Hanging on God’s Pinkie

‘Oh God, oh God, please save me!’ I pray while hanging on to Jesus’s pinkie. 

Not the actual Jesus, obvs, but a massive concrete Christ the King on the south bank of the Tagus River, his arms stretched wide, blessing the city of Lisbon. 

‘Please, please, I’ll do anything, just get me out of this mess!’

I’m currently regretting all my life choices, especially the most recent. I’m a free climber, best in my group of fellow fanatics, so did I back down when I was given this challenge? Hell no!

As far as I’m aware, nobody has climbed Lisbon’s Cristo Rei. Or at least, nobody has bragged about it, or been caught doing it. Being caught means you lost anyway, even if you make it all the way to the top. 

I came at night; the place is spotlighted so no problem there, and security is negligible for this tourist attraction. I already took the selfie of me sitting on the King’s head, smirk plus victory sign, Lisbon’s lights still twinkling behind me as the reddish light of dawn outlines the far hills. 

It was arrogance that made me decide, after scaling the sheer walls, and then the equally featureless holy robes, and up the wavy hair, that – tired as I was – I’d take a walk along the Saviour’s arm. The state of the concrete isn’t pristine; sixty years of sun wind and rain have done their work. Whilst posing for another selfie before Christ’s cupped hand, looking for all the world as if he’s holding me up, the concrete gave and the phone went flying. Scrabbling for a hold – any hold – I slipped out of Jesus’s hand and at the last second sank my bruised and battered fingers into the groove of the pinkie.

‘For the love of God,’ I pray, trying to keep my cool. Nothing leads to death faster than panic. ‘Please get me out of here.’

I’ve never been more sincere in my life. I don’t look down. Instead, I try to gather energy to pull myself back up. A part of me feels sorry for the employees who’ll be turning up any moment now to open the ticket office, only to find my mangled corpse at their front door.

‘No way,’ I mutter through gritted teeth. I’m at full extension, all my weight held by fingers that were already tired; my core muscles are burning too. I’m on borrowed time. ‘Come on God, if ever there was a time to show yourself it would be now.’

‘God doesn’t make house calls anymore.’

I look up at the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He’s dressed in a sharp suit, on his haunches in Jesus’s palm, his hands dangling casually between his knees as he looks down at me.

‘Are you an angel?’

‘I suppose you could say that. My name’s Lucifer Morningstar.’

‘The devil?’

‘So you know your theology. Or at least God’s side. History is written by the victor and all that, you know?’

‘Uh-huh. Look, would you mind pulling me up? Then I’d be happy to discuss theology all day long.’

‘No can do,’ Lucifer says. 

‘Why not?’

‘It’s negotiation 101. Right now, you need me desperately. But what can I squeeze out of you if I get you out of danger first?’

‘What do you want?’ 

My fingers are slipping and I have to squeeze my grip even tighter.

‘Your soul, of course,’ Lucifer says, standing up and taking a step so that his shiny black shoes are only millimetres from my fingers. 

‘Isn’t that a bit of a cliché?’

I wonder if I have the strength to heave myself forward to lock onto his ankles. Would that make him fall? Would he fly away and leave me to my fate? Or just vanish?

‘Well, I don’t make the rules’ Lucifer says with a wide-armed shrug that turns him into a parody of the statue.

‘You don’t?’

‘Article six, paragraph 12. The devil shall restrict his activities to dominion over hell and the collection of the souls of sinners. The rest of the paragraph details the definition of what makes a human a sinner and under what condition I can collect souls.’

‘Souls’ implies the person is already dead, doesn’t it?’

‘Bingo!’

‘So … you can’t actually help me?’

‘Article 133, paragraph seven, addendum XI. The devil may only appear in the earthly realm under two conditions: the collection of souls, or to test potential sinners.’

‘To see whether you can tempt them?’

‘Exactly!’ Lucifer says and makes a shooting motion at me with his index finger, a wide grin making his handsome face rather maniacal.

‘So we have to make a deal? ’It’s getting hard to breathe and that’s making it hard to concentrate. ‘How can I make a deal when I’m inches away from death? Isn’t it a bit too obvious what I need?’

‘True, we’re in the territory of fish and barrels,’ Lucifer says. ‘It makes things too easy and that would be coercion, which is God’s domain.’

‘Really?’ I say thinking that all I need to do is hold on and the devil will eventually come through, or maybe not. Maybe he’s just enjoying my pathetic efforts to stay alive.

‘You humans think he loves you, don’t you?’

‘It’s what the Bible says.’

‘Yeah, yeah, but that’s basically propaganda, isn’t it? I mean, who wrote it? And even in the book he threatens his so-called beloved people.’

‘Does he?’ I grunt, sweat is dripping down my face, and between my shoulder blades, my fingers are getting slick.

‘Even you humans have banned torture. The Geneva convention specifically forbids it. But what do you think hell is? It’s torture for all eternity. That’s a bit much, isn’t it?’

‘I ‘spose,’ I grind out.

Since there’s a devil, I’ve decided there’s definitely also a God, and all things considered, I’d rather go to heaven. But that trickster is making me doubt myself, and God for that matter.

‘What if I say I want to be famous?’

‘As what?’ Lucifer says, his eyes lighting up – or maybe that’s just the rays of the rising sun; he’s looking even lovelier now, almost golden.

‘A climber.’

‘Shall we add in riches? I can get you a great sponsorship deal.’

‘Okay.’I t’s getting harder and harder to speak.

‘Mmm,’ Lucifer says staring down at me, ‘this still feels like coercion.’

‘You better hurry,’ I gasp and my fingers slip.

This is it, but instead of a free-fall I’ve got a sharp pain because the devil’s got his foot pressed firmly down on the fingers of my right hand.

‘Fuck!’ I breathe. 

I’m just dangling by one arm now.

‘I have too much of an advantage,’ Lucifer says. ‘I need to give you something to negotiate with.’

‘What else is there but my soul?’ 

This is too surreal. I relax all my muscles and try to calm my mind. If I can delay a bit longer, maybe I’ll gather enough energy to swing myself back into Jesus’s hand.

‘If you do nothing for me and I fall now, it’s just a short trip to heaven and eternal relaxation.’

‘Heaven’s not all it’s cracked up to be,’ Lucifer says. ‘For a start, no pets.’

‘What do you mean no pets?’

‘God doesn’t like them. Only beings with souls get into heaven, and animals don’t have souls.’

‘That’s a bummer,’ I say while focusing on relaxing my shoulders and my core muscles. Every second of rest improves my chances of getting out of this.

‘Besides,’ Lucifer says, ‘what makes you think your soul is so pristine? You’ve racked up quite a list of sins: breaking and entering, treating the life God gave you with frankly reckless abandon, not to mention petty jealousies and an unwholesome competitive spirit.’

‘If it was so bad, you wouldn’t have to make a deal with me for my soul. You’d already have it.’

I’ve started deep breathing, gathering the oxygen and power in my muscles for a swing up.

‘All the same,’ Lucifer says, ‘you have the option of a deal with me, an easy trip down, and a good fifty years of comfort and renown ahead of you.’

‘But like you said it’s too easy. How about this for a deal: If I can get out of my predicament without your help, I’m home free. But if I fall, you have to save me, and give me that life of leisure.’

‘Ah, so you want to treat me as insurance?’

‘Pretty much. Do we have a deal?’

‘We do. Are you ready?’ 

I take a deep final breath and gather all my reserves. Lucifer lifts his foot off my fingers. I swing left, and grab Christ’s pinkie with both hands, then, using the strength in both arms, swing right and up. Every muscle and sinew cracks as I throw myself over the end of the hand, so now I’m sitting astride the middle finger.

‘I did it!’ I say, grinning like a fool. I’m up. I’m not home free – I’ve got a long descent ahead of me, but I can do that on my own.

The devil applauds, and his grin grows broader.

‘Are you sure you don’t want an easy ride down?’

‘Not that, and not the life of leisure. My bet was to get up and down this damned statue on my own and that’s what I’m going to do.’

‘Are you sure? Last chance to change your mind. This offer will never be repeated.’

‘Now you sound like a cheap salesman.’

Lucifer shrugs and turns to go, then he pauses and looks back at me, an enigmatic smile on his face.

‘I hope I never see you again.’

‘Same here,’ I say as he fades into the bright blue sky.

It takes me hours to get down again, and I’m more shaky than from just the climb. I stagger over to a grassy bank and collapse, lying on my back, staring up at Christ’s wide-open arms. The sun is dazzling and warm. What a mad climb! 

I gaze down at my right hand and the fingers that are bruised a deep purple, and I wonder whether I did manage all on my own. After all, without the devil’s foot on my fingers, and without that chance to gather my forces, I’d be dead. That makes me start questioning the deal I made and whether it’s a coincidence that there are so many tales of people cheating the devil. 

Then I’m overcome with laughter. He really is a wily old devil.