A White Man Meets with the Devil

by Frazier Crawford
Heres a story: Once a man went to the crossroads to meet the devil. He was not unlucky,
nor poor, nor hunted, nor ill-fortuned. Neither was he rich, or powerful, or particularly favored.
In short, he was like most everyone he knew. These people he knew, and those that they knew,
and that they knew, and so on to finite possibility, lived in a city. This city was made of concrete
and steel, not brick and mortar. The streets were paved and clean, the air scrubbed of dust, and
the houses proud and well-kept. This is not a story of ancient, dark heritage, or shadowy secrets.
This is a story of contemporary lust, for that which the privileged desire most: further privilege.
The man lounged against a stop light and watched it flicker, meditating. It was not often a
man of this city meditated. The race memory of the activity was long suppressed. The slender,
silent thoughts of this solitary man at the corner of 13th and Louisiana reached deep into the
ground, prodding at those whose domain there extends. The wait was not long. Presently, a dark
man came up to him, striding purposefully in a stilted manner, as if unused to the constraints of
clothing. He approached the meditating man, who opened his eyes and took him in.
Tell me, the waiting youth said, would you have come to me anywhere, or only at
such an auspicious crossroads?
Truthfully, it would not have mattered, replied a voice of somber ash. But your choice
in location in pleasantly amusing. Where came you by such a sense of humor?
Pushing off the street sign, the white man shrugged, assuming full height. With face cast
in shadow, he cut a profile, but was not outwardly remarkable: average in stance, countenance
and musculature. But there was something, something there in the dusk-made-sunset by the

lights of the city. He lit a match and the little flame glimmered off pale green eyes as it came to
meet his cigarette. A deep pull, a darker glow, and then easy simmering.
It was the way I was raised. I suppose you must know all about that.
A rumbling laugh shook out of the dark wraith. Do you suppose we are an organized
administration, diligently penning the passing thoughts of every unbaptized babe?
We? Do I not speak to Lucifer, fallen angel?
Of course not. The Lord of Bygones has no time for this anymore. Not since men like
yourself began to see their souls as marketable commodities. I am Hrathful.
Very well Hrathful. I will tell you what it is I want, for the sake of your bookkeeping.
Wont you walk with me? The two turned east onto 13th street, which ran straightly in that
direction for some ways. An intimate distance was kept between their bodies, like that of two
magnets of opposing polarity. The white man resumed.
It has been the most fervent wish of mine to become a deity, though not in the sense of
the Hebrew God, great and mighty, nor in the sense of your master, subtle and cunning. I wish to
see my will exerted upon others, and yet be a man of normal years, of normal intelligence, and
normal ability, save for that single facet. In my dream I wear tight purple clothes stitched with
meaningless patterns. I cavort across stage as only a man assured can, while around me the very
warp and weft of near-aether sings out to my movement. From my exuding charisma pours forth
such magnificence that, not only does it defy easy explanation and confound even the most sober
and cynical, it reacts in ways that not even the wielder, myself, can predict. Do you understand
that of which I desire, Hrathful?
Hrathful considered what had been told him. They walked in silence, the noises of the
night all around them. Eventually he gave a response.

What you ask I will grant, for two reasons. The first is its simplicity, though that is the
theme of many a mortal desire. Few times in history has the mettle of the super-cosmic been put
to a proper test. The second though, is altogether unique, which is also the reason itself;
uniqueness. Many are the men who desire power; over themselves, over others, over life and
death and such forces of nature as to be quite beyond the scope of useful manipulation, though
that realization may only come with hindsight. Truly it is a folly of your race not to see actions
through to a logical conclusion, or any conclusion at all. That which pleases you is like the stain
glass windows displayed in temples. Beautiful works of art, slaved upon and lavished with
embellishment, yet not suited to the purpose for which they are framed.
This though, that you have asked of me, is of itself singular. To be mortal yet powerful, a
veritable sheep-clad wolf. Well, cunning does not much become your species; I am happy to see
the semblance of it in you. I will grant you this desire. Let a compact be drawn between us.
At this time their street ended and they entered a small park. Much was silent, but much
continued to sound off as life did her waltz within the stars stage. Dark blues and blacks melded
with greens and browns, and Hrathful let the shadows flow around as he presented the bargain.
You shall have your power over man replied Hrathful. To warp mans natural
perception of the world by your application of the power I will grant. This is granted freely and
in perpetuity by Hrathful, known of Lord Lucifer in deed and name. My word is his, that you
may be assured. Know this also, that our gifts come not without a price. I leave it to you to begin
the bidding. As the dark ashen voice spilled forth from beneath the slanted hat, the shadows
continued to liquefy, bubbling the two men from the world around so an accord could be reach
with all solemnity. Know this also, that empty offers have never pleased His servants. Equal
value must be freely given for a compact to be formed. Therefore, child, begin.

Not a word came from the white man for several minutes. He finished his cigarette,
savoring the last of the fumes before flicking the spent butt onto the shadows surrounding them.
On their inky canvas a red-gold glow built, like that of the most brilliant sunshine in infancy.
Then red overtook gold and orange the red, then black reasserted itself within the image until it
was clear a conflagration of epic proportions was brewing in the eastern side of the city. This
captivated the slender youth with a palpable feeling that transmitted to Hrathful. He smiled.
So it is. Thy wish is granted under these conditions. That, at a time most relevant and
measurable, your hometown, this city, shall burn in the most impure of fires, those sprung and
spread by heinous acts and desires. Content are you in this? A nod from the man. Then so be
it.
There was no gust of wind, no mournful howl of mutts and felines. Only a soft trickling,
like that of the brook Moses called forth from the desert. Drinking deeply of the sound, the man
turned for home, unaccompanied, with a queer, stilted manner about his step. His clothes rustled,
the leaves shook, and below in the city proper, night was ending.