[This is dedicated to every friend who comes to eastern Israel; may you find rest here.]
[Dear Mr. Beelzebub, after a painful month of waiting, I have finally finished dealing with those tedious matters and found a good place to write to you.]
[If you received this letter first, Lord of the Flies, please forgive me for still being unable to return to Jerusalem. The outside world is still unexplored; there are so many fascinating things here. It's just that the weather is terrible. Along the way, it's either blizzards or torrential rain; one day it even hailed, and I almost lost my pen.]
[Speaking of the letter, I actually forgot to bring my stationery bag when I set off. Luckily, I met a kind person on the way who said he was planning to draw something in a dream and was happy to share some paper with me. This friend's name was Dante, which is a strange name, isn't it? I heard he plans to try to visit the world of dreams again. I wonder when he will be able to do so. Anyway, I gave him a copy of the invitation to Jerusalem as a thank you gift.]
Sorry for digressing.
[On the third day of my trip, I still haven't found that kid named Satan you mentioned, the one you always complained about who used to pull your hair when you were little, if I remember his name correctly.]
[Actually, there's some good news too. Around the fifth day, oh no... it was the seventh day, an old man who was picking up silver snake coins in a pile of stones told me some stories. Apparently, he now has the title of Lord of Hell. Doesn't that sound a bit cheesy? I feel like it would really fit with your play's story, haha. Speaking of which, it's been a long time since I've seen one of your plays; I really miss it.]
[Regarding the origin of that funny nickname, I asked briefly. It turns out it's because he and a few other equally mischievous kids tried to rebel, but their father gave them a severe beating. The old man's account made it hard for me to imagine how badly they were beaten; he probably still had a few breaths left.]
I've talked to you so much, I almost forgot to ask Father Andrej, how is he doing lately?
Speaking of the priest, I actually feel quite guilty. One week, he was baptizing a baby, and out of curiosity, I put some chili powder in the water… Well, obviously, the consequences were shameful. Although I apologized to him immediately, I heard that the little rascal cried for days.
[Hmm, to be honest, I know you'll be urging me to go back to Jerusalem when you read this. Ever since I was a kid, whenever I complained to you, your answer was always the same: I'd be safe at home, and you could always protect me. But I'm not a child anymore; I should see the outside world. It's a pity you two don't want to go out with me. I really don't understand what's so special about Jerusalem that you're so attached to.]
"To be honest, many people die here every year. Free time is only from 7 PM to midnight. Even if we focus on building the new city, those disobedient residents will find ways to stop us."
[I suddenly had an idea! Beelzebub, you especially like writing tragic plays, right? Why don't we write all of us into the play and let it develop into a stage play? That would be a lot of fun!]
Okay, I don't think Andrew will agree. That guy's a stickler for logic; all he does is pray, sing hymns, and hit me on the head. But I'll let it slide since he occasionally gives me candy.
Oh dear, I don't have many sheets of paper left. I need to meet Mr. Dante again before I can write to you. I'll end with André's prayer to express my longing for you all.
[I will never let you leave, you never let me leave. Now the light has disappeared, Savior, please hear my prayer. Please look at all this and let me sleep peacefully. Vigilant Savior, wash away everything, wash away all the mistakes I made today. Please help me to be gentle and refined every day, just like you.]
20:02.
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre in the Old City of Jerusalem.
Bamke tore the letter to shreds and threw it into the pool in front of the church.
"Hey! Hurry up, everyone in the back! Father Andrew's baptism is about to begin!"
A child noticed his actions, stood still for two seconds, and then silently scooped the fragments out of the water, but the contents on them were already blurred.
The church doors slowly opened, revealing a hideous and mutilated face in the darkness. Its neck was as long as a snake's body, and it greedily stretched forward, sticking out its long tongue.
That's just a sculpture.
"No matter how many times I see it, I will still think it is extremely artistic. What do you think?"
Bamke stopped, lit the cigarette in his mouth, and slowly hissed.
"What artistic achievements?" Someone squeezed next to him, looking up into the darkness. "You're here in Jerusalem for a visit, right? My name is Joey, what's yours?"
"Bamke".
"Cough cough... Hey buddy, can I have a cigarette?" Joey looked around, as if avoiding someone: "Please, please, just let me have a little bit."
Of course he was willing to give it to him. Not just this time, but for the past three months, this boy named Joey would appear at the church door every day, asking him for a cigarette.
Next, he will tell Bamke how strict his family was. In fact, he didn't want to be religious, but he was too young to challenge his parents' authority, so he reluctantly came along.
He had a fairly good-looking appearance. Bamke sometimes thought that this kid was quite similar to himself when he was fifteen or sixteen years old, with a head full of rebellious ideas, and a fearless attitude in the face of any unexpected event. Of course, he wasn't fearless, but he was quite skilled at pretending to be indifferent.
Then, in less than half an hour, Joey will die in front of him.
He would be bitten on the head by a sculpture that had come to life, like a toy doll being dragged into the darkness and eaten.
Bamke had considered saving him, but no matter what he did, the people here would die.
They were disemboweled by priests, hacked to pieces by crazed believers, or burned alive in sulfuric acid pools.
"Give."
The darkness is too deep; who would be willing to endlessly save a group of people who are destined to die?
"Thank you so much! Hiss... that felt great." Joey hid under the wall, puffing out smoke. "Sir, you can't imagine how terrible my family is. If only my father with the broken leg were as easy to talk to as you."
“Is that so?” Bamke stared at him for a while. It was strange. At times, you wish someone could stay away from a disaster, but at other times, you felt that if he wanted to die, he should just die. Why make things so contradictory? It’s not like I haven’t tried to save him before, I just failed.
He thought that perhaps the latter option was more hopeless.
"Of course, I don't actually want to be religious at all, but Father Andrew and my family—"
Bamke withdrew his knife quickly and calmly. When people decide to do something, it's hard to tell from their faces. They don't make any unnecessary expressions, after all, this is a hopeless world.
"It's alright, you're free now."
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