Dina asked himself, ‘Is that you?The star?’
‘I can see the Earth, Dina.’
‘What do you see?’
‘I see that the end of the world is beginning again, but it’ll be stopped if you don’t act.’Dina nodded to himself; he knew Uriel had been directed to Earth and that all the archangels occasionally visited humanity; perhaps, they frequently halted the end times in its tracks.‘You must leave this place.Go to Earth.’
Frowning, Dina tried to reply, ‘Metatron trapped me beneath Uriel’s library.He wants me to copy the human languages and standardize their tongues.’He lifted his face, as if he could speak through the floor he was locked beneath, past the house, through the bright firmament that protected Heaven from the stars.‘What should I do?I don’t want to rebel against Metatron.I want to be good.’
‘There’s no need to rebel yet.He was right to put you where you are.Before you visit Earth, you must learn the human tongues.Learn as many of you can.You must also learn human history if you don’t know it yet.’
‘I don’t like their history,’ Dina answered.‘It’s too complicated for me.I prefer their stories for children.’But he remembered how Uriel always snapped at him for reading the wrong things, for his love of fairytales and fantasies.He liked morals, he liked happy endings.‘But I suppose I can try.’Finally, he planted a foot down and reeled up his body to stand.The room, however, seemed to stretch before him, all the writing tunneled around him becoming clearer as his blinking eyes adjusted to the darkness.‘There’s so many human languages.It would take another eternity to learn them all.’
‘Then you’ll have to learn the most abundant ones.’
‘I don’t know what languages they speak on Earth today.’
‘I will help you, and I will teach you how to pronounce their words.’
Dina paused, staring before himself at the desk where he would surely begin work copying everything soon.He might sleep there as well, if Metatron were ever to drop down the blankets and pillows he promised.‘Thank you.’The walls of books at either side of him curved toward each other, threatening to topple and crush him.‘I’m happy you can still speak to me.I don’t like to be alone.’
‘You’ll never have to worry about being alone again, Dina.’
The young angel reached the desk, taking the wooden back of the chair and tugging it aside; it was rather simple, which was odd.All the handiwork in Heaven was typically more ornate, even after the war — there was nothing to do in paradise except pray and focus on the details of every piece of labor.Enoch must’ve had this made recently, quickly.Humans always work with such fatal urgency.Dina saw that there was an open book before him and touched too-thin papers before feeling the boards at the end, which were flimsy and nothing like the old leather that bound his fairytales.Dina didn’t know yet about work meant for mass production; he was an angel.Though he was a sinner, alone in Heaven without friends, he was an angel.
For the first year in the dark, Dina mostly copied, following Metatron’s orders and listening to the star’s as well.‘Good,’ the star cooed when Dina parroted new phrases to him.‘You’re learning well.’And he began to formulate what the largest branches of language might be, though imperfectly — focusing on surface-level similarities such as tonal use, rather than similarity in syllables.He was no angel of words; Dina didn’t believe he was the angel of anything.‘Oh, do you think so?’Scratching, scratching — the angel’s quill on paper filled the silences between Dina’s own breaths and the star in his mind.‘I think you could be the angel of anything you like.’
‘I want to be the angel of whatever my Father desires.’
‘Why?Make something of yourself instead.’
‘That’s how the devil speaks.’And Dina bookmarked a page, thinking to return to it after he slept in the cot that Metatron had thrown down two weeks after imprisoning the angel.‘I remember it.How he speaks.It’s one of the few things I remember of before the war.’
‘God will never tell you what you were made for.’Before Dina could reply, the star added, ‘But if you don’t want to decide what you’re for on your own, then I will help you.’
Dina’s lips twitched at the ends, wanting to smile.‘You will?’
‘All angels are tools, weapons.I’ll wield you if God won’t.’
‘I want to be wielded.’He would like to be used.
‘I’ll make use of you.’
The second year passed quicker.Metatron seemed happier in an empty house, an angel in its basement to do the work he didn’t want.Dina had largely accustomed to the darkness now, and to the lovely praises of his star, and a few tongues.Unfortunately, he had spent too long becoming half-conversational in ancient languages — according to both the star and Metatron — which were apparently not spoken on Earth anymore.Appropriately, Dina was told these were dead languages.
‘How is it dead?Where did it go?’
‘All its speakers have died or moved on.’
‘We angels move on from things, but we can always return when we wish.Do you think the humans will return one day to their old ways of speaking?’
‘Humans are like angels — forgetful, but they’re not as skilled at recording their history.You can hardly remember your infancy, such is the case with humans.They don’t remember their first tribes or cultures.They’ll invent stories.’
‘I invent stories too, sometimes, when I want to feel better about the past.’It feels wonderful to admit to someone.‘We’re not so different from humans.’Dina missed his fairytale books, but Enoch wouldn’t give them to him.
‘You miss paradise.’
‘I don’t remember it.’
