The best-written recent literary fiction: The Devil Three Times by by Rickey Fayne
Read the opening pages below
IN THE BEGINNING was the Word, but before the Word spoke there was the Devil, and he was hell-bent on sowing unrest and upheaval among the angels in heaven. You see, the Devil loved nothing so much as stirring shit up, inciting seraphim to fisticuffs — Jophiel and Michael all but threw hands when the Devil doused the former’s flaming sword and blamed the latter — and, worst of all, confounding that tall, not terribly bright archangel Gabriel’s mind with questions like: How does God expect us to reconcile free will with Providence Divine?
When God heard that, he said: Now, Devil, I done put up with your foolishness long enough. And before the Devil could plead his case, God stomped His right foot, parted the clouds, and, like a storm from paradise, the Devil rained down.
The Devil sat there on the cold, dark earth with his head hung low, powerful lonesome, and when God said: Let there be light, he hid in the shadows. From there, he tempted Eve with his serpent, loosed Cain on Abel, and taught Noah how to drink and get naked.
Now, Noah’s folks liked the Devil, and the Devil liked Noah’s folks. Anybody who can hold their liquor and keep their lies straight is never long in wanting friends. But he couldn’t joke with Noah’s folks like he could angels. They didn’t banter, trade tall tales, kid, or have woof tickets for sale. I mean, it was sad. Those poor folks couldn’t cut the monkey if it held the knife for them. Case in point: One day, the Devil greeted Ham by asking him how he got to be so high on the hog, live so large. But Noah’s son couldn’t pick up what the Devil put down. Just stood there as blank-faced and bewildered as the day he caught an eyeful of his daddy’s manhood. And so, though it pained his conscience, the Devil had no choice but to trick Nimrod, Ham’s grandson, into getting him home.
You see, Nimrod claimed his might rivaled God’s. Ruled according to a merciless code. Nimrod’s people couldn’t do nothing without Nimrod’s say-so. All the Devil had to do to trick Nimrod was testify to all the ways God flouted his laws.
God’s crimes were as numerous as they were inimical: being everywhere and nowhere all at once, working in ways mysterious, and bringing the world into being without Nimrod’s input. Who gave God leave to make the Earth and the heavens? Nimrod certainly hadn’t sanctioned it. What was more, the Devil said, pacing back and forth in front of the court, the Great Maker added insult to injury by failing to present Himself to Nimrod, stand trial, and account for His many offenses. How could Nimrod abide such impertinence? Unless — and here the Devil paused for dramatic effect — could it be, Nimrod was not as powerful as he’d led folks to believe? Was the only power Nimrod had over the people the power the people conceded?
All at once, the people turned to Nimrod, considering. How bad was this man, really? Already they were plotting, already they were scheming; Nimrod could feel it. His iron grip was slipping. Nimrod’s only hope was to string his bow to back his boasts, fire arrows into heaven, and hit something, anything, celestial.
I’m no expert on the science of it, the Devil said as a high-arcing arrow clattered to the ground mere feet from him. But you might have a better shot at God if you aimed from higher up. What if you built a tower?
That just might be the best idea anyone has ever had, Nimrod said, seeing at once the project’s potential to unite the populace and divert attention from his gross incompetence.
The Devil could hardly believe folks had let someone so self-interested lead them. No matter, once he climbed the Tower of Babel and spread his wings, he would be home, free of these terrible people. Just as the Devil was in spitting distance of the pearly gates, though, God wrinkled His nose, confounded all the bricklayers, reached out from the clouds, and flicked the tower down.
The Devil kicked around for a while, propping up empires and watching them fall, making waves wherever he found calm. Before long, he heard tell of God sending down His only son, which hurt the Devil’s feelings because, even though they butted heads now and then, the Devil always thought of himself as God’s own. But he didn’t harp on God counting him out and was ready to forgive his father’s every trespass if he could just get back home.
And so the Devil set out to find Jesus, God’s favorite son, and caught up to him in the wilderness, hunting up four-leaf clovers, worrying the manes off dandelions, and watching the wind blow clouds about. The Devil spent forty days and forty nights trying to reason with Jesus, brother to brother.
Jesus, the Devil said. I’m not evil, not really. How could I be? Ain’t nothing in me God ain’t put there. Ain’t a thang in my heart God didn’t smile upon. All I want is to get back home.
When Jesus heard the Devil’s words, he wept, ’cause you know Jesus real softhearted, especially when it comes to fathers not doing right by their sons. Jesus himself didn’t hear from his real daddy until he was damn near thirty-one.
Jesus said: Devil, you really have touched me. My wings ain’t strong enough to fly us both up to heaven. But if you can hold out just a little bit longer, I’ll bend God’s ear and see if we can’t work something out.
And so the Devil bided his time for a few more eons, making bargains here, turning a soul or two away from God there, but his heart wasn’t never really in it. When he’d just about lost all faith in Jesus, Jesus came to the Devil in a dream.
I been working overtime on God, Jesus said, and He still ain’t budged. I’ll keep after it, but in the meantime, I need you to help me. You heard about what’s happening in Africa?
The Devil said he hadn’t.
Jesus said: They’re robbing up Black folks from there and working them to death in America.
Huh, the Devil said. Ain’t that something. But he was only half listening. No human suffering could rival his own. All the Devil took from Jesus’s words was that Jesus had yet to find him a way home.
Jesus hauled off and backhanded the poor Devil. Plap.
Listen to me, Jesus said. It is something, and you the somebody who needs to fix it.
Ain’t that God’s problem? the Devil asked, trying to rub some feeling back into his cheek, wondering what on earth had turned his sweet baby brother so evil-mean.
You’d think, Jesus huffed, but He’s up in heaven twiddling His thumbs. Says all humans are one race, acting like He can’t see color from His gold throne.
The Devil was struck dumb. He ain’t never once in his life imagined Jesus would fix his mouth to talk wet about God. And if you was struck too, then the joke’s on you, ’cause if ain’t but one thing in this world true it’s that Jesus loves him some Black folks and Black folks love them some Jesus. It’s like they’re the hand and he’s the thumb, and he gets powerful angry when he sees them done wrong.
Go south, Jesus told the Devil. Free my people and watch out for them until I return. You do this for me, and I promise that one day I’ll find a way to get you home.
And when the Devil woke, that’s just what he did — and is, even now, still trying to do. That’s why Black people have to go through hell to get free and how come to this day, the Devil won’t leave them be.
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Literary fiction titles considered this month
The Director by Daniel Kehlmann; translated by Ross Benjamin
The Gowkaran Tree in the Middle of Our Kitchen by Shokoofeh Azar
Twelve Post-War Tales by Graham Swift
All the Mothers by Domenica Ruta
The Names by Florence Knapp
Old School Indian by Aaron John Curtis
Are You Happy? by Lori Ostlund
The Devil Three Times by Rickey Fayne
The Missing Kidney by Maxine Rosaler
The Emperor of Gladness by Ocean Vuong
That's All I Know by Elisa Levi; translated by Christina MacSweeney
Sing to Me by Jesse Browner
The Fate of Others by Richard Bausch
Autocorrect by Etgar Keret; translated by Jessica Cohen & Sondra Silverston
Ghost Wedding by David Park
The Boys by Leo Robson
The Book of Guilt by Catherine Chidgey
A New New Me by Helen Oyeyemi
Gunk by Saba Sams
Dream State by Eric Puchner
The Pretender by Jo Harkin
The Propagandist by Cécile Desprairies
Lovers of Franz K by Burhan Sönmez
Back in the Day by Oliver Lovrenski
Waist Deep by Linea Maja Ernst
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