V. The Game of Names Concludes

“Mephistopholes: Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it. Think’st thou that I, who saw the face of God and tasted the eternal joys of heaven, am not tormented with ten thousand hells in being deprived of ever lasting bliss?” – Marlowe, Doctor Faustus.

Names are like opinions and buttholes, everybody’s got one. There is a creature in Japanese folklore, who once entered The Yankee’s Throne, that was nothing but a shadow in a kabuki mask. When Barnaby asked him his name he said nothing. So his name, at least in the English translation, was literally nothing. Nothing liked Shirley Temples with extra cherries.

Barnaby nodded. “I guess I do owe you one more bad fortune.”

The Devil nodded dizzily in agreement. “That you do.”

The Devil felt drunk, which was weird because he’d never been drunk before. The Prince of Lies could drink anyone under the table and often had during many of his excursions from Hell, but he never felt intoxicated. His drink, the Devil noticed, literally tasted like the life-blood of God. But, dear old Dad used all that up with the humans.

Barnaby looked around the bar. “But the only ones left are you and I.”

That’s right, you’ll have to pick yourself, He thought. Why is the room spinning?

Barnaby grabbed the stool, behind the bar, and sat. “But that would mean…”

“Yes?” The Devil inquired.

Barnaby scratched his chin and thought about his possibilities for a moment. “I’ll have to do your fortune.”

“My fortune?” He laughed. “You can if you know my name, my proper name.”

“If you insist,” Barnaby smiled.

What a funny bunny, The Devil thought.

No one, in all mortal time, has said his name to him, they always name him instead. In Greece they called him Hades, in Rome Pluto and they thought he had a thing for gold, those axe-wielding sailors thought he was a god of mischief, and so on. A single mother’s called him Alcoholism while a Homeless Veteran called him Steve. This bunny doesn’t know my name, He thought. This is one of the bunny’s wagers, he’s desperate.

The Devil nodded. “I insist.”

“Did you know that there are around seventy-seven known names for the Devil?” Barnaby asked. “The Infernal Names as the Wikipedia article’s titled.”

“There are many more than seventy-seven,” The Devil corrected.

“I know, but I find that particular list ironic, since a very popular name wasn’t there.”

The Devil leaned in. “And what name is that?”

Barnaby could smell the drink on his breath, the scent was thick with possibilities. The Devil’s been drinking the stuff of ideas. Concepts in the literal transformed into a liquid, strong stuff.

Good thing, I kept that old cup, Barnaby thought.

“Your name is Lucifer,” Barnaby said and the bar shook with nervousness.

Then time froze and a chill hit the air, which happened when the Devil was surprised, the last time was when that Dante guy visited hell and everything froze over. The four patrons were frozen mid conversation. Mark was telling a joke, Elvis was taking a sip of Pepsi, Lancelot was holding his sword in the air exuberantly, and Achilles had a small smile. They’ve had a hell of a night.

The only ones unaffected by the freeze seemed to be the Devil and Barnaby, who sat very still, but his whiskers twitched a little.

The Devil frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Isn’t that a proper name?” Barnaby asked.

“Yes,” The Devil said, sobering up.

“It was the one your father gave you, right?” Barnaby asked.

“Indeed,” The Devil looked at the cup he’d been drinking from. The cup was an old clay chalice, he had seen it before, through another’s eyes, but couldn’t remember where. “How did you get me drunk?”

“You drank a lot of scotch and soda,” Barnaby said, like that was the obvious answer.

The Devil was calm like the frozen room. “That shouldn’t matter.”

“Well, you’re sober now,” Barnaby said. “Ready for your fortune.”

“Don’t push it,” The Devil snapped, a slow movement returning to the room.

“Alright,” Barnaby said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Barnaby pitied the Devil, in the end he was a sad being. A son who didn’t agree with his father, but he has the father who is always right. If only he had been nice to his younger, human, siblings, but no he was too selfish. Barnaby knows that he’s been blamed for a lot of today’s problems, but that’s only because people forget that they were given choice. Every sin man makes is there wager against life, nobody can blame the Devil for everything.

“Lucifer loses in the end,” Barnaby began. “When the war between heaven and hell concludes, and there are many, many ways this war concludes, but in none of them does the Devil win. He had his chances to choose differently, but he made bad decision after bad decision, the most recent of which was calling me a bunny.”

The Devil stood and began to exit The Yankee’s Throne. “I’ve never been drunk before.”

Barnaby shook his head. “That’s not true.”

“Oh?” The Devil turned his head back as he reached the door.

“It’s a common misconception that only alcoholics get drunk,” Barnaby explained. “Anyone can get drunk. Sometimes they get drunk on power, others on love, another on greed, and I’ve seen a person get drunk on an idea. Those are the worst, because everyone gets ideas, some good, others bad, and many stupid. All men drink, Lucifer, and that includes you.”

The Devil nodded, and exited. Time returned to The Yankee’s Throne.