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far.”
    “Three miles, I’m told, by the old country road. A little less, two perhaps, if you were to cut across the fields, which almost no one does.”
    “I’m not going,” she said.
    “Oh, but you are. So am I. Do you know what they do in Heaven?”
    “Fly around playing harps?”
    “There’s the Celestial Choir, which sings the praises of God throughout all eternity. Everyone else beholds His face.”
    “That’s it?” She was skeptical but amused.
    “That’s it. It’s fine for contemplative saints. They go there, and they love it. They’re the only people suited to it, and it suits them. The unbaptized go to Limbo. All the rest of us go to Hell; and for a few, this is the last stop before they arrive.”
    I waited for her reply, but she had a mouthful of chicken. “There are quite a number of entrances, as the ancients knew: Dodona, Ephyra, Acheron, Averno, and so forth. Dante went in through the crater of Vesuvius, or so rumor had it; to the best of my memory, he never specified the place in his poem.”
    “You said demons stay here.”
    I nodded. “If it weren’t for them, the old people would have to close, I imagine.”
    “But you’re not a demon and neither am I. Isn’t it pretty dangerous for us? You certainly don’t look – I don’t mean to be offensive—”
    “I don’t look courageous.” I sighed. “Nor am I. Let me concede that at once, because we need to establish it from the very beginning. I’m innately cautious, and have been accused of cowardice more than once. But don’t you understand that courage has nothing to do with appearances? You must watch a great deal of television; no one would say what you did who did not. Haven’t you ever seen a real hero on the news? Someone who had done something extraordinarily brave? The last one I saw looked very much like the black woman on the pancake mix used to, yet she’d run into a burning tenement to rescue three children. Not her own children, I should add.”
    Eira got up and poured herself a second glass of milk. “I said I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, and I meant it. Just to start with, I can’t afford to tick off anybody just now – I need help. I’m sorry. I really am.”
    “I’m not offended. I’m simply telling you the truth, that you cannot judge by appearances. One of the bravest men I’ve known was short and plump and inclined to be careless, not to say slovenly, about clothes and shaving and so on. A friend said that you couldn’t imagine anyone less military, and he was right. Yet that fat little man had served in combat with the Navy and the Marines, and with the Israeli Army.”
    “But isn’t it dangerous? You said you weren’t brave to come here.”
    “In the first place, one keeps one’s guard up here. There are precautions, and I take them. In the second, they’re not on duty, so to speak. If they were to commit murder or set the house on fire, the old people would realize immediately who had done it and shut down; so while they are here, they’re on their good behavior.”
    “I see.” She picked up another piece of chicken. “Nice demons.”
    “Not really. But the old man tells me that they usually overpay and are, well, businesslike in their dealings. Those are the best things about evil. It generally has ready money, and doesn’t expect to be trusted. There’s a third reason, as well. Do you want to hear it?”
    “Sure.”
    “Here one can discern them, and rather easily for the most part. When you’ve identified a demon, his ability to harm you is vastly reduced. But past this farm, identification is far more difficult; the demons vanish in the surging tide of mortal humanity that we have been taught by them to call life, and one tends to relax somewhat. Yet scarcely a week goes by in which one does not encounter a demon unaware.”
    “All right, what about the people on their way to Hell? They’re dead, aren’t they?”
    “Some are, and some aren’t.”
    “What do you