Ancient religious texts talk about Lilith, the Seductress. Her job on Earth is to sleep with as many men as possible and bear children. In men, this manifests itself in the form of wet dreams. Lilith collects the semen, impregnates herself, and bears children. Demon children.

One old myth casts Lilith and Samael as a dementedly happily married couple whose coupling is portrayed as the “Angel Satan” or the “Other God”. The myth goes on to say that God would not allow the two to procreate. He castrated Samael. Since Samael could no longer get it up, euphemistically speaking, Lilith was forced (she said) to couple with men in their dreams. Their nocturnal emissions.

Lilith would invade the marriage bed to collect semen. This is the main reason early marriage ceremonies evolved to include strict prophylactic rituals. And extreme modesty. Even with these precautions, Lilith often succeeded in gathering seed for her spawn.

You get the picture.

Some myths say that Lilith and Samael, her partner in cosmic crime, are two sides of the same coin. Androgynous.  Double-faced or two-faced devil. Male and female. Yin and Yang. Yada yada and blah-blah. 

Ah, Lilith…she of the many faces.  Seductress, succubus, screaming bird of prey, serpent of the garden, murderer and kidnapper of infants, bearer of sickness and death, demon of the wind and night.

Her first conquest was none other than Adam, himself. When he attempted celibacy, trying to stay away from that curly quagmire, Lilith came to him. Adam, thinking God wanted him to be chaste, wound up being chased by the original hussy. Adam, being a man, was weak. The first demon was born. The rest is history.

According to the Bible: "The wild beasts of the desert shall also meet with the wild beasts of the island, and the satyr shall cry to his fellow; the screech owl  also shall rest there, and find for herself a place of rest.”

In reality, they were merely a couple of Watchers. Like me, but different. They made the decision that more and more Watchers make with each passing day. Bored with immortality, bored with never really feeling anything, bored with no highs and no lows, bored with knowing all of this would never end; they decided to take matters into their own hands…that free will thing you humans like to philosophize about…and end it all by making (in their case) the irrevocable decision to become human; more accurately, semi-human.  Sarko.

The Bible says Lilith and Samael came to rest in the desert. I say they came to rest in Dudael. I say they came to rest in West Texas and changed their names to Sam and Lilly Barden. 

On another beat-up wooden table stands a chalkware statue of a green demon playing with himself. On the wall behind it is a painting of Saint Catherine of Siena, the patron saint of firefighters, engulfed in red and orange flames. A high school letter jacket which says Presidio Blue Devils hangs on the opposite wall. Below it on a primitive hand-built pedestal sits a large plastic Jesus. He is wearing sunglasses.

Displayed here and there are the stuffed frog musicians, sapos mariachis, once ubiquitous in curio shops across the border. They were once living things.  One is playing the saxophone; one is picking on the bass fiddle; another one wearing tiny fake Ray-Bans is singing into a small fake microphone. Together, the little frog band appears to be playing jazz-laced rock and roll: the devil’s music.

If you were objective, and if you could see the junkyard for the junk, you would see a cosmic chessboard inside and outside their haute-Hell hut. In the front yard, commingled with hundreds of hubcaps, stands a hodgepodge of large concrete statuary: La Virgen de Guadalupe; various gargoyles; San Francisco de Assisi; a satyr with a goat’s body and horned human head. Juxtapositioned junk signifying good versus evil. God versus Satan…all very forked tongue-in-cheek. Sarko irony.  Azazel gets it immediately and laughs just a little too long and just a little too loud.

Finally, they wind their way through the junque décor and sit down on the multi-colored metal chairs gathered around the old red Formica and corroded chrome kitchen table. Three cold bottles of Shiner Blonde beer, condensation still dripping, sit open in front of them. Like magic. Like voodoo.

There is no small talk. Azazel gets right to the point. He has a plan. Man, what a plan! He tells the Bardens about the Virgin Maria and his plan to impregnate her. How she does not even know it yet. How their “little savior” is still just a gleam in his eye. For now, he is content to amuse himself by having her as his companion.  He does not mention Sara.  I wonder why.

Azazel tells them that he is taking no chances, nor prisoners, and that he already has his eye on several other West Texas ladies, not all virgins. “They’re pretty tough to find around these parts,” Azazel says in his best John Wayne voice. “Besides, a guy’s gotta have a little fun; a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do,” he adds. Azazel has acquired the manly art of bragging, especially where sex is concerned. Sam and Lilly laugh in unison and in a frequency which could be heard only by other Sarkos. “This is just the tip of the shitberg,” Azazel adds.

Sam says, “You know Azazel, Jr., and any others, will be Nephilim. Our Old Friend ain’t gonna like that. Your little ones will be subject to termination with extreme prejudice. What about that?”

Azazel answers, “I’m not so sure they will be Nephilim. I’m here permanently now.  Let’s go with the worst case scenario. If the child is…if the children are… Nephilim, we’ll set more modest goals. We’ll take it on the lam. I’m still around, right? I’m pretty sure how the Big Fellow feels about me. If can project my seed, I should be able to protect my seed.  And when little Azazel comes of age, if he can’t be the ultimate savior, he can at least be King of the Sarkos, don’t you think?”  

By this time Azazel is standing up, strutting and swaggering as he grabs another beer.  It is very unseemly.  I want to remind him that pride goeth before the fall. But that is not in my job description.

Sam smiles, lifts his cerveza and says, “¡Salud, el Rey de los Sarkos!” Azazel and Lilly join in the toast, “¡Viva el Rey!”

They bask in the glory for a few minutes, and then Lilly, ever the devil’s advocate, asks, “What if it’s a girl?”

Azazel doesn’t miss a beat.  “Then we’ll say ¡Viva la Reina!”

Lilly isn’t finished yet.  “And what if God banishes you to Hell?”

Azazel replies, “I’ll just say, don’t throw me into that fiery briar patch, Br’er God.”

Sam and Lilly look at each other, raise their bottles once again in a demon toast, and smile their too wide demon smiles.  They think their day has come. They think that soon they can step down from their Sarko thrones and just sit back and watch.  They are mistaken.  As you humans say, “Be careful what you wish for.”