Mrs. Faust

If the weather had not been so hot and muggy that day, aggravating Carlotta's congested sinuses, the whole thing might never have happened. Or if the twins had not been teething. Or if the washing machine had not broken down for the third time in a month. Or if Angelo had not reminded her of the Angelo she had a crush on in her high school days.

The day of his arrival began uneventfully enough for a household with six children who spilled anything that could be spilled and generated a pile of dirty clothes that doubled in size every four hours. After her washing machine's irrevocably final CLUNK, Carlotta lugged her mountains of laundry into the uninsulated summer kitchen, along with her three youngest children, the play pen, bottles, snacks, toys, baby wipes, tissues, and extra-strength paper towels. In the pre-electricity era, Granny Fostina had done her cooking and canning there during the sweltering summer days so that the living area would not become unbearable. The old wood stove still remained, as did Granny's washing machine with its broken foot pedal and hand-operated wringer, and her "new-fangled" electric stove which had only two burners still working. Carlotta dutifully reminded herself to be grateful for small mercies. At least she didn't have to boil diapers on the wood stove, like Granny Fostina did.

The twins, wearing the last two clean diapers, were in the play pen, taking turns napping and yowling. Tony, her fourteen-month-old, was exploring the junk-ridden room, complicating the perilous operation of transferring the steaming diapers to the wash tub, the rinse tub, and finally to the clothes line that stretched endlessly from the back porch. Her oldest, Edward Charles Junior, was in the fields with his father. Her eight-year-old daughter, who might have been of some assistance, had mysteriously disappeared. The six-year-old, whom she had intended to be the youngest, was picking wild flowers with a friend. Carlotta had removed her bra and was giving serious consideration to stripping herself naked and shaving her head.

"Tony -- stay away from the stove!" She swept the giggling toddler into her arms and propped him on her hip, looking vainly for a safe place to put him down. Escape artistry was his specialty. She seated him beside his toys and tried to interest him in his shape sorter; then went back to stirring the boiling diapers with an old broomstick. Tony banged the shape sorter against the bars of the play pen and heaved it over the top, hitting the sleeping twin. All three children began to scream.

"Stop it!" Carlotta yelled in her barn voice. "STOP IT! Can't you see I've had enough?"

Tears rolling down her cheeks, Carlotta plunged her reddened hands into the washtub and started scrubbing furiously. "Damn it all! I should have listened to Mother. Never marry a man with twins in his family, she said. But I knew better. It's scientifically proven that it's all on the woman's side, I told her, and now look what happened! Not only does Eddie give me twins, but he's never around to fix the stupid appliances when they break down. He has to do custom work on the side with so many mouths to feed, he tells me. Acts like I did it all by myself. I'd sell my soul for a little help around here!"

She was so involved with her tirade that she did not notice that all three children had stopped screaming. When a polite voice at her elbow said "Good afternoon", she dropped the diaper with a squeal and jumped back.

The owner of the voice was an outstandingly good-looking male in a black three-piece suit. He was holding an elegant black attaché case with the initials "B.E." on it.

Carlotta fished for her abandoned diaper, wrung it out, and put it in the rinse tub. "Whatever you're selling, I can't afford it."

"Actually, Mrs. Fostina, I was hoping that you would sell me something."

"How do you know my name?" she asked, her skin prickling.

"Oh -- I make it my business to know everyone's name -- Carlotta." His voice dropped to a sultry murmur. That's when she noticed that he looked just like Angelo in high school, who had broken her heart just before he was arrested for grand larceny, auto.

She stared at the familiar stranger. "Who are you?"

"I am known by many names, but you may call me Angelo."

"Angelo? As in the Angelo I knew in high school?"

"Regretfully, no. He is not yet one of us. But I took the liberty of borrowing some of his phusical characteristics."

Carlotta nodded blankly. She had no idea what he was talking about.

"I'm the C.E.O. of Be-el-ze-bub Enterprises," Angelo said. "I was passing by and just happened to hear that you might be in the market for ... a trade. An opportunity of a lifetime."

Be-el-ze-bub? The devil? Could excessive sinus pressure cause hallucinations? Perhaps she should phone a crisis line. But not right away. Angelo's eyes were mahogany pools, arousing longings she had not experienced for years.

"We have a special this week," Angelo continued. "I am prepared to offer you whatever your heart desires in exchange for your soul. Three wishes, with one bonus wish. But you must act immediately. This is a limited-time offer."

Angelo opened his case and pulled out a piece of parchment with gothic lettering. It was a contract with her name on it. "What do you say?"

"How about a sample?" Carlotta said, stalling for time. "A free, no-obligation sample?" Perhaps this was not a hallucination after all, but a dream. And yet, the sweat dripping down her back and the miasma of boiling diapers were not the kind of stuff her dreams were usually made of.

Angelo frowned. "Unusual. But I am prepared to let you use that bonus wish now."

"All right," Carlotta said. "I wish all the diapers on the line were on this table, dried and folded neatly." It was not a spectacular wish, but she was intent on being specific. Lack of attention to detail usually brought disastrous results in the folk tales she had read.

"Done," Angelo said. He picked up the empty laundry basket and stepped onto the back porch, leaving the attaché case and the contract on the table.

Carlotta wiped her hands on her shorts and tried to open the attaché case. Angelo could be a salesman with an unusual strategy. Or a harmless nut. Or something more sinister. Now that she was out of range of his melting brown eyes, she was just a little worried.

She peeked out the door. Angelo was removing the fluttering white squares from the clothesline, folding each one neatly before putting it in the basket. Not only did he look completely harmless, but he was helping her in her hour of need. He had done nothing to justify her snooping through his personal papers.

She picked up Tony, who had fallen asleep in a pile of dirty laundry, and carried him to his bed, checking every window she passed. There was no sign of the visitor's car. He must have hitched a ride from town. Just as well: the presence of a strange vehicle in the yard while her husband was away could stir up some nasty gossip, though anyone with half a brain would realize that a woman with six children and a broken washing machine had no energy for legitimate sex, let alone adultery.

Carlotta was rinsing diapers and putting them through the wringer of Granny's washing machine when Angelo returned, laundry basket piled high.

"There you are," he said, depositing his burden on the table. "Have you had a chance to look over the contract?"

"That wasn't a wish! You just went out and got the diapers. I could have done that myself!"

Angelo raised one eyebrow. "I provided what you wished for."

"I was expecting something more spectacular."

"Oh -- like materializing in a puff of sulphurous smoke? Bad publicity. We have never done business like that."

"Then how am I supposed to know if you can give me my other wishes?"

"What do you have to lose? It's a contract. If we don't deliver, it's null and void. Says right here." He pointed with his finger.

She picked up a pair of clean diapers. "I'd better change the twins."

While she wrestled with the squirming infants, Angelo examined the old washer curiously. "I haven't seen one of these outside a museum for years." He picked a diaper out of the rinse tub, slipped the end between the rollers, and turned the handle. "Ugh! Hard work!"

"But I bet when Eddie's grandmother got it, she thought it was wonderful," Carlotta said. This had to be a dream. Who ever heard of the devil wringing diapers?

"Do we have a deal?" he asked.

"Summarize it for me."

"It's quite simple, actually. As soon as you sign, you get three wishes. Nothing altruistic, of course, like world peace. That would be against company policy. But there must be lots of things you want for yourself."

"And when I die, you get my soul?"

"Yes. But you can wish for long life, and give yourself ample time to enjoy your other wishes."

"Even eternal life?"

"That's not possible in the physical realm. Everything must decay, you know."

"This is a legal, binding contract?"

"Yes."

"What about witnesses?"

"Witnesses? Nobody has ever asked for witnesses before. I suppose I could summon up a couple of my helpers..."

"I want somebody from the other side. I want you to be completely bound by your contract." Maybe, just maybe, Angelo was who he said he was. In that case, she had an unprecedented opportunity to strike a liberating blow for mankind.

Angelo looked extremely uncomfortable. "The celestials don't owe me any favours. But I suppose, if you prayed..."

Praying for help in making a pact with the devil did not strike Carlotta as particularly consistent. "Never mind," she said. "I suppose I'll just have to trust you."

"All you have to do is fill in the three wishes and sign -- that's it." He smiled at her crookedly. Her heart did a little dance at the thought of the other Angelo.

"He's out of jail," Angelo said. "He went into the insurance business, and is doing very well."

"Is he married?"

"He was. But not for long. He's too busy for relationships."

"So is Eddie," she said. But she knew that she was much, much better off with Eddie.

Angelo pulled an old kitchen chair over to the table. He held out a ball point pen.

"What? No quill? No blood?"

"We haven't done that for centuries."

The contract was so full of legal jargon that it was almost a foreign language. After struggling to decipher the first paragraph, Carlotta gave up trying to make sense of it, and began composing her wishes.

1. I wish we had enough money (but it has to be honest money) so that Eddie can stay home with us.

Carlotta chewed the pen. Should she wish for no more children? There seemed to be something wicked about a wish like that. Although it was illogical to worry about morality when she was making a pact with the devil, she still wanted to her wishes to count for good.

2. I wish Eddie's mother liked me.

She thought it over and stroked it out. Best to leave well enough alone. If Mrs. Fostina Senior took a liking to her, her visits might become even more frequent.

2. I wish we had a new pick-up truck (but it has to be acquired in a legal and moral way).

The first two wishes didn't matter much anyway. What was important was the third one.

3. I wish Satan (the head honcho of hell) would stay here in my summer kitchen forever to wash my diapers and do any other work I assign him.

She signed her name. "There!" She pushed the document in Angelo's direction. He beamed as he picked up the pen and clipped it into his vest pocket. But the smile faded when he read what she had written.

"You can't do this!"

"Well, if I can't, then you will just disappear, the contract will be null and void, and I'll wake up and wonder why I had such a weird dream."

With precise, deliberate movements, Angelo opened his attaché case and slipped the contract into a file folder. He removed his jacket and vest, hung them carefully on a chair, and rolled up his sleeves.

"Where would you like me to start?"

                                         * *  *

When Eddie came home that evening, he was driving a new truck. "Remember that lottery ticket you made me buy for the hospital fund? My number came up," he said and kissed Carlotta repeatedly.

He nodded absent-mindedly when she told him that she had padlocked the summer kitchen to keep Tony from getting hurt. If he thought it odd that she wore the key on a string around her neck, he didn't mention it. He was intent on getting his machinery ready for harvest. One slow afternoon, while he was waiting for parts, he puttered around the house and managed to get the washing machine running again.

Carlotta watched her husband out of the corner of her eye, wondering how long it would take him to realize there was something odd going on. It would be impossible to explain the presence of a strange man in the summer kitchen.

Angelo was not a dream or a hallucination. The work he did every day was incontrovertibly tangible. The potatoes were always peeled in time, the mending was caught up, and she no longer had to worry about clean diapers.

Carlotta used her new-found spare time to scan the daily newspaper. Disasters continued unabated, and the crime rate seemed about the same. The news on television was as depressing as ever. On the local scene, Dr. Stanforth was arrested for tax evasion, and Freddy Brecht continued to drive drunk and beat his wife. Everywhere, it was business as usual. Could it be that the creature in the summer kitchen was not the real devil after all? Or was it possible that he could be in more than one place at once, like Santa Claus? Either way, she had made a serious error. Sacrificing her immortal self to give mankind a break from the influence of evil was a noble enterprise: an opportunity to make her life count for more than washing diapers. Selling her soul for a pick-up truck and laundry service was another matter entirely.

The harvest was better than expected. Eddie paid off his loans, bought a new washer and dryer, and went about his work whistling. "No more custom work. I can finally get something done around here. Let's move the junk out of the summer kitchen and build an extra bedroom."

"How about the play room you were going to make in the basement?" Carlotta asked hastily. "That would really make life easier for me in the winter, without kids underfoot all the time."

Eddie spent October building the basement room. The children enjoyed watching their father and doing what they could to help, leaving Carlotta free to visit the summer kitchen.

"You know, it's getting cold in here," Angelo complained one chilly morning. Carlotta had brought him a pair of Eddie's old coveralls to wear over his business attire, but they were not enough to keep him comfortable.

"I suppose you're used to a warmer atmosphere," she said.

"Look -- can't we re-negotiate?" Angelo pleaded with his puppy-dog eyes.

Carlotta scratched the back of her neck. "I have a question. Are you capable of an honest answer?"

"If I say yes, will you believe me?"

She sighed. "Probably not." If only she had thought things through before signing the contract! It is never wise to do business while boiling diapers on a hot summer day with a splitting headache.

"What's your question?" Angelo asked.

"How come nothing has changed?"

"What do you mean?"

"I wanted you out of the way so you couldn't tempt anybody. I thought the world would become a utopia -- the kingdom of God, like they say in the Bible. But I don't notice any difference."

Angelo laughed so hard that he had trouble speaking. "You thought -- you thought that I am responsible for all the evil choices humans make?"

"That's what I was taught in catechism," she said, a trifle defensively. She didn't want Angelo to think that she was simple-minded.

"Didn't they teach you about free will as well? My dear -- I admit we help things along from time to time, but the real source of evil springs from your kind. Your greed, your stupidity, your short-sightedness, and your eagerness to believe anything that suits your fancy, whether it makes sense or not."

Carlotta bit her lip. She was in over her head, and she knew it. If only there were someone she could confide in!

She locked up the summer kitchen, told Eddie that she was running into town for some thread, and drove to the church. Getting a key from the rectory required some minor deception, but this was something that could not be dealt with at home. Say all you want about God being present in the bar, in the bathroom, or on the golf course; a momentous moment like this required a sanctified locale. For a moment, she was on the verge of asking the housekeeper if Father Ernest could possibly take time from his sermon-composition to hear her confession; but then she remembered how he had over-reacted when Mrs. Taillefer told him about the angel who had come to defend her when she heard strange noises in the attic.

Carlotta prayed an entire rosary, wondering how she could possibly explain her foolishness to God. She had walked into Angelo's trap with both eyes open. Without some serious and direct divine intervention, she would have all eternity to contemplate the consequences.

She tapped her chest three times. "Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Father, I am so sorry. I thought I could accomplish something that You never managed. So far, that is," she added, so as not to offend His omnipotence. "I never faced up to the fact that we are the ones who are making such a mess. I honestly believed it was Satan."

She looked up, yearning for even the slightest indication that God was listening. But everything was as before.

"Father -- I want to release Angelo. I was overheated and desperate when I made that bargain, and I had no idea what I was getting into."

Again, she looked around hopefully.

"I guess You're not going to give me a sign," she said. "So I'll just have to do what I think is best."

"I will release you from our contract," she told Angelo when she got home, "provided you release me."

Angelo beamed. "My dear! You'll never regret this!" He started to wriggle out of the coveralls.

"We can burn the contract in the wood stove," Carlotta said.

A tiny furrow appeared between Angelo's eyebrows. "That isn't necessary. Your soul was never yours to sign away."

"Burn it -- now!" she insisted, even though she had a strong hunch that the Father of Lies was telling the truth.

After several assaults with the barbecue lighter, the contract caught fire, but refused to burn. Sulphurous smoke filled the room.
"I believe the stove pipe is blocked," Angelo said. "Perhaps a bird's nest."

Carlotta fished the smoldering document out of the stove and dropped it onto the table. "Please, God," she implored, "get rid of this thing!"

A bolt of lightning shattered the roof and split the table in two. When the chips stopped flying, there was no sign of the contract.

"Wow," Angelo said. "He must like you a lot."

"God loves everyone," Carlotta said sanctimoniously. But she was grinning underneath.

"Well, I guess this is good-bye," Angelo said. He held out his hand. "Thank you for lending me your hand lotion."

She hesitated, then gave him a peck on the cheek. She could not help having a soft spot for him, just as she had for the other Angelo in high school.

He took her hand and kissed the back of it formally. "I would have enjoyed having you with us. It's not that bad, you know. We've been victimized by adverse publicity."

"I don't intend to find out," Carlotta said, pressing her knees together to stop them from shaking.

Angelo dematerialized with a flourish. Not a moment too soon: Eddie was already bursting into the room.

"Was that lightning?" he asked breathlessly. "It was awfully close."

"Yes. Look -- it came right through the roof."

Eddie swept her into his arms. "Thank God you're all right!"

"Yes," Carlotta said, letting herself melt against him. "Thank God."