Azazel

"And Azazel made known to men the metals of the earth and the art of working them, and bracelets, and ornaments, and the use of antimony, and the beautifying of the eyelids, and all kinds of costly stones, and all colouring tinctures. And there arose much godlessness, and they committed fornication, and they were led astray, and became corrupt in all their ways. And they became pregnant, and they bare great giants, whose height was three thousand ells."

"Then said the Most High, the Holy and the Great One spake to Raphael: 'Bind Zazel hand and foot, and cast him into the darkness: and make an opening in the desert, which is in Dudael, and cast him therein. And place upon him rough and jagged rocks, and cover him with darkness, and let him abide there for ever, and cover his face that he may not see the light. And on the day of great judgment he shall be cast into the fire.'"

True darkness is not pitch black. It's a gray midway between black and white. There are a thousand little dots running around and specks of color flashing around. Blackness only appears to the eye in contrast to a bright spot. In the absence of any contrast, the eye loses it, randomly trying to grasp at any figure to see a shape in the darkness but only fooling itself by its own random visual noise. Lying in bed, he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed. There was absolutely no difference. "Strange!" he thought. He tried to stare deeper into the darkness to see if he could see anything in his little room. He couldn't. He tried to recognize the true darkness, but too many specks were flashing around.

He found it strange to get used to it. Sitting in his bed, he looked around the room. He knew from the afternoon when he had moved in what he should expect: a desk, a chair, a little commode, and a small carpet. He peered into the space but couldn't see anything. He tried to sense them there. He tried to imagine where they were. However, the flashing specs of color might as well allow him to get lost in the fantasy of seeing dragons and open glens.

He had never been in true darkness. There had always been a little shine under the door or glare from the digits of an alarm clock. He slipped out of bed onto his feet. The stone floor was cold - like from a sleep of a thousand years. His nervous system was jumpy, expecting to bump into the chair. He reached out with his arm into the void of darkness but missed the chair. He almost tumbled. Jumpy to bump into something and jumpy to miss a grip on something for stability. He started crouching with his knees bent low to have a better stance as he fingered his way into the room. He didn't know why but he found his glasses on the desk to put them on.

Then the light in his room shot on in a flash. It stood stable and strong. It was 8 AM. His eyes shut in pain of overpowering light. He rubbed his eyes to get the pain to subside. Even with his fists over his eyes, bright orange was visible. The light made him see his own blood as the eyelids were lit up. Then the pain subsided. His eyes adjusted. He saw the open door to his room. The hallway was outside with all the other rooms of the monks.

Seeing the opening of the door, the thickness of the wall still fascinated him. He had to touch it to feel it. The wall was a foot thick, solid stone. He had never seen a building built that strong. There wasn't a single window in the monastery. From the outside, it looked like a solid rectangular shape. Light was very dangerous to the rare scriptures in this building. Some of the scriptures were so many millennia old that a single flash of light could turn them into dust. When he entered the monastery, he had to hand over all electronics and anything that could produce light. Ostensibly, the thick walls were meant to block all light, but he couldn't help wonder if the true purpose was not to keep something inside from coming outside. There was a feel about the fortification of everything that it wasn't really about light coming in but what was inside from coming out.

When he had made his graduate degree in theology, he had written a paper about the Book of Enoch rather by chance. It had been one of the topics the professor had offered that nobody had wanted. Nobody had heard of it. The Catholic Church carefully picked and modified the scriptures it included in the bible. The scriptures the Catholic Church had deemed too dangerous were locked away. These were called non-canonical scriptures. One of them was the Book of Enoch. It described the life and work of a watcher (a kind of fallen angel) called Azazel. He shared forbidden knowledge with humanity and corrupted the world.

That paper got him the attention of the archbishop, who assigned him to study Azazel full-time. Here at the Mount (a monastery in rural France), he had full access to the original scriptures. He got to examine the different versions of the Book of Enoch. He got to inspect the actual parchment that it was written on for secret clues. A lot of his work was done in a dark chamber, where he felt with his hands and took photos with UV and infrared cameras that could take a photo in a thousandth of a second.

He was still getting used to the particular friar's frock of the Mount. For his lower half, he had a long rectangular, brown fabric with even longer strings at the ends. He'd wrap the fabric around his hips, letting it drape down to the feet. Then, he'd wrap the strings around his belly a couple of times and tie them together. For the top, he had what appeared like a very loose long-sleeve t-shirt that mostly draped and hung down his body. He had a little satchel over his hips for his wallet, keys, and glasses case.

Like that he went into the hallway, where other monks appeared from their rooms and walked down towards the prayer chamber. Gerald, the big-bellied lead monk, hugged him on site. There was a warm camaraderie among the monks as they all struggled together with temptation and the ambiguity of understanding His will. The hug was warm. There was a bit of holding to transmit that Gerald was genuinely happy to have him here.

The prayer chamber had comfortable modern chairs made from wood with upholstery and fake leather. Even though the decorations were auster, all the necessary creature comforts were provided. There was a pitcher with water and glasses. The room temperature was set comfortably. The monks struggling with blood sugar issues had cookies on a table. The meeting was run very professionally. It started on time. The agenda was announced everyone got to read one verse from the Book of Wisdom From Solomon. Facilities announcements finished the prayer meeting.

The one thing that was a little odd to him was a monk standing up at the very end. Olivier was his name. All the monks wore their satchel on the left to make it easy for the right hand to reach for it except for the left-handed monks. Olivier was right-handed and had his satchel on the right. On his left hip was a black taser with silver metal prongs exposed. Olivier introduced him as the lead psychiatrist. He encouraged the assembly to seek counsel frequently. Some of the non-canonical texts had a corrupting influence or traumatizing effect, vivid imagery of the terrible end of times. But why did he and his colleagues need a taser to have a counseling conversation?

While he still looked around the room to observe the monks getting up and choosing the peers whom they wanted to talk to, Gerald came up to him from behind. He could feel warm hands laying down on his shoulders. He instantly felt relaxed by the big soft touch, yet quickly turned his head around to see the big smiling face. The atmosphere of warm congeniality was palpable.

"Come with me, brother! I'll give you the tour," invited Gerald with an injection of energy that wanted to sweep him off his chair.

They walked down a hallway. The hallways all looked the same. There were no adornments. The floor, walls, and ceilings were made from the same gray granite slab that had been polished to a near-ice-hockey-rink smoothness. The lack of decorations made it easier to examine for holes in the walls or any devices that might give off light even if it was the invisible infrared radiation of an electric wire. The overhead lighting was long rectangular boxes. The bulb inside was designed to have no remedial light. However, the box also had a sliding cover that would slide shut after hours to make sure that any accidental light seepage was contained.

The cafeteria was a rustic affair of big, sturdy wooden tables with eight chairs around them. Monks chose seating according to their friends. Gerald chose a table with already six monks. They each had a plastic plate with a small piece of meat, mashed potatoes drenched in a mushroom sauce, and a big heap of braised red cabbage. Not long after, two nuns appeared at the table to give Gerald and him a plate as well. The nuns seemed to provide all the labor like cooking and cleaning so that the monks could focus on scholastic research. None of the nuns were seated. There was a clear division of importance by gender. Suddenly the congeniality made sense. People here identified by certain in-groups that had different social ranking. Nobody gave a mind to the nuns, not even a thank you for the food.

"This here is Azidor. He arrived yesterday. He'll be taking over the research on Azazel," introduced Gerald.

"Oh, la la! That research post has been empty for a long time. You are going to have to remove a thick layer of dust!" the lanky monk with the limp, black hair laughed. He looked like a spear soldier who had been standing in the rain for six hours. He gave the sense that he had stopped his scholastic quest a long time ago and was merely biding his time by joking around, not knowing what else to do. He oozed an impression like he was prone to mischief out of pure boredom.

"Try to at least make a good impression on his first day," Gerald warmly chided Benoit.

At the end of dinner, the nuns silently collected the dirty dishes. Gerald rose. Azidor got the signal and followed Gerald. They walked down the stairs to the research area. The first big room was the library of general texts. The stacks contained popular books on faith and philosophical topics. Azidor randomly grabbed one from a desk: "Why monks can't marry". The reading seemed for entertainment. A circular path around the stacks was marked on the floor with finely crushed stones, providing a walking path for meditating on the meaning of the reading. There wasn't a single monk in the library because it was work time.

Gerald walked on and pulled a keycard on a lanyard out from under his clothes. He slipped the card against a red reader. They entered into another corridor. They walked past open doors that yielded a glimpse at rooms with study desks and lamps. Monks were hunched over opened books. The books here were inside of glass closets that were locked.

"Very rare books!" Gerald pointed out with admiration. "Everything in here are non-canonical scriptures. For one reason or another, the church deems the teaching inconsistent with doctrine or of questionable origin."

They walked to the very end of the corridor. Another door, this time with a blue badge reader temporarily bared their advance until Gerald swiped his badge. They entered a room with a metal detector. The alarm went off when Azidor stepped through. Gerald pointed Azidor to place his satchel into a cubby.

"This is a reminder that you don't bring anything in accidentally," explained Gerald, making the triggered alarm appear like a non-issue. "From here on, there won't be any more light. This is a light lock. Before we can open the next door, we have to turn off the light and lock the last door. Stay here. I'll come and get you by the hand."

The light turned off. Azidor heard a click behind him as the door was locked. Then, he felt Gerald's warm hand grasping his left hand. A tug on his hand pulled Azidor forward. At first, he had involuntary twitches, believing himself to run into invisible things hanging low or obstacles o the floor. It was difficult to trust Gerald and that they path ahead was clear. He could hear clicks around him of monks taking photos with machines in the darkness and cabinets being opened and closed.

"Feel this!" said Gerald.

Azidor felt cold, smooth glass. He ran his fingers to the edge to find the metal framing. There was a sturdy look in the front. As the mental image of the enclosure appeared in front of his mind's eye as the fingers collected more information, it looked like an ordinary cube-shaped enclosure.

"The items in here are from the Nag Hammadi library," explained Gerald.

Azidor nodded with reverence at the valuable archeological find in 1945 of early Christian scriptures. But Gerald already pulled him along deeper into the dark. After they stopped, Gerald guided Azidor's hand to feel for a door and card reader. The blackness was still intimidating. Azidor didn't know what was around him. He constantly felt like something was intruding onto him any moment. The constant sound of footsteps and manipulations of objects from dozens of monks around him made it hard to pick out any individual sound.

"This is you. Only your keycard opens the next door. Check out your space. Don't open yet any of the cabinets. We have to explain to you what to expect in them and how to handle it without damaging it. This is going to be your world. Step in and make yourself familiar. When you are done, follow this railing to the exit," explained Gerald.

Azidor shook Gerald's hand to thank him and then pulled his own lanyard with the keycard out. He swiped his card. He heard a click. He felt along the door to find the handle. He stepped in. The door was stubborn to close. He had to tug hard on it, but it eventually chirped to let him know that it was light-tight shut.

Being on his own, he had no clue to to expect. He waved his hands wide, then remembering that a stool could knock him in the chin, he waved low as well. Little by little, he appraised cabinets all around the walls of the room. A desk was in the center with a single chair. A big metal globe was in the center. This was the camera to take snapshots of the documents in here. He felt along the side to find the USB slot where he would later be able to insert a memory stick.

Strangely, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone else was in the room. It was like he was being watched. Sometimes, he thought he could hear a subtle breath, but when he stopped breathing for as long as he could hold his breath, there wasn't a sound. Then in paranoia, he lunged forward like a sword fighter to get by surprise whoever was standing there. Nothing! His hands stabbed the empty air. He couldn't help but repeat his antics three times. The third time, he thought he heard a footstep like somebody jumping out of the way. He told himself that his paranoia of expecting the demonic texts being guarded by a demon was utter nonsense - a wild fabrication of his mind.

As he left his study, he closed the door behind him, noting how easily it moved in the hinge. He moved it back and forth a few times, trying to find the point where it had gotten stuck earlier, but he couldn't find it. Then he felt the wall at the side of the door near the door handle, until he found a wooden railing. He traced it. The railing went high overhead so that it would be above door openings. He followed the railing like the only ray of hope among the noises, clicks, and footsteps coming from all around him. He ran into a warm, round, and short body. Being repelled, he jumped back and apologized.

"Check where you are going! You are lucky, I didn't drop the Gospel of Mary!" the voice sounded grumpy and hurt by the incredulity of not being treated with more respect. "What's that voice? Who are you?"

The strangeness of meeting a stranger in the dark was that you couldn't read their body language. You weren't even sure which way to face. Did he have to be cautious for having stepped on a powerful monk? Or was the monk being unreasonable and someone to be treated with kindness for being mistaken? Azidor felt the itch to simply disappear unidentified and never being caught for the trouble. There would be no telling that it was him. As soon as he'd speak for real, his identity would be caught.

"Hi! I'm Azidor. I'm the new scholar for Azazel," Azidor tried his best to make a good impression on his first day.

The monk walked away not saying a single word. Azidor waited for a moment and then called out softly again to his new friend. His new friend was gone. Strange that a monk would seek such subterfuge after having sworn the oaths.

Then Azidor made it to the door to enter the lock. He locked the door behind him. He found the light switch. The light was blinding at first, but then he felt relieved to be able to see again and orient himself with a quick glance. He looked at the small cubbies on the far side of the metal detector. Monks had left their satchels. The openness and trust that nobody would steal or pry was one of the things that he loved about entering monkhood. You could allow yourself to be more open than in the default world. A quick look down his body revealed that he was covered in dust bunnies, which he must have picked up in his study as he had moved around.

Walking a bit unsure around the library, cafeteria, and kitchen, Gerald found Azidor. "Come with me on a work trip! It'll do you good to see the small city outside. Fresh monks always benefit from seeing a bit of sunlight to get used to the artificial light."

The two of them walked to the reception area. There was a basket of cell phones and another one with black umbrellas. The conveniences that one needed to navigate the outside world were provided. They walked to the big entrance gate. Two gendarmerie with short-nozzle machine guns stood guard. The treasures in the monastery were worth millions, which was well-known to art collectors and dealers. The odd thing was that the gendarmerie didn't peer outside through the slots but looked straight towards the inside, as if they were more concerned with keeping what's inside inside rather than allowing what's outside to come inside. They were nice guys who opened the gate with a friendly tap on the side of the hat.

"Where are we headed?" asked Azidor. They passed the little gardens that residents had in front of their houses. Most were in a halfway state between care and neglect. A beautiful blackberry bush had a wide-arching support from beautifully blond wood, but in recent days the bush had undergone drought and severe rains that had left the leaves ragged. A cherry tree was small and stunted from hard and barren soil but had found a way to grow into timid beauty on its own. The sidewalk and street were empty except for the occasional person to quickly strut along on some pressing errand. The sky was blue and peaceful like the rural French countryside is on a regular day.

"We are on the way to an orphanage. On the eighteen's birthday, the state is no longer required to provide duty of care. At the end of the month, orphans have to move out. For centuries, our monastery has come to pick up those orphans to provide a place to stay. They are a good source of nuns for us. They get to live with us and see what monastic life is like. Many of them find a liking and join us," explained Gerald.

After a pleasant walk for half an hour, they arrived at a side alley at the edge of the city center. The building had a courtyard as if it had been a stable in another time and this was where the horses were saddled or carriages rigged before leaving. The building on all sides was four stories tall and made from brick. The windows were narrow. The steeples were tall. The feel of all the finishings was like they were made in a time that required more formality and deference to authority. It was in the white colors and balanced geometry. They waited silently with their hands crossed in front of them.