Cyril Graf

The room was dimly lit, and I was sitting in an armchair. I was listening to some music and sipping a clear liquid with a fair amount of alcohol. I held a dying cigarette in my hand. I stared at the wall. Or rather, at the idiotic pattern the previous owners had decorated the apartment with. It was disgusting, but I kept contemplating it, reveling in the impression it made on me. It wasn't good, so I guess I was just being sublime.

I took a sip of my drink and went back to examining the wall when something strange happened... I felt dizzy. But then again, after the amount of pure alcohol I'd consumed, that shouldn't have been surprising. What was troubling me was something else. The room was spinning. Everything was simply spinning. And fast. Tape recorder – shelf – wall – table – telephone – window – tape recorder – shelf – wall – table – telephone – window – tape recorder – shelf – door – table – telephone...

The door!!! It hadn't been there before! I know, I've been living here for months! Huge, enormous. With a brass doorknob and a knocker shaped like a skull… I sobered up instantly. I was utterly terrified. It all didn't seem like a drunken man's hallucination. I knew it… It was so real it was unreal.

The door… what's that, a door, a gate! It creaked open, and I saw a dark staircase leading down. Besides, everything had changed. I was no longer home, but in some enormous room. A chamber? The silence around me struck me. Silence and darkness, growing deeper with each passing moment. Finally, it became so dark, as if someone had suddenly turned off the lights. A sudden chill, a strong wind, and on top of that, it started to rain…

Suddenly, the sky brightened. For a moment… Lightning… Crack! And then a loud clap of thunder. Right behind me. The lightning struck more and more frequently. But I couldn't move. Panic paralyzed me. I'd never felt anything like it in my life. I felt as if the entire world was filled with fear, and noise had gripped the earth to such a degree that even silence seemed like thunder. Suddenly, a man appeared right behind me. Incredibly tall... His face was long and pale; his dark brown eyes looked like tar-like coals. His long, black hair flowed down to his shoulders. In the next flash, I noticed a neatly trimmed beard, and it also seemed to me that... no, impossible. It looked like he had... tiny horns in his beard? No, you can't trust a drunk man's senses, and I was definitely not sober...

The man was dressed in late 19th-century garb. He gave the impression of a fin de siècle poet; a decadent lost in a tangle of fabrics. A long, black velvet cape completed his elegance. Draped over his left shoulder, it discreetly revealed an old-fashioned revolver, barely visible in the darkness. The cell phone held in his right hand was a bit of an aesthetic clash, but it didn't really surprise me anymore. Even if he turned out to be a little red bunny in a bikini eating ice cream.

A short, broad-shouldered man appeared next to the stranger. He held an umbrella as if over a boss, which—seeing his servile expression—sure me he was his subordinate.

The man in the cape looked at me with a piercing, hypnotic gaze and beckoned with a finger. I frowned. What was the matter?

The stranger snapped his fingers, and… there was light. In an instant, the darkness and rain vanished; we stood in a cold, empty square. A long limousine appeared beside him, and I knew I had to get in. So I did so immediately, feeling his eyes on me urgently. The stranger sat down next to me, and we drove off.

We had been driving for a while, and since my head was aching badly (after all, I'd spent the entire evening with a bottle), I longed for a glass of something stronger. Strange events, strange events, and you're thirsty. I glanced hopefully at the bar. Probably well-stocked... At that very moment, the stranger, with a barely perceptible gesture, offered me a brandy. Though I was desperately thirsty, I refused, lying perfidiously:

"Thank you, I don't drink—after all, how could I be so sure what was in the drink? I've been reading so much lately about drugs in drinks, kidnappings, exploitation... True, what I was reading concerned young, beautiful girls... But it's best to be careful. To be clear, I'm neither a beautiful young woman, nor a girl, but I knew nothing about the guy.

His only reaction to my blatant lie was a condescending look and a glass of the amber liquid. I couldn't resist such a strong suggestion. I drank it in one gulp and refilled my glass.

We drove for a long time, how long? I don't know. A long time. I think I dozed off a bit. I dreamed that the stranger turned out to be a version of myself born ten thousand years in the future…

When I finally awoke, I was sitting alone in a car. The door opened quietly, and I got out. A small house stood directly in front of me, surrounded by a dense wall of forest. I went inside, but inside, all I saw was an elevator door. An ancient one, with a grate… The elevator operator invited me in and closed the door. The moment he closed the grate, I lost my footing. I simply ceased to exist.

I was falling, my whole life flashing before my eyes. Maybe that's not the right word, since I was falling alone, but it's the only one that comes to mind.

After a good five minutes of falling, I abruptly stopped and then slowly landed on the ground. The place I found myself in was terrifying. The ground was soft, shrouded in a delicate, greenish mist. A bright, orange-yellow light poured out on me from nowhere. My old friend was leaning against the saloon door, beckoning me. I sensed something was wrong, but who wouldn't? Nevertheless, I approached him, and we went inside.

Not a pleasant place. Dark and stuffy. Behind what could have been a bar or a pig trough, leaned a stocky woman, dressed in... something... In any case, the blouse must have long ago been bright pink; today, the color was a dull shade... ample breasts spilling out of a plunging neckline, and her face was adorned with a (???) grimace resembling a smile. Despite everything, it wasn't pleasant.

We sat down at a table the woman had wiped with a dirty cloth. A moment later, she brought us a bottle of cloudy liquid and two, presumably clean, glasses. It seemed strange that a stranger, so immaculately dressed, had invited me here, where the filth was worse than a student's room that hadn't been cleaned for a year. It smelled like someone had dumped a bucket of horse manure (actually, I didn't know back then that horse manure didn't stink, but I wondered if it did, it would smell exactly like that). Although, really, why was I surprised? The whole situation was suspicious...

So, we sat across from each other, sipping moonshine and wondering what was about to happen. Actually, I was the only one thinking about it, because the guy knew the conversation scenario very well. After all, he was creating it himself.

The stranger raised his glass and proposed a toast:

"To eternity!... You're probably wondering what you're doing here? It's simpler than it sounds... My superior, Luis Cypheros, has asked me to have an urgent conversation with you. Hence the strange circumstances in which we're meeting. If it weren't for the necessary haste, I would have invited you as God commanded... Oh, excuse me..." my interlocutor seemed flustered. "May I ask? Do you believe in the existence of God?

" "...um," his question surprised me, but since he was already asking, "more like in some primordial matter, perhaps a cosmic element within each of us? I don't know exactly..." I leaned back in my chair. At least something was beginning to become clear. Or was it? I hoped so. I'd had enough excitement for one evening.

"Mhm," my interlocutor said worriedly. "You see, what I'm hearing is beautiful, and if I didn't know what I know, I'd think: wonderful! Unfortunately, there's a small but..." He leaned his immaculate suit sleeves against the sticky counter and leaned conspiratorially toward me. He winked mischievously and whispered, "Cyril, close your eyes."

I looked at him warily and frowned. Strange. He no longer fit the role he'd been playing. From a serious, unapproachable gentleman, he'd suddenly transformed into a playful imp. I think I preferred him in his original form. The stranger (he still hadn't introduced himself, and I didn't feel like asking his name) leaned back in his chair.

"Close your eyes, Cyril. You're hearing correctly," he said in the hypnotic voice of a psychiatrist. "What I'm about to tell you requires it."

I closed it. An incredible calm came over me. Which seemed suspicious to me. Only for a moment, because the stranger's words held me in suspense.

"Imagine a beautiful girl. Young, graceful... Moreover, her temperament and character are identical to those of Tahitian girls in Gauguin's time. Shy, delicate, and yet devoid of prudishness. Do you see her?" I nodded. I saw... "Now imagine a young devil—a pixie. He's been on Earth for only a few days, and he sees her... taking a shower. He's lost in her violet-blue eyes. He desires her with all his devilish heart. He falls in love with her body, her movements. Thanks to the help of an older devil, he transforms into a man for one night. He spends this time with the beautiful girl, and having satisfied his desire, he leaves, forgetting about her. You must know that devils are incapable of love in the human sense of the word. In their view, love equates solely with sensuality, carnality... Lust." The girl held the fruit of that night in her womb. She gave birth to a boy...

My thoughts swirled, and I felt as if snowflakes were dancing before my eyes. With closed eyes, but that was an unimportant detail. Why this story? Interesting, and even devoid of the ubiquitous romanticism.

"Cyril. That girl was your mother... Your father is the devil...

The child is me!!! No!!!" I thought, terrified.

"Yes, you." I opened my eyes abruptly and looked at the man. "Yes, you," he repeated calmly. "I know your grandmother raised you because your mother didn't survive childbirth. It's difficult for a human woman to give birth to a half-devil.

" "Don't you believe it?" he said after a moment, seeing my half-conscious look. Show me someone who would look calmly at something like that. "There's evidence. A bluish birthmark on my left forearm that looks like an ink stain. Yes, I know it was removed three years ago." Have you ever wondered why you can't pronounce that word? He handed me a piece of paper with the word "ladder" written on it. In fact, I'd never pronounced it correctly.

"Devils, after their fall, are barred from Heaven, as you know. A ladder seems like a great solution. But... we can't ask for it.

Damn!" I thought, "I'm Satan's spawn!" Suddenly, my grandmother's favorite epithet, one she often used in moments of stress, made sense. My

whole world had fallen into a puddle and shattered into pieces. Now all that remained was to fish them out and glue them back together... This wasn't the end of the stranger's story. I'd say, rather, the beginning.

"We're getting to the heart of the matter. You see, Cyril, once you know you're one of us, you have to acknowledge the existence of God. The one from Jesus, of course... People have a choice, believe or not. We hate Him, but we have to acknowledge that He exists. Because He does. And He's stronger than us. But people don't have to know that," he whispered conspiratorially, making me realize this wonderful truth...

I wiped my sweaty forehead. I looked at him and thought only one thing. Why had Kasia broken up with me in high school, and what kind of eyes did she have? Green or hazel? I was sure they were hazel, but then it occurred to me they were green. I couldn't decide. Completely irrational thoughts in this situation... But is the world rational? As it turns out, it isn't.

" "Yes?" I looked at him groggily. "Aha... But are there others like me?" I changed the subject slightly.

"We have several reports in the main office," he began, "over the centuries since the creation of the world, such cases have been recorded... maybe 20?" Children from such unions generally died at birth or before the age of five. The last recorded case dates back to the early 20th century. In confidence, Kirill, his name was Joseph Dzhugashvili, and he caused quite a stir…

Interesting, I thought. I wonder what the consequences are for devils who have sex with women? But I didn't ask, because I really didn't care that much. The stranger took a slow breath and ran his hand through his hair.

"Fine. I'll finally tell you why I brought you here. Kirill," I heard the stage whisper again, "there's a mission waiting for you. We need an office on Earth... You to run it. We need a hellish branch on Earth. What do you think?

" "I don't know," I said, stalling, not quite sure what to think. "Ah, what am I supposed to do?

" "You know," he sighed, "it's not certain yet. We're waiting for directives from Above... ugh! From Below, which will arrive any day now." For now, the point is that you agree. We'll let you know what to do and how at the appropriate time. We'll provide financial support, of course," he assured me immediately.

I figured I wasn't really losing anything; since I'm half-devil, nothing but damnation awaits me anyway. And besides, it's a dream... I suppose...

" "Okay, I agree.

" "Great, only... you see, after all, you're still half-human, so..."

My interlocutor snapped his fingers, and a piece of parchment appeared on the table in front of me. "I, Cyril Graaf, blah... blah... blah..." and so on. And a space for my signature. He handed me a fountain pen.

"Blood-studded," he informed me kindly.

"Interesting, I thought it had to be mine?

" "Of course it's yours. You've cut yourself shaving so many times that we've saved up enough to write a fairly substantial novel, not just a meager signature."

I took it in my hand and weighed it for a moment. Then, with two confident movements, I signed the contract. At that moment, my interlocutor quickly rolled up the parchment and hid it under his cloak. He smiled and offered me a glass of the moonshine I'd started earlier. I drank it in one gulp, just to emphasize the importance of the deal I was making.

I felt sleepy. My eyelids drooped. I fell into darkness.

I woke up in the early morning, around 7:00, in the same armchair where I'd been contemplating the wall the previous evening. Before me stood an empty bottle and a full ashtray. I wasn't feeling well, so I shuffled to the bathroom to rinse my mouth. The taste was awful. It must be the moonshine. Wait! No, it was a dream. Sure. Interesting, funny, different, but still a dream.

I took a shower and, dressed, returned to the room to clean up a bit. And air it out. It smelled awful of vodka.

I set about clearing the pile of rubbish from the table. Finally, when I'd dealt with everything, one single item remained on the battlefield.

A fountain pen.

I gently picked it up and examined it carefully. Then I put it down again. I looked at my hand. My fingers were stained with red ink…

***

The first client called right after the ad appeared in the local newspaper. We have time for television and other media, and besides, Mr. Cypheros apparently doesn't want too much publicity. He thought it could harm the Cause... You know what... Although, personally, the idea of ​​maximizing the company's publicity sounded great to me. But... I don't argue with the boss because it could harm someone... hehe, did I say "people"? Not bad. I still think that way about myself.

Okay, back to the topic. The first client called on Thursday afternoon and asked what the job would involve.

"You come to us, sign a contract, and for every person you bring to our company, we pay 100 złoty...

" "And when we switch to the euro, everyone says it'll be any month now..."

"Yeah, of course," I assured the potential client, "then the rate will be 100 euros.

" My devilish superiors assured me that money doesn't matter when it comes to hiring someone, so with a clear conscience (hehe, I absolutely love these typically human terms), I assured the guest of the benefits awaiting him.

"So what would this job involve?" I heard after a moment of reflection (I'd bet my soul he'd counted all his acquaintances).

"Exactly." I smiled mischievously.

"What's the catch?" my interlocutor continued, still warily, and I'm not surprised. So many fraudsters have appeared on the job market lately...

" "No... Everything is legal."

What was I supposed to explain to him? It was all in the contract... in parasympathetic ink, i.e., the point about the surrendered soul was supposed to appear the day after the culprit signed the papers. And in small print, at that. Well, that's none of my business. After all, it was a limited liability company.

"So?" My voice was terribly saccharine... A little too saccharine, even.

"Come to the office, I'll explain everything in detail..." Besides, I think I forgot to mention—a moment of significant silence, let the guy think about it—you'll get 500 złoty from us on account. Even if you don't recruit anyone afterward," I gently encouraged, with the prospect of free money. That kind of trick works on anyone.

"I'll think about it...

" "Of course, that's understandable... but please don't delay too long, the on-account money is only for the first 10 people...

" "... goodbye." I heard a constant beep on the phone.

Within a week, I'd signed 200 contracts. People were banging on the doors and windows. After a month, the branch needed to be expanded. Within a short time, a dozen such offices were established across the country. We quickly established ourselves worldwide... A truly profitable, long-term investment. For us, of course... Although for people too... in a sense... Long-term... I'd say eternal.

The key is a skillfully run business...

You'd probably like to know what happened to me? After all, every story has to have its happy ending. I live my life as I always have. I have my own apartment – ​​a slightly better standard than before... No more idiotic patterns. Life is a fairy tale. You know, good cars, fast women... Or something like that... Well, the point is, it's fun. Besides, my superior, Mr. Cypheros, says I'll stay here for a while. A little more, a few dozen (maybe a hundred) years. I just have to change my place of residence every few years. And I can't have children, but hell, hates having illegitimate children. Although, whatever