason before I died.

"You might be wondering exactly why I didn't use my powers to do greater things than fetch grapes and bring back the shadow of Helen. I've thought of it often. I feel that perhaps a part of me, tired of my belief that I had no limits, held me back. While doing trivial tricks, I would never really know what I could have been capable of. Perhaps it was a way for me to live in that ignorance I sensed in others. If I had tested my limits, the reality of the contract and the fate of my soul might have sent me back to God. I think perhaps I did not want to be sent. I wanted to see how far he would let me go. He left me alone, and for that I weep."

~*~

There's little left to do but breathe. Faustus, his eyes cloudy with memories, slowly turns his back to me. It is all he is going to say, and the urge to lay my fingertips upon the tension in his muscles is near-overwhelming. My mouth opens against my will, and words spill out that I'm not quite sure I was supposed to say. I'm not quite sure I'm allowed.

"If I told you God could save you," I begin. His response is immediate.

"I would not want to be saved."

A laugh is choked out of my tight throat, an alien sound in the silence of this Hell. "God bless you, Doctor Faustus."

I take my leave of him, shaking my head in wonder as I go. Words reach my ears, and I half-turn to hear them. They bring hope to my heart for the man who speaks them.

"He already has."