The Nun of Hell

The Nun of Hell

Where is your path leading ? You are now invited to challenge the Archduke of Hell !

You discreetly push open the door in front of which the mocking gnome brought you before he ran away. A revolting breath like you have never smelt puffed by any burper on earth stops your breathing dead.

A lovely Louis XVI console with exquisite gilding inlaid in maroon burr walnut supports an oriental vase loaded with fat in turquoise and orange tone flowers. The wax-shiny parquet floor is a draughtboard whose every single square is a maze in five different shades, each of them made of a different type of wood – a wonderful marquetry ! In a corner, a Venetian throne in all its massive elegance is dressed with green and pink silk.

However, you do not have time to stay on looking any longer at the thousands indented box ceiling, or at the painted panelling, yet so beautiful that you would say it is from Donatello.

It contrasts highly with the luxury of the decoration and the fineness of the furniture. You are indeed going into rapture over the marble pillars' adornment, dark and matching so well the crimson velvet of the red hangings. The colour shading is of the cleverest taste.

Something has won your attention straight away : at the back of the room, with his back turned on you, on a Chancellor's armchair, Ashtaroth empties an open signature book of its leaves; he scribbles them and puts them on the other side, building up slowly an impeccable pile.

You can not see more of him than the top of his smooth skull and his hands that appear in turn, each one on its own side, the one to take a leaf, the other to add it to the pile. And in between, you can hear the nib grating on the leaf. This recurring move is apparently meant to last longer than you could ever stand it. Not that you do not appreciate the serenity of this clock-like mechanism. But the cadaver stench is really unbearable ! And you know it comes from him.

At the end of a boundless minute, the demon deigns cease his work at last to stand up from his chair and face you.

He is as little surprised to see you as you were to meet him. Short and cold, straight-fitted in his uniform that makes him look like a Prussian officer, Ashtaroth is gazing at you straight in the eyes. You salute him with a slight nod. He answers with a patronising blink. You would be quite intimidated if there was not that dreadful smell.
Since he has been standing in front of you, it has intensified. Let's just hope he will not open his mouth, you think. Also it would be quite convenient that the challenge was not anything like a speech contest.

So delicate and refined of his person, to produce such a putrid smell ! You have never contemplated such a contrast on the surface of the earth.

To be honest, you chose with full knowledge of the facts. But he may prove to be much more difficult to defeat than any other. Yet, for ages, Ashtaroth has been known for blowing the most repellent scent out of his nostrils and his mouth !
And it is precisely on his own ground that he decides to confront you : with a backhand he points out a small table.

And the stench corrupts everything, so much so that the place, so beautiful at first sight, becomes offensive. This is a striking experience. The varnished woodwork smells are muffled by it. The burning tobacco aroma at the end of the cigarette holder can not even reach your nostrils whereas smoke invades them.

He does not seem to suffer from any kind of shame for exhaling such a bouquet though. But you have all the trouble in the world to help yourself from putting your hand over your face. In the end, you wonder whether you made a judicious choice when you directed it on that demon.

You are going to challenge the Archduke on a chessboard ! You are good at chess. However, in this case, concentration will not be with you, you know it. Face to face with a living garbage dump right under your nose. It is obvious that if he opens his mouth, you will decease on the spot.

The game does not start very well. He is a skilled player. He takes your bishop no later than the third round. Your queen is exposed. You must find a diversion at all cost. Even better : a distraction that would perturb him enough to let you work out a discreet move. But you just can not concentrate !

It is impossible to play in such conditions. But how can you tell him ? How to explain to the demon that he blows out a most inconvenient smell ? This is a bit awkward, not to say more...

You are back in that so embarrassing situation where your philosophy teacher was explaining with rhetoric force and demonstration Thomas' critique of Aristotle whereas his gaping trousers zip was showing a hanging piece of his shirt. Although very keen to restore decency, contrite, you did not dare tell him and witnessed powerlessly the shame inspired by the haunting vision of such slovenliness. Since then, you have not retained a lot about neo-Aristotelian philosophy and it is a real pity. You have always regretted it.

But why hold it in ? Why keep all this to yourself ? If you tell him the truth, that is for his own good. That way he will not be mistaken anymore.

The abruptness of the revelation can not leave him impassive. Taken aback, he slowly raises his head towards you and gazes at you. Two blinks reveal his embarrassment. You have just hurled a meteorite on top of his head.

From now on, he will not give any credit to the illusion attributing to his immeasurable greatness the loneliness in which his jackal breath puts him, in reality. When you arrived, you noticed quite well the desolation of the site ; the whole place had been deserted for a long time. Loose sheets and dry ink were lying about on the floor in the surrounding administrative offices. The Hell pen pushers had left the niche a long time ago.

It's decided : you will share with him your unmatchable insight. With a friend's honesty, you indicate the Chessboard Chancellor of Hell that the smell he blows out of his mouth is just disgusting. Then, you wait.

He sweats and starts imperceptibly to wriggle on his chair, then suddenly, with anger, he stands up and knocks over the pieces off the chessboard with the back of his hand. And he leaves the room wordlessly without looking back.

You wait a moment, sure that he will soon come back. But half an hour has gone and nothing happened. The place is desperately empty. As for the putrid smell to which it was impossible to get used to, it begins to fade away. Still nothing. So you begin to wonder what this departure means. Is that his way to bow out on you ?

	The fact remains that, exasperated with impatience, you assume your victory by default and leave too. There is another door at the back of the office. The corridor that starts from it disappears gradually to become stranded in dark fog.
		There is no doubt left about the way to go. Lost in the mist but conversely quite confident about your fate, you move forward resolutely. Yes, you managed to beat the highest dignitary of the place ! Nothing else is likely to resist you anymore. Only the Nun of Hell remains an enigma.