CHAPTER 3: A cup of tea
Liii, lirili liriliiiii.
Every morning, waving the duster as if it were a magic wand, Murial carried out the ritual of dusting the store's volumes. These were the best sellers in fashion, paperback editions of the classics with which students did their class work, self-help books and other knick-knacks Aziraphale had for sale to continue pretending that it was a business. In the other part, in the back room, was where the good stuff was: the precious and numerous copies with which year after year, century after century, the angel had being feeding his private collection.
To tell the truth, Muriel was still not entirely sure about the difference between those books and the ones she did have permission to sell. That material objects increased in value as a few decades passed was something difficult for her to understand given her lack of temporal perspective, and being able to look through a first edition of "A Christmas Carol" did not impress her more than another one printed tho years earlier. At the end of the day, the story was the same.
She had come to vaguely grasp the concept of collecting. She knew that Aziraphale treasured certain pieces that were impossible to find anywhere else. That was exciting, but so was the thrill, with which some clients received in their hands a compilation of the Sherlock Holmes cases, a second novel by the Swedish author they had just discovered and that had stolen their hearts or the latest by Neil Gaiman.
However, there was something undeniable. The tender love with which Aziraphale had impregnated each and every one of the copies of his collection ran through the soul of his substitute like a warm hug every time she held them in her angelic hands.
There were really beautiful models. Some of them had velvet-lined covers or were decorated with a gold coating on the edge of their pages. There were some with gorgeous illustrations and engravings made with a talent and sensitivity that Muriel had never seen until then, not even in Heaven. There were even some with small notes dedicated to "Mr. Fell", and she could feel through the paper the satisfaction with which the authors had written those kind words and signed them, as well as the joy of her predecessor when receiving them.
Yes, Muriel was intensely enjoying each one of the days she spent in the bookstore and, if she had been told that this was going to be her task indefinitely, forever and ever, she wouldn't have minded at all.
It must be said that, at first, everything related to commerce puzzled her quite a bit. In her ignorance and blessed naivety, Muriel served the books that clients requested without taking into account that she had to charge for them. Because of this, the first months were a chaos: word spread and every day a line of readers eager to get free merchandise formed around the block. The naive little angel thought this was because she was doing a good job and, with all her enthusiasm, she continued giving away copies full hands, happy for the good results her management was having. The shelves were emptied at a dizzying speed, no one was placing orders to replenish the warehouse's stock, the cash register was nothing but skin and bones and letters arrived threatening to cut off water and electricity. Until one day, Maggie stood at the door of the bookstore, kicked out everyone who was waiting for their turn saying they were closing for inventory, and proceeded to explain to her what MONEY was.
Once the first obstacles were overcome, the truth was that Muriel turned out to be quite efficient. Her experience as an office worker and her supernatural memory allowed her to learn with extraordinary ease the names of authors, their works, genres… She designed a new inventory system that allowed her to keep the bookstore more organized than it had ever been and she managed to balance the cash audit. Now everything was working perfectly and, to be honest, the one who had helped her the most had been Crowley.
Depressed and hurt to the depths of his spirit after Aziraphale's departure, the demon swore to himself he would never return there never ever again. But, after hearing about Muriel's initial disaster, one day he stormed into the store with such force that he nearly blew the doors off their hinges, he pulled out his glasses and bellowed that if the idiotic angel did not focus and take out the bookstore, he himself would set it on fire with her inside.
Nina and Maggie, who were there at that time, tried to get him to calm down. They told him that they would personally be in charge of instructing Muriel, that they would always be watching her so that she wouldn't mess up again and, please, not to make her cry. But Crowley ignored them.
From that moment on, he showed up at the bookstore every day, at any time and without prior notice, and demanded Muriel to tell him what she had been doing as if it were a test. The poor little angel trembled from head to toe when she saw him enter, always dissatisfied and angry, but, even from his furious entrance on the first day, she could capture the waves of kindness, clouded by sadness and spite, emanating from Crowley's body. For that reason alone, she decided to stoically endure his hurtful comments and sarcasm while he explained to her what invoices, delivery notes and online reviews were. She listened attentively and took notes while the demon told her in broad strokes, with his voice hoarse due to grief, the evolution of literature throughout the history of humanity. She made sure that he found everything to his liking when he arrived and diligently explained to him everything she had done and learned.
Little by little, she dared to ask him some questions. At first she thought Crowley would volatilize her because of her ignorance but, instead, always with a distant attitude and feigned coldness, the demon answered all her questions without reproach. As time went by, Muriel felt encouraged to tell him about what she herself was reading or an anecdote from the day with the clients, and Crowley listened to her looking away and answering with a "hn" from time to time.
Only once did the demon have a new fit of anger. It was the day that Muriel had the idea of moving one of the exhibition tables.
When Crowley saw it, he flew into a rage. He overturned the table with a terrible roar of fury and began to yell at her about what did that mean and what was she thinking of. Muriel, extremely scared and not understanding what this absolutely disproportionate scolding was about, excused herself by saying that there, near the door, the books were more visible. Crowley, still breathing hard and teeth clenched, advanced slowly and menacingly towards where the trembling little angel was. When he was almost on top of her, he put a claw-like hand on her shoulder and spoke very, very close to her face, hissing his words.
That, silly stupid angel, is not up to you to decide. You have no permission to move anything, any-thing, you understand?, of all that's here. I want everything as it was. And if you ever dare to do something like this again, I'll kick your heavenly ass back to Heaven. Is it clear?
Muriel could understand that he didn't like the new location of the table, but she still didn't get why he would get so angry over something so trivial and easy to solve. However, she decided that it would be best not to add anything else to the discussion and do what the demon commanded. Like a puppy that has just been scolded for chewing on a piece of furniture, she broke free from Crowley's claw, ran to the overturned table and, fighting back tears, she began to pick up the books that had been scattered on the floor. Crowley left without saying another word.
One day, the demon arrived when it was already dark. The store was closed and Muriel was checking emails. She greeted him cheerfully and, as the diligent pupil she was, told him that three orders had arrived, that she had placed them in the warehouse and that she had taken the week earnings to the bank.
Not being able to completely hide his surprise at this demonstration of competence, Crowley looked around the entire store to see if he could complain about something, but everything was perfect, clean, tidy… And exactly as Aziraphale left it.
Since he had nothing more to say to the dumb angel, he turned on his heels and made to head for the door.
- Fine… I'm leaving then.
- Crowley sir!
It's not like Muriel expected exactly congratulations from her "unofficial boss", but she was somewhat disenchanted by his indifference and, furthermore, for some strange reason she could not identify, she wanted him to stay a little longer.
- I told you not to call me "sir" - It worked. Crowley stopped suddenly and turned half his body to angrily hurl her that recrimination.
- I'm sorry, sir.
- Seriously… (he snorted) You are such an idiot.
- Um… I'm afraid so, sir… I mean… No… I mean… You see, it's just… It's just… I made tea! - She finally said, exultanting, like someone announcing they just graduated from Oxford. Crowley looked at her with disdain.
- And what do you want? A medal?
- No, it's not necessary - She said in her candor - But I would like… I would very much like… You to have a cup of tea with me, sir.
Crowley was glad he didn't take off his glasses when he entered the store because that had caught him by surprise and he was sure it showed. He blinked a few times, confused. He didn't understand why the pathetic little angel wanted to spend even a minute more than necessary with him. He was about to reject her invitation but he realized, before Muriel's bright eyes, that there was no one waiting for him anywhere anyway.
Thinking about it, it had been a while since he had a cup of tea with anyone. He cleared his throat.
- Well… Why not.
Muriel let out a little shout of joy and clapped her hands. Crowley ignored her as he walked through the store. He dropped himself into one of the armchairs facing the gramophone that Aziraphale was reluctant to retire and let Muriel do the honors. He heard her spinning plates while he absentmindedly looked at the shelf where his friend's record collection rested. Muriel returned with a tray that she left on the table.
- Milk, lemon, or soy sauce? - She asked jovially.
Muriel had started experimenting with food and, although her fondness for it did not reach the point of Aziraphale's, the truth was that she enjoyed it a lot. What happened was that, with a totally uneducated palate, she made atrocious combinations with flavors and textures that left everyone around her perplexed. She enjoyed like a child dipping croissants in tomato sauce, she asked Nina to make her coffee with coconut milk and pepper and she made herself, whenever she had the chance, her favorite sandwich: pickles and chocolate.
Crowley huffed in exasperation.
- You don't add soy sauce to tea.
- Oh… Wow - Confusion appeared on the angel's face - Well… It's just… I just like it that way.
- Sometimes I think your palate is tiled.
- I'm sorry, sir.
- No milk, no lemon. Sugarfree - He cut her off. He didn't feel like giving her a lecture on the art of consuming hot water with herbs.
- Yes, sir.
Solicitous and delighted with what she was doing, Muriel proceeded to serve the tea. She handed his cup to Crowley, who received it without thanking her. Then she served her own, pouring a generous splash of soy sauce in it and adding a slice of lemon. She took it in her hands and sat on the edge of the other armchair. She stirred the concoction with a spoon, took a sip, and turned to Crowley, smiling and expectant.
The demon understood she was waiting for his verdict, so he listlessly took a sip from his cup. It was as if Muriel had stuffed a pillow with Earl Gray and boiled it.
- How is it?
- Not bad - He responded dryly. He stirred the tea with his index finger and it turned into whiskey.
Satisfied with the answer, Muriel giggled and gave herself permission to sprawl in the chair.
They stayed like that for a while, occasionally sipping their drinks and not speaking. Muriel considered starting a conversation with Crowley. She wanted to ask him many things about what it meant to be a demon, what Hell was like, if it was really that hot down there… but it was quite clear that he didn't feel like chatting. She just watched him.
She had never had a demon so close. Not that close nor at any distance, to tell the truth. And, although she knew Crowley sir was not a typical demon, her insatiable curiosity made her look him over from top to bottom. It wasn't usual for him to stay still for so long, so she took the opportunity to pay attention to all the details of his person: his dark suit, his shiny hair, the careless posture with which he occupied the chair, the expression of loneliness on his face…
Muriel had only recently known what loneliness was. Until her arrival on Earth, she had not been aware of how lonely her job in the Celestial Archive was. Now she was seeing a lot of different people every day and Maggie and Nina were taking care of her as if they had adopted her, lovingly explaining to her the mysteries of life on Earth. Besides, the owners of the rest of businesses on the street had redirected their sympathy for good-natured Mr. Fell towards her and every day they greeted her warmly and asked how she was doing.
She sighed. It would be very hard to be alone again in the endless routine of her office, without seeing or speaking to anyone, when Aziraphale… Well, if he ever came back.
A strange chill ran through her body, bringing her out of her thoughts. She looked around trying to locate the origin of that peculiar sensation until she discovered, to her surprise, that those disconcerting vibrations were coming from Crowley.
The demon remained in his chair, practically motionless. He only moved to occasionally bring the cup of tea to his lips. It was as if he carried an enormous intangible weight on his shoulders. It was obvious that his mind was very far from there and Muriel perceived, now with perfect clarity, the waves of immense love that Crowley's body emanated towards everything around him.
That enormous amount of love, tender, hopeless, was mixed with another feeling she did not know but that she perceived as full of sadness: longing. Crowley sir was truly disconcerting. How could a demon feel such deep love? And how could something like love come with so much sorrow?
In the midst of her confusion, Muriel noticed that Aziraphale's presence, even though the angel was not truly in that room, was increasingly intense. Crowley, who had evidently forgotten that she was still at his side, was trying to attract to himself even the smallest vestige of Aziraphale's essence impregnated in all those beautiful things that surrounded them, and the need and unease with which he received it touched the little assistant angel.
Only then was Muriel able to see past the black clothing and his menacing appearance, and realized that Crowley was, in fact, a being in infinite suffering. She understood that the hostility and rage that the demon shot in all directions since he insisted on directing her management of the bookstore came, actually, from a deep pain. A pain that drilled and tortured his spirit but to which, strange as it may seem, he seemed to cling with all his strength, as if it were the only thing he had left to keep within himself. Furthermore, that affliction was free of any anger, bitterness or desire to do evil. It was like a heavy blanket that Crowley wrapped himself in of his own volition, even though it was immobilizing him and stinging his skin and soul, or whatever demons have.
Muriel didn't understand anything, but she was aware that she was feeling immense compassion for that grumpy and unfriendly being. She felt that she urgently wanted to surround Crowley with all the love that, at that moment, she felt for him, even if her love had nothing to do with the love Crowley emanated towards the memories that room inspired him. She'd have liked to hug him and wrap him in her mercy, to free him of his unease, let him know that he was not alone, anything to alleviate his pain. She had no idea what Crowley could have done or not done to receive such punishment, but she was sure no one deserved to suffer like that.
- Crowley sir…
Lost as he was in his thoughts, Crowley jumped slightly when he heard the angel's voice.
- I told you not to call me… - But he couldn't finish the sentence. The eager expression and the pure kindness he found in Muriel's eyes caught him by surprise and made him lose the urge to scold her - What…? Ahem, what do you want?
- Crowley sir, I… - She didn't know exactly what to say but, she did know, without any doubt, that what she wanted the most at that moment was to help him, no matter what - Is there anything I can do for you?
Crowley raised his eyebrows, unable to hide his astonishment. He didn't expect that at all. He sat up straight and remained motionless again, looking at the angel as if seeing her for the first time. Muriel, far from being scared as it would have been usual, held her gaze full of generosity towards the demon. He was very sure that that little angel, innocent and ignorant of all vicissitudes that life on Earth entails, was incapable of understanding what he was going though, but he understood that, in some naive and confused way, she had realized he was suffering and that she felt sorry for his pain, even without knowing the cause or depth of it.
Slowly, he put the teacup on the table, took off his glasses and turned to look at Muriel again with his snake eyes. Without being intimidated one bit, the angel continued to offer him, silently, her compassion and her attempt to help. It had been a long, long time since anyone, other than Aziraphale, had been so generous to him.
- No - He finally said, and that word stayed floating between both of them.
Little by little, disappointment appeared on Muriel's face. He could tell that she continued to want to help him but, in the face of that simple, plain and perfectly clear refusal, she had understood that it was not possible. She also didn't dare to take her eyes off the demon because, for some reason, he continued watching her with interest.
- Finally, Crowley put his glasses back on, stood up and straightened his suit.
- But thanks - He said, without any kind of inflection in his voice. And he left.
Well, well, well... Crowley has finally entered the scene. What do you think about how he is handling the divorce? And about Muriel's work.
Opinions and corrections will be appreciated as usual.
See you in the next chapter!