Kirk and the Devil

By Tom Lowe

I have a devil. Not a big one, mind you, but a devil, just the same. He visits me at odd times and sits on my shoulder, prodding me with his pitchfork and smirking. He is colored red, has horns and sports a pointed tail. He’s about eighteen inches tall.

I recently learned from confidential sources the doleful story of what Kirk Fordice had done to destroy child protection in Mississippi during his first four years, and was sitting at my word processor burning with righteous indignation thinking up all the nasty things I would write in my expose about the governor, when Bel, my devil, suddenly appeared on my shoulder and gave me a jab in the ear lobe with his trident. I had named him Beelzebub, or “Bel” for short.

“Ouch!” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I just thought you needed some help writing this article on the governor.”

“I don’t need any help,” I protested.

Ignoring my objections, he began to read the paragraph I had just composed.

“You don’t like the governor, do you?” He queried.

“After what he’s done to take away protections from abused children, I personally think he’s downright evil. A snake.”

“Not at all,” Bel replied, stroking his tail. “The governor’s a good man. Sincere. Kind-hearted. I think you do him an injustice.”

“Injustice!” I exploded. “Here he controls the Federal funds to protect children and he flat turns it off. I heard that he said ‘Turn off the spigot.’ Kids that are abused can’t be rescued, because there’s no money. And the worse part of it is that the money’s available, the governor just won’t let them have it. I don’t think I’m doing him an injustice; considering his behavior, I think I’m probably too lenient on him.”

“Easy, now,” he replied. Do you think that Kirk Fordice actually wants those children to suffer?”

“No—I don’t think he cares. And that’s just as bad if not worse.”

“Do you think even a person like Fordice could live with himself if he didn’t believe with all his heart that other things were more important than the welfare of poor Mississippi children?

“Like what?”

“The principle of Federalism and rugged individualism. It’s more important to Fordice that dependency on the government be stamped out. And that the states stop being dependent upon Federal handouts.”

“I thought that children were dependent by definition.”

Bel was getting a bit irritated with me. “I’m not arguing that Fordice is doing the right thing, Tom. What I am telling you is that he honestly believes in what he is doing. I am sure that the fate of those poor abused, mentally retarded and emotionally disturbed children that have no place to go weighs heavily upon his conscience every night, but he believes with all his heart that the curse of welfare dependency is much worse than kids starving or being abused and that it simply must be destroyed. The Federal Government must be gotten off the people’s backs. If a few innocent children bite the dust, it’s just too bad.”

“How could he possibly have such a warped set of priorities?” I replied, somewhat dumbfounded.

Bel gave me a withering look of condescension. “It really doesn’t matter where he got these beliefs. That he holds them fervently is obvious and that he acts in accordance with them is what you ought to expect. In his own eyes, he is doing the right thing. There’s simply no point in making a devil out of him because he acts according to his beliefs about the right and wrong of things.” He winked at me when he said the word “devil.”

“So how should I judge him then?” Everybody acts according to their beliefs. I suppose I should acquit him because he thinks he’s doing the right thing. I’ve never heard of anyone acquitted in a court of law because he claimed he did the right thing.”

“But you are not in a court of law, old boy,” he said. “Nobody appointed you to be Kirk Fordice’s judge or jury. You don’t have any jurisdiction to render judgment of any kind. Cousin Kirk is doing the best he can, given his limited understanding and his barbaric beliefs. You can’t fault him for being inconsistent, can you?”

“I suppose not.”

He had me and he knew that I knew it. Cracking a wide devilish smile, he wagged his reptilian tail in glee. Then he went for the kill.

“What have you done for hungry children, Tom? Name one thing.”

“I’m writing this article,” I said, pointing to the word processor and the half-finished screed displayed on the screen.

“Is that all you’ve done? I suppose they can eat the words you write, eh?”

“I can perhaps change people’s minds, so that they will elect a more humane and compassionate governor next time.”

“How well has that worked in the past? This is Mississippi, remember?”

I deleted the article and turned off the computer.

Bel had jumped off my left shoulder and was standing in the middle of the room.

“A little humility is the beginning of wisdom, Tom.”

I sat silently, looking at him.

Then, before my eyes, Bel began to grow. As I watched, he slowly grew to a nine foot monster, tail and all, horrible to behold. I was dumbfounded.

Then he began to change color, and in another half minute I was again amazed to see him metamorphosize before me into a bright and shining angel, looking down on me with, well, an angelic gaze.

“Are you Bel?” I asked. “Are you a devil disguised as an angel?”

“No. I am an angel that has been disguised as a devil. Devils aren’t the only ones who can change their appearance.”

“How can I know if you are an angel or a devil, then?” I stammered.

“Only in your heart,” he said and promptly vanished.

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