Refuge

by Edd

Satan came to supper last night. There’s nothing peculiar about that, or in his usual feeble stab at getting me and the missus to make a deal. Once we get past what he calls ‘the formalities’ he’s a pretty good guest. We take what we can get–ain’t many people around here we care to have to supper.

Philippa starts with the soup, rabbit with leeks. There’s only a hint of hare from the rabbit I shot last week, but it’s rich enough. Satan smacks his lips. “That’s fine, just fine. You added rosemary, didn’t you?”

“You know,” he says. “I couldn’t help noticing your herb garden is, well, let’s say small. I could furnish you with considerably more space. I could offer, oh, that patch over there.” He gestures out the window at Mount Buffalo-Runs-Over-Cliff silhouetted against the evening clouds.

We laugh it off as always. We’ve got enough growing space for the two, sometimes three, of us.

Over fried chicken and corn on the cob we dissect local politics, rightly guessing which ninety percent of the school board is in Satan’s pocket. He does surprise us by saying that Ferd Tucker down to the feed store is on the side of the angels. Ferd talks so all-fired religious we just take it for granted he’s going straight to Hell, do not pass Go.

Philippa brings out the cherry cobbler. The Devil tries to compliment her on it, but she tells him it’s from Winn-Dixie. We talk on about one thing and another over cigars on the porch, until he brings up the usual subject just as the last flicker of light winked out in the west.

“Join me,” he says. “I like ruling down under, but I’d rather take over up top.” He looks to the sky, but it’s not the first stars of the night he’s looking at. He’s looking at Heaven, torn six ways from Sunday.

Rebellions make refugees. God’s got plenty of angels and Satan’s got his, but there’s plenty more besides.
I shake my head. That’s all it takes.

Like I said, ‘the formalities’. Once we get past them he’s okay.

Satan spreads those beautiful wings of his. I spread my own to see him home.

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This is Edd’s 50th story for The Daily Cabal.

Small World

by David

So Jimmy, his mama want sugar to bake him a pancake, so she send him to the store with a dollar for a sack of sugar. But soon he come running back. He got no sugar.

“Mama,” he say, “ain’t no store. The street, she just end past Auntie Louise trailer.”

“Jimmy, go ask Auntie if she have sugar,” his Mama say.

Soon Jimmy come running back, with a cupful of molasses. “Auntie out of sugar,” he say, “she send molasses.”

So Mama stir up the molasses, flour, and she see she have no egg.

“Run Jimmy, fetch me an egg from the chicken house, so I can make you a pancake.”

Jimmy, he run out the back door, but he come right back. “Chicken house gone,” he say, “but they was one egg in the grass,” and he give it to her.

Mama crack the egg into the bowl and she stir up the batter. She pour the batter in the skillet. This will be one fine pancake! But when she flip the pancake, it land on the floor and roll out the door.

“Jimmy,” Mama shouts, “fetch me that pancake!” He run out the door and down the road.

The pancake roll past the mimosa tree and its pink fans hanging down, past Auntie Louise trailer and her lilies, over the plank bridge, and Jimmy run after. When he get to the other side of the bridge the store be gone, but the pancake keep rolling and Jimmy keep running. He running by the cow pasture (the cow, she chewing her cud), and he see his house just there beside the road in front of him, chicken on roof. The pancake keep rolling past house and mimosa tree, and Jimmy, he run faster, for to catch it. Bridge, cow (still chewing), house (Mama in the doorway), tree, cow, house (Mama shouting), tree. Pancake keep rolling and Jimmy keep running. The road, she keep ashrinkin’, and pretty soon it be just Jimmy and the pancake, the road rolling up behind his heels and he catch the pancake just before everything be gone. Jimmy take a big bite. It the best pancake he ever have.

The end