Mother Faces the Shaitan
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“Der Teufel ist ein saurer Geist. – The devil is a sour spirit.”
Martin Luther
“If I can just get my hands on him, I’ll hit him on the head with my frying pan!” Mother exclaimed, bustling into the kitchen.
“What happened this time?” Father asked, following her in. Gordon put down his book to give his attention to Mother’s answer.
“Ah, it’s that Shaitan again!” she growled, putting down her shopping bag. “Arlene and Christoph are leaving the Community because someone made a comment about Arlene’s cooking! It is foolish. That Shaitan is really working overtime!”
Mother had a point. Over the last years the Community had gone from a thoughtful, helpful, unified group, to a factious, self-interested bunch of individualists. Their effectiveness in the town at large was no longer what it was. Several of the newer members had proclaimed that their methods were better and had gone off to start their own groups that were in competition with the Community. Twisted truths, false reports and nasty rumors abounded and the turnover of those who came from the Outside to help the Community was greater than ever.
Gordon’s parents were some of the oldest members of this Community and they had witnessed the early unity that was now weakened. Mother and Father were always clear that the Shaitan was behind it, but what exactly this entity was, Gordon had yet to figure out. Was it a person who spread lies and rumors, or was it some kind of a spirit being that whispered in the ears of the Members? Either way, Mother was often fed up with its activities and so she threatened it with her pan, an instrument she was very skilled at using both on and off the stove.
Mother didn’t have the look of a heroine. While attractive, she was short and growing older, her once-black, then-gray hair now henna-colored. Her watery hazel eyes could be soft and laughing behind her glasses, but now they were strong and hard as she waxed eloquent over the vile tricks the Shaitan was playing on her beloved Community.
Gordon let her talk. There was nothing they could do anyway. No one knew where the Shaitan lived, or where it appeared from when it did its insidious work.
Father said they could always pray, but Gordon wondered how much that helped. At night he sometimes felt the cloying nearness of something utterly evil and he would pull his covers up over his head and whisper out prayers to the Savior, but they didn’t seem to help. Then there were times when he had to deal with the Authorities and their demands, or he had to sift the truths he told his local friends and his stomach would compress. He did not know what to do, and despite his prayers, his stomach always seemed to get worse.
Then it happened. Two days after this latest interchange Gordon, his brother, Leon, and Mother were at home for lunch when his younger brother said the fateful words.
“Mourad told me he knows where the Shaitan lives.” Leon’s big blue eyes sparkled.
“Really?” Mother said in that light tone that said she was listening, but didn’t quite believe what her son was saying.
“Yeah, they say he lives down at the old castle by the river!” The boy began gesturing. “It’s a real creepy place. Mourad went down there and he saw it.”
“Mourad saw the Shaitain?” Gordon scoffed. “Right!”
“He did, he did!” Leon replied, excited. “It was like a man and then it turned into a big black thing and went into the castle.”
“Is it now?” Mother asked and her tone was dead serious. Gordon looked up to find her lined face set, a small smile just tugging at the edges of her lips. A chill ran down his back.
“Shall we visit it, Gordon?” she asked, fixing him with her sharp eyes. He looked back at her, chills running down his spine. Was she serious? Oh, yes, she was serious and that scared him. Gordon was a strapping enough fellow to stand between his frail mother and any human who might harm her, but taking on the Shaitan? No human was brave enough to do that! But it wouldn’t be right for Mother to go alone. Father would have gone with her and the two of them together might have a chance, but he was away Outside and would not be back for a day or two.
“All right,” he muttered, his bowels squirming as if they’d been turned into a dozen snakes.
“Good,” Mother exclaimed and grabbed her heavy cast-iron skillet. “Let’s finish eating and then we’ll go.”
That was easier said than done. Being the cautious, thoughtful person that she was, Mother insisted on packing a satchel with some staples, nice little snacks, two water bottles, and useful things like a blanket and some matches. Lastly, she added her heavy cast-iron skillet to the mix and Gordon shouldered the bag.
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