Bad News--Signed HX

        The grave, fiery eyes stared down at Merrida. 

Hexus was disenchanted by the pathetic little “love-affair” he had seen developing. No such thing was permitted—or even possible—in the lower sphere from which he had come and he was quite honestly disgusted by it all. Disgusted at Gorvip. Disgusted at Merrida. Disgusted, oddly enough, even at He-ho. Overall, Hexus was just disgusted. 

But it was more than mere disgust that brought him here to this disenchanting world. He had come because while Hell was full of penny-stealers and candy-counter thieves, Hell also had a strict rule code—and Gorvip had broken it. Gorvip had left Hell—actually, he’d been kicked out, but he’d still left—and was being a terrible devil. And by terrible, he didn’t mean actually being bad, but being bad at being a devil. He was being kind. He was being hardworking—or at least trying to. And devils weren’t made for that. 

Devils, thought Hexus, are meant to make mischief and if you won’t make mischief happen, I will make mischief happen to you. 

But how ….?

Hexus right then and there hatched a plan—he would expose Gorvip once again for the benevolent shoe-shiner he was and even better than this—he would do it in Hell. He would get Gorvip, by the very good nature that had thrust him out, to come back only to be further chastised and condemned. Hexus smiled at his hellish plan as he stared down at the sleeping Merrida. 

****

The next morning, Gorvip awoke to the sound of hustle and bustle in the streets. He’d slept in an alley out back of a restaurant, and was pleased to find some sour grapes for breakfast. He sat, munching on his grapes, tossing one occasionally to He-ho, when a newspaper casually blew down the alley, resting at his feet. Gorvip had learned to read a little, and the little he could read on the blaring headline left him mortified. “Merrida Akeof Disappears during the Night.”

Gorvip had to find out more. He labored through the article, missing most of the words but getting the gist of it. There was apparently a note left at the site of her disappearance—so it had been a kidnapping. The note, it was reported, was written in a language entirely unintelligible, and signed, it said with a large scrawling HX, the letters overlapping almost entirely. 

This was just his luck. He evades hell, meets a nice girl, and she goes and gets herself kidnapped. Could it get any worse?

But then it did. During his work in Hell Gorvip had been supervised by a devil who was tall, thin, and had flowing black hair that Gorvip craved. And, he signed his name HX. Gorvip had gotten many complaint-filled notes from this supervisor, and knew the signature well. But could it really have been Hexus? 

Just then a man came thundering down the alley from the other end, pushing a large wheelbarrow. “Get out of the way!” he bellowed at the thoughtful devil, causing a brief interruption to his train of thought. Gorvip narrowly missed being squashed by the man and his load, and He-ho scurried off to the side as well. 

The man’s wheelbarrow was full of an assortment of old things—either on their way to be bought at some second-hand shop or just cheaply purchased. On the top was an old comic book. “Galactic Hero” was written in bold yellow letters on the cover. Below it a strong comic figure with a blue cape and a small dog stood proudly infront of a large control panel. Gorvip looked at He-ho—yes you could do, he thought. Then he looked at himself—quite the dismantled hero at best, but Gorvip was determined. I will save you Merrida if I have to go to hell and back. 

A Mere Distraction

The sun shining through the musty street window mixed with the particles of wood hovering in the air to make a delightful effect, unless one is trying to squint at the tiny holes in the leather with which Gorvip was working, or attempting to work, with his pudgy little fingers. Surely if he stabbed at enough, the needle must go through eventually. Eventually. Gorvip had been working on the sole of one single shoe for over an hour now, and was beginning to wonder if he would ever finish. But he hadn’t given up quite yet. 

The shoes were a lady’s walking shoes, ordered specially by some costumer Gorvip had yet to meet—apparently his boss liked to keep a good face to the company. And Gorvip’s was not a good face. Gorvip was thankful to the shoemaker for hiring him, and he’d been working there for two days now—the longest he’d held a job since he left the underworld—but he still wished he could at least see a smiling customer, or greet the delightful young lady who would be wearing his shoes. Gorvip tried to picture her—size 6, small but not too small (perhaps, he wishfully thought, she is short). And small feet are often equated with those small delicate hands that Gorvip at this particular moment imagined with some admiration and much jealousy. And what kind of dress might she wear with these shoes? Gorvip imagined it in his mind; as blue as the sky, and flowing like a river. He imagined how he might greet such a fine, young girl, and how he would politely bow, and she would charmingly curtsy in that dress of hers. As his imaginings of her flourished, he was unconscious of how much time he had spent daydreaming, and how little time he had spent working. 

At that moment Gorvip saw a shadow cross the front window—not wanting to appear an undutiful worker, Gorvip took up his work again with fearsome stabbings at the unforgiving leather until the needle fell broken to the floor. 

“Good evening, Mr. Akeof.” Gorvip heard his employer say from the display room, “I trust you are here for the shoes you ordered yesterday?”

“You are correct.” Whoever Mr. Akeof was, he had a surly sounding voice with no fragment of friendliness in it. 

“Just one moment, then,” 

The door to the room Gorvip sat in swung open, revealing the portly form of Kapif, the shoemaker. 

“The shoes, Gorvip, are they ready?” Kapif grunted. 

“Uh well, you see … extenuating circumstances … and …” Gorvip seemed to grasp at the air for any excuse “… my needle!” he said, bending down to pick it back up off the floor. 

Surprisingly speedy for his size, Kapif waddled up to Gorvip, and snatched the unfinished shoe from his hand. “What have you been doing all this morning!” he bellowed, “There’s no excuse for this!”

“Sir…um…” Gorvip began, but was quickly interrupted by his boss. 

“THERE’S NO EXCUSE FOR THIS!” Kapif repeated, exhaling such quantities of air that Gorvip’s few hairs bent back in terror, “Out! You’re fired!”

Rapidly, Gorvip stood up and ran for the door. The unfinished shoe sailed over his head as he exited. 

“He-Ho,” he called to his faithful hell hound. He waited a moment, and when He-Ho didn’t come, Gorvip turned in anger at the dumb dog. And that’s when he saw her—the girl, the girl the shoes were for. Just as he imagined her. She stood bent by the door, petting and spoiling the scraggly dog. Her flawless face looked up in surprise when she noticed Gorvip; Gorvip stood frozen, half in terror, half in love; the shoemaker continued slowly charging at his former employee. 

Another shoe flew past Gorvip’s unsuspecting hairs, and He-Ho, noticing the threat to his master, suddenly stood alert. 

“What’s going on?” the beautiful girl asked, as Gorvip dodged yet another shoe. 

“Well, I got fired, you see…” Gorvip began. And then Kapif , having finally made it to the front entrance, exited into the street. He-ho, recognizing that this barrel-like man was the cause of his master’s fear, ran for him, bearing his teeth and snarling almost as much as the real hell hounds Gorvip had worked with previously. The girl stood suddenly to her feet, shocked and scared. 

“Toe, He-ho! Toe!” Gorvip yelled, attempting to stop his loyal companion before he reached Kapif and tore him apart. The reason for this strange command was that according to Gorvip’s recollection, the proper command to stop a dog was homonymous with a part of the foot; he just couldn’t remember which part of the foot it was. In reality, the word he was looking for was ‘heel.’

“He-ho …” the girl muttered. He-ho, apparently more obedient to his new-found female friend, turned. At that moment Mr. Akeof came out of the shop to see what all the commotion was about. He looked first at Gorvip, then to the his daughter, then back to Gorvip, then to the dog, and finally to the shopkeeper. 

“You will understand, I presume, that we have decided to get our shoes elsewhere.” He gave a condescending glance at Gorvip, who was in the act of coaxing He-ho back to him. 

“Come on Merrida.” 

Merrida.

The girl glanced obediently at her father, but her attention was on He-ho. The shopkeeper was engaging her father in a short intercourse—no doubt hoping to get some gain from the partly finished shoes, a compromise of sorts. Merrida took the opportunity to move closer to Gorvip. 

“You’re not from around here are you?” she asked. 

“You could say that…” Gorvip replied, scratching the back of his head nervously, and staring down at the senseless stones on the street. 

“You’re dog’s name is He-ho?” Merrida inquired, “Why?”

“Yes… well, it’s quite a story really…” Gorvip replied, still awkwardly scratching his head, and trying to say anything but the truth. Would he have any chance with her if she knew he was really a devil? And that his dog companion’s name was really just short for hell hound? Would she still want to talk to him after that?

Fortunately, the conversation didn’t make it much farther beyond that. Mr. Akeof turned back to his daughter and said, “We’re leaving. Now.” 

Merrida scurried over to her father, and began walking off with him. Without looking at Kapif, Gorvip motioned to He-ho, and they began wandering the other way down the road. Kapif was left in the middle, fuming by his door. 

“Well, I guess I’ve got to find another job now,” Gorvip said. He-ho looked up at him; his eyes seemed to smile with hope. Gorvip scratched his friend’s head, “Thanks for trying to help me out back there.” Even with Merrida gone for now, he was glad to have He-ho around, who helped lessen his feeling of insignificance. Maybe dog’s weren’t just man’s best friend; maybe they were a devil’s best friend too. 

A Devil Unemployed

“You’re fired, Gorvip!” Another pan came sailing after him as Gorvip dashed for the door leading to the dirty streets of Bangladesh. I’m fired? How can it be! Gorvip thought to himself, turning a corner and entering an alleyway, I just started yesterday! 

First hell, then the bank, then the pet shop, and now the kitchens. And all in a week! What terrible luck he must have! 

“That foreign devil!” he heard the chef yell, somewhere down the road now, “We’re lucky he didn’t cut his own fingers off.” 

Gorvip found an old crate in the alleyway and sat down, staring at his awkward reflection in a small puddle in the cobblestones. For a devil, he looked more like a sugar plum fairy gone bad, his pointy ears drooping down like a banished house elf. Even his nose seemed to sag under the weight of his sadness. 

He’d traveled the universe in search of his purpose in life, looking for someone, anyone, who would recognize his virtues. All they seemed to see, though, were his faults, which stood out as much as his pointy hair. I didn’t choose to be a devil, he thought to himself. He was too good to be a devil, and much too bad at anything else. Being an unemployed devil—and an awkwardly ugly one at that—was awful lonely. He put his head in his trembling hands as sobs that had been pent up for years and years in his hideous face began to pour themselves out upon the dirty street. 

Having spent his tears, Gorvip heard a faint scratching and looked up to see a scrawny stray dog peeking out at him from behind a metal barrel that smelled of rusty iron and rotten chick peas. For a few moments, he and the dog just stared at each other, wondering what the other was thinking. Then, the dog crept closer, and closer towards the miserable devil, and nuzzled him on his leg. 

“What was that for?” Gorvip said, half to himself, and half to the dog, “You’re not supposed to like me. Nobody likes me.” Even so, he put his hand on the dog’s friendly head, and gave it a rub. The dog looked back up at him, and seemed to smile; the dog’s defiance surprised Gorvip, and reassured him. Maybe he wasn’t such a disappointment after all.