"Your quick grasp of the situation," said George,"is gratifying."
"How big was he?"
"Two centimeters."
"But that's less than an inch."
"Perfectly correct. An inch is 2.54 centimeters."
"I mean, what kind of a demon is two centimeters tall?"
"A small one," said George, "but as the old saying goes, a small demon is better than no demon."
"It depends on his mood."
"Oh, Azazel-that's his name-is a friendly demon. I suspect he is looked down upon his native haunts, for he is extraordinarily anxious to impress me with his powers, except that he won't use them to make me rich, as he should out of decent friendship. He says his powers must be used only to do good to others."
"Come, come, George. Surely that's not the philosophy of hell."
George put a finger to his lips. "Don't say things like that, old man. Azazel would be enormously offended. He says that his country is kindly, decent, and highly civilized, and he speaks with enormous respect of his ruler whom he won't name but whom he calls merely the All-in-All."
"And does he indeed do kindnesses?"
"Whenever he can. Take the case of my goddaughter, Juniper Pen-"
"Juniper Pen?"
"Yes. I can see by the look of intense curiosity in your eye that you wish to know the story and I will gladly tell it to you."
Juniper Pen [said George] was a wide-eyed sophomore at college when the tale I tell you opened-an innocent, sweet girl fascinated by the basketball team, one and all of whom were tall, handsome young men.
The one of the team upon whom her girlish fancies seemed most fixed was Leander Thomson, tall, rangy, with large hands that wrapped themselves about a basketball, or anything else that was the size and shape of a basketball, which somehow brings Juniper in mind. He was the undoubted focus of her screaming when she sat in the audience at one of the games.
She would speak to me of her sweet little dreams, for like all young women, even those who were not my goddaughters, she had the impulse to confide in me. My warm but dignified demeanor invited confidence.
"Oh, Uncle George," she would say,"surely it isn't wrong of me to dream of a future with Leander. I see him now as the greatest basketball player in the world, as the pick and cream of the great professionals, as the owner of a long-term, large-sized contract. It's not as if I ask for much. All I want out of life is a little vine-covered mansion, a small garden stretching out as far as the eye can see, a simple staff of servants organized into squads, all my clothing arranged alphabetically for each day of the week, and each month of the year, and-"
I was forced to interrupt her charming prattle. "Little one," I said,"there is a tiny flaw in your scheme. Leander is not a very good basketball player and it is unlikely that he will be signed up for enormous sums in the salary."
"That's so unfair," she said, pouting. "Why isn't he a very good basketball player?"
"Because that is the way the universe works. Why do you not pin your young affections on someone who is a good basketball player? Or, for that matter, on some honest young Wall Street broker who happens to have access to inside information?"
"Actually, I've thought of that myself, Uncle George, but I like Leander all by himself. There are times when I think of him and say to myself, Is money really all that important?"
"Hush, little one," I said, shocked. Women these days are incredibly outspoken.
"But why can't I have the money too? Is that so much to ask?"
Actually, was it? After all, I had a demon all my own. It was a little demon, to be sure, but his heart was big. Surely he would want to help out the course of true love, in order to bring sweetness and light to two souls whose two hearts beat as one at the thought of mutual kisses and mutual funds.
Azazel did listen when I summoned him with the appropriate name of power.-No, I can't tell you what it is. Have you no sense of elementary ethics? - As I say, he did listen but with what I felt to be a lack of that true sympathy one would expect. I admit I had dragged him into our own continuum from what was an indulgence in something like a Turkish bath, for he was wrapped in a tiny towel and he was shivering. His voice seemed higher and squeakier than ever. (Actually, I don't think it was truly his voice. I think he communicated by telepathy of some sort, but the result was that I heard, or imagined I heard, a squeaky voice.)
"What is basket ball?" he said. "A ball shaped like a basket? Because if it is, what is a basket?"
I tried to explain but, for a demon, he can be very dense. He kept staring at me as though I were not explaining every bit of the game with luminous clarity.
He said, finally, "Is it possible for me to see a game of basketball?"
"Certainly," I said. "There will be a game tonight. I have a ticket which Leander gave me and you can come in my pocket."
"Fine," said Azazel. "Call me back when you are ready to leave for the game. Right now, I must finish my zymjig," by which I suppose he meant his Turkish bath-and he disappeared.
I must admit that I find it most irritating to have someone place his puny and parochial affairs ahead of the matters of great moment in which I am engaged-which reminds me, old man, that the waiter seems to be trying to attract your attention. I think he has your check for you. Please take it from him and let me get ahead with my story.
I went to the basketball game that night and Azazel was with me in my pocket. He kept poking his head above the edge of the pockt in order to watch the game and he would have made a questionable sight if anyone had been watching. His skin is a bright red and on his forehead are two nubbins of horns. It is fortunate, of course, that he didn't come out altogether, for his centimeter-long, muscular tail is both his most prominent and his most nauseating feature.