I used to be Lucifer, but now I'm Lux. The same thing. After all, I'm androgynous. But that doesn't tell the whole story: I am trinus. A threesome. I went to Dr. Mengele and he confirmed it.
I am with demon.
Pol Pot puts his hand on my belly. "When's the due date?" he asks.
"There are no dates here, silly man," I reply. "But I carry my little evil baby, and it's a good thing."
"Don't be so sure," Adolf chimes in.
"Which? Evil baby or good thing."
"Both," he answers, then adds, "you think you can mold 'em and shape 'em, influence how they turn out, but the joke's on you."
"That's right," Idi Amin chuckles. Bonnie and Clyde wave from afar. I wave back. I like the attention.
Jeffrey Dahmer looks at my baby bump. "You gonna eat that?" he asks. I am offended, so I hit the trap door which sends him tumbling to the ninth circle. Maybe his roommate will try to kill him again. Vlad the Impaler stops in front of me and grins.
"Two for the price of one," he says. "Why didn't I think of this?" I smite him. Death of the already dead--what is called oblivion.
"It's a frickin' miracle, that's what it is," says Jim Jones bombastically, holding a Bible that has only blank pages.
"Right," agrees Robespierre.
"A miracle," I muse to myself. "Can there be such a thing here?"
"Nixon's not here," says Qusay...and Uday finishes, "that's a miracle!" I am conflicted. I was only partially understanding when I said trinus. Motherhood is a whole other level.
"You're probably all wondering why I called you all here," I announce to the complete census, a swath of races, times, and characters.
"I'm wondering why I'm here at all," Mao answers from the back. Ferdinand shushes him while Isabella glares.
"What's up?" shouts Atta.
"Yea," adds Kaczynski. "Yea," adds Kim Jung-il. And, likewise, from J. Edgar, Benito, Ivan, and Attila.
"What's the buzz? Tell us what's a'happenin'," Judas demands.
"I have changed. The way I am and the way I look at things. A child is borne."
"Not yet," says Fidel.
"Borne, not born," chides the Shah.
"Huh?" Fidel is confused.
"You're gonna let horns pass through your birth canal?" asks Jack the R.
"Oh," groans Lizzie, "better go C-section."
"Motherhood. Here!" I shout to everyone triumphantly.
"And that means what to us?" asks Muammar. "By the way, al-Assad here yet?"
"Means what? To you? What it means is that I've changed. My thinking's changed." I look through the fourth wall. "Hell is hereby canceled. No more Hell. Go. Find yourself someplace else." There's a hush. Henry releases a nervous laugh.
"Well, that's not fair," finally yells Nero, "I've been here for thousands of years--Bin Laden, here, only a few years, and now you say it's cancelled?"
"There are no dates here, silly man," says Pol Pot obsequiously for my benefit.
"I'm with Nero," hollers Stalin. "Not fair." A shoe flies at me from the crowd. It misses.
"Imelda," I warn her severely, "you face a mother's wrath--worse than the wrath of God, I assure you." The other shoe flies over my shoulder. I respond: you won't be seeing her anymore, that's for sure.
"Let her speak," demands Susan Atkins. "I wanna hear about Hell being canceled."
"Yea," says McVeigh. "It all sounds too good to be true. What's the catch?"
I rub my belly affectionately.
"This," I indicate my unborn, "changes everything. I love my baby. Motherhood. Here. Look at me! I am the Mother, the Daughter, and the Holy Maternity! I am the Puerperal Trinity!" I have a certain glow about me. "I love my baby, no matter what. No matter what happens, the misdeeds, the mistakes, the pratfalls, the crimes--all is forgiven." I sweep the mute audience for affect, and say, "That's what a good parent does."
The silence is broken. "You're not our parent," Khomeini cries.
"No," I answer, "but someone is. The advice stands. Go now. Go find a better place."