The Mello Code

From the doorway of the church, Matt could see Mello waiting in the car down below. He had turned the car around, but otherwise hadn\'t moved in the hour or so that Matt had been inside, enduring the Catholics. He guessed that even now, the Slav would be looking up at the stream of people coming down and preparing to defend his religion against common sense. Matt knew that he shouldn\'t attack it. Mello\'s faith had seen him through some rough times and kept him sane against the odds, but there was something faintly distasteful about the fact that someone as intelligent as Mello believing in all this mumbo-jumbo. It irritated Matt more than it should, because it was in his face.



He carefully picked his way down the steps, his co-catechumens still attempting friendliness despite the unspoken communication of his body language blocking them out. "Goodnight, Matt." A call came from above and he waved without turning, heading in a straight line towards the only person he was willing to speak with right now. The car\'s engine rumbled into life before Matt was even halfway down and the redhead quickened his pace. He slid into the passenger seat and glared at Mello. Mello nodded and drove them the Hell out of there.



"Get it out of your system." Mello commented, once they were several streets away and on the road towards home.



Matt shook his head. "No, it\'s your religion and you\'re entitled to it. I\'ll just go to the classes and you just continue to do the homework and as soon as that water is on my head, you can keep it."



They had passed into the forest road now. Trees loomed in darkness caught by the limits of the headlamps. "I\'d rather you told me what\'s particularly being denegrated in your head. I\'d prefer that to you silently thinking I\'m ridiculous, so I can at least defend myself against your thoughts."



"What makes you think that I\'m thinking that you\'re ridiculous?"



Mello shrugged, his grip light on the steering wheel. "You\'ve just come out of a church."



On the side of the road a sign, warning against crashing into deer, flashed by. Matt surveyed his husband. "Ok, you\'re an intelligent man. You\'re notably intelligent, in fact." Beside him, Mello smiled, his chocolate already in his mouth. "You know your history. You know the truth about Hell, because you\'ve seen it there in documentary evidence. You know about the Germanic goddess, Hel. You know that the heroic warriors, fallen in battle, were picked up by the Valkyries and taken to Valhalla to be feted and pampered for all eternity; while the plebs went to Helheim, where Hel decided what to do with them. Boring place with no half-naked dancers. So in came the Roman evangelists and said, "Join our religion, you get to go to Heaven, even if you aren\'t a warrior. What\'s the alternative? Your boring Hel?" So everyone converted, because they\'re fundamentally human and want something for nothing. Speed on a bit and suddenly there are loads more conditions on getting into Heaven, while Hel\'s \'hood has metaphorised into this fire and brimstone torture chamber. Mello, it\'s fucking Roman propaganda! How can you spend most of your life petrified of the place? Jesus probably hadn\'t even fucking heard of it. The Romans hadn\'t expanded into the Northern territories at the time he was kicking around the Eastern Empire!"



There was silence. Mello waited a few moments before glancing at him. "Rant over?"



Matt hunkered down into the high collar of his jacket, grateful to see the gates of their home up ahead. "You cannot talk to me about rants, Mello. You\'re a master of the art."



Mello smiled. "Maybe." They accessed the security code and the car slid back into their property. "Want me to respond now or when we\'re indoors?"



"You don\'t have to respond at all." Matt slowly withdraw his hands from his pockets and got ready to open the door, once they were parked up. "You\'re entitled to your beliefs."



"I\'d rather you weren\'t thinking of me as some kind of delusional idiot." Mello switched off the engine and turned to face him. "The fascinating thing, of course, is that you don\'t consider science to be just another religion. We are told that you and I are just a couple of DNA points away from being a banana. We know that you, I, this steering wheel, that can of oil over there, we are all of the same substance. Tiny, little atoms fitting together to make shapes. Yet, you and I reason and the can of oil does not. We are told, in fact, that neither of us are actually looking at that can of oil. If it wasn\'t for the light bouncing off it, in particular ways, which create light, shade and colour, then it would be quite invisible. You believe all of this without question, Matty. Interesting, don\'t you think?" He stepped out of the car. A moment later, Matt followed him, out of the car and out of the garage. Mello was staring up at the night sky. "Have you never worked out the extreme unlikelihood of our planet being created? Or pondered on the things that make no sense at all?"



"Like standing in the freezing cold when there\'s a house right there with heating in it?"



Mello sighed and marched off towards their home. "You have no romance in your soul."



"So you keep telling me." He waited by the door for Mello to open it. He nodded towards the garden. "I\'d pick you some flowers, but it\'s December and there aren\'t any."



"The atoms which make up Matt Jeevas. Why do they do that?" Mello pushed into the kitchen and flicked on the lights. They had left a casserole slowly cooking before they went out and the scent of it filled the room now. "There\'s no reason for it. The individual atoms have no idea that you even exist. There\'s no good reason for them to cling together nor, eventually, for them to suddenly decide not to. None of those atoms are alive. They are co-operating with each other to make that leg or that arm, but without sentient knowledge of doing so. It doesn\'t happen on any other planet, so why this one?" He crouched down to check on their food through the glass door of the oven, while Matt wandered into the pantry to view the monitors and alarms. "Tell me, Mail, when you look at me, do you see trillions of atoms crammed together like dust, no, like sand?"



There was a hesitation from the pantry, then, "Erm, no."



"Why not? That\'s science. That\'s the reality." Mello reached for the oven gloves. "Why don\'t you fancy the fridge? Me and it are made of the same atoms. It\'s just that the atoms mysteriously decided to form different shapes."



"The fridge has never given me a blow-job." Matt replied, emerging from the pantry again. "Nothing\'s happened while we\'ve been out. Cup of tea?"



"Cocoa, please." Mello took the casserole out and placed it on a mat. "There is no good reason why the fridge never has. As I said, me and it are made of the same essence. This is science, Matt. It is based on results that can be reproduced time and time again in a lab. Shall I help you out?" Matt flashed him a look and Mello grinned. "You don\'t see the atoms, but you believe in them, because you have faith. You look at me with emotion and paint over my aspect with a whole array of memories and attributes and all that, because the human psyche need to. You can\'t see me as a collection of protons, atoms, chemical reactions, matter, skin, bone, sinew, muscle and all the other things that I truly am, because on the one hand it\'s too freaky and on the other it\'s too clinical. Instead of seeing the world as it truly is, you prefer to dress it up with stories, self-delusion, colour."



Matt sighed. "There are holes you could drive a Sherpa tank through in your hypothesis, but congratulations. You\'ve headed me off at the pass. By aggressively attacking science, you\'ve taught me the error of my ways in attacking Catholicism. I\'ve learned that if I do that again, I will be bored stupid in my own kitchen by a five foot six collection of dust particles. Have we got any nice bread to go with the casserole? I know there\'s sliced, but I prefer chunky."



"Hell is to see life as it truly is." Mello opened the bread bin and took out the seeded farmhouse loaf. "No more atoms. You are already dust to dust. All that is left is your own mind with all the distractions taken away. No more excuses, no more justifications. It won\'t be enough to say that the end justified the means or that circumstances made you do it. You are alone with your sins and the realisation of their consequences. Nothing left to hide behind. No-one coming to save you this time. You are quite, quite alone. Abandoned."



Matt\'s hand on the breadknife stilled and he glanced sideways towards his husband. "... the fuck?"



"Pope John Paul II called Hell a state of mind. It is an inferno, but what is an inferno, Matt? It\'s an all-consuming fire. Once we are there, we have no bodies to burn. The only thing left is our soul. The inferno comes from within. You are imagining the lakes of fire as an external thing, but no, it\'s inside. That\'s why we ultimately cannot escape it. We fuel it with our minds. We torture ourselves and there is no running away. There\'s no death once we\'re on the other side. There\'s only us, alone and unable to turn away from our sins. Surrounded and consumed by them." He paused. "Don\'t butter mine, Matt. I hate the slodges in the sauce where butter\'s seeped into it."



Matt laughed aloud. "I love how you can go from describing Hell, which, incidentally sounds to me like something you don\'t necessarily have to die to achieve, to whinging about butter."



"That\'s because I\'m currently alive. I have distractions. There will be no butter on the other side. There will be just my sins. Yes, you are right, you can achieve Hell on earth, but you can also be distracted from it really easily. In true Hell, you won\'t. You can only hope that you can repent and forgive yourself your trespasses; free yourself from the inferno, even while you\'re sinning still because who could be in that and not resent it."



"Long story short. God eventually comes down and rescues you. You go to Heaven and everyone\'s happy?"



"No." Mello smiled. "Eventually you have to find your way back to Him, or else you\'re lost forever. Hell is separation from God. Hell is what you do to yourself."



"I don\'t remember any of this in Dante\'s \'Inferno\'."



Mello just smirked at him and carried his meal across to the table. "What\'s my homework?"



"Explaining why the Nativity is nothing to do with the Roman God, Mithras, despite remarkable similarities and the fact that Mithras\'s festival was celebrated on December 25th, whilst Christ was probably born in September."



"What\'s the exact wording of my homework?"



"Meditate on the importance of the Nativity for Catholics." Matt sat down beside him, immediately reaching to dunk his bread into the casserole. "So, if Hell just exists inside my head, where does the devil come into it?"



"Satan is distraction, temptation, all those little lies we tell ourselves to make it easier for us to commit sin. Satan is the veil that sits between my morality and your arse."



Matt stared at him. "So Satan isn\'t like forked tail, red..."



"Is Satan a redhead?" Mello stirred his casserole with his spoon. "In my case, yes. Satan is a redhead. Fucking gorgeous, sexy, smartass redhead, who leads me into temptation on a regular basis."



"I\'m quite proud of that."



Mello sniggered and shook his head. "You\'d disturb me if I took you seriously for one second." He spooned the casserole into his mouth a few more times, then stopped for a chocolate break. "Mail, I know you get embarrassed for me saying this, but thank you. You going to classes, when I know that you don\'t believe a word of what you\'re being taught, it does touch me. Deeply. That it would even occur to you to do it is amazing enough, but to actually go out there and put yourself through meeting strangers and," Mello bit his lip, "I\'m sure that the other members of the class aren\'t quite at your level of academia. I\'m sure that you are bored stupid for most of it. Thank you." He reached out and squeezed the hand beside him on the table. "I love you, Matty. I know that all of this is your way of saying you love me too."



"Volim te."



Mello roared with laughter, then reached across to pull his husband into a kiss. Matt\'s spoon clattered into his bowl, but he responded well enough. Mello pulled away slightly and met his eyes, a bright smile gazing back. "Mail, you don\'t have to do it anymore. You\'ve made your point, but at this rate you\'re learning to hate Catholicism, whereas before it was just something in the world that happened to other people."



"I\'ve told you that I don\'t mind going. You\'d be happier if I\'m baptised, so I\'ll be baptised."



"I know and it\'s good that you\'re thinking about God. It\'s good that you\'re contemplating Heaven and Hell, but, baby, I don\'t want to shove it down your throat. You know?"



Matt raised his eyebrows, trying to extract himself long enough to get back to his meal before it went cold. "It\'s already shoved down my throat, Mello. There\'s a little crucifix on the wall watching me when I\'m in the bath. In fact..." He turned, counting quickly. Then lifted Mello\'s wrist and eyed the bracelet. His gaze dipped to the rosary, then up and down Mello\'s body. "Right, from where I\'m sitting, at this second in time, I can see twenty-three symbols of Catholicism and one Catholic. Not shoving it down my throat, my arse."



Mello\'s turned to look behind himself. He turned back, frowning, "My bracelet and rosary counted as two? I can only see twenty-two."



"The saints on the fridge."



"Yes."



"The see through plastic cross thingie on the window."



"Yes. It\'s a sun-catcher."



"Bottle of Holy Water by the herbs."



"Yes."



"Little angel in the fruit bowl."



"Ah!" Mello pointed. "You can hardly count that! It\'s a sticker. It\'s something I got for putting a quid in the Oxfam box in the shop."



"Thirty-one." Matt grinned emptying his bowl. "I\'ve spotted more."



"You can\'t see my gun."



"Thirty-three." Matt slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out his own rosary. "Thirty-four."



Mello raised his hands, put his chocolate down and finished his casserole. "So, I like my things around me." He pointed to the noticeboard, where there was a prayer printed as a postcard pinned to it. "Makes it homely."



"Over-protection for the paranoid. Note that this is only the kitchen. I haven\'t even tried to count the rest of the house. But I\'ll live with the overkill if you admit that they do breed and you do place them around to make yourself feel safe." Matt started to roll a cigarette. Beside him, Mello was smirking. "You think you\'re so mysterious, Keehl, but I see the psychology here. It\'s like insidious messages penetrating the mind and... fucking Hell!"



Mello froze. "What?" His gaze flashed to the doorways, then across to the window. "What?"



"This." Matt slid his pouch of tobacco across the table towards Mello. The blond stared at it, then looked up quizzically. "Pull the flap back." Matt snapped, agitation causing him to shot backwards on his chair and to stalk angrily back to the kettle. He\'d boiled it once without filling their mugs.



Mello cautiously pulled back the plastic and read \'smoking can cause a slow and painful death\'. That wasn\'t the problem. Matt had been reading messages like that in several different languages since he was fifteen. Beside the legend though was a thumbnail photograph. It depicted a man with terrible facial hair, those throat appeared to have been torn out. It gaped, raw and bloody, exposing his entire neck. Even used to horrors from his Mafia days, Mello still felt nauseaous. It took several long looks to release that what he was actually looking at was advanced and visible throat cancer. "The government playing nanny state again then."



"I\'m fucking sick of it!" Matt raged. "I feel like I should go out there with a badge sewn onto my clothes saying, \'I\'m a smoker! I\'m nothing! Abuse me!\' You weren\'t here when the smoking ban came in. Complete strangers in the street thought it was their God-given right to tell me that I\'m going to die. Can you imagine any other circumstances where that would be acceptable? Like if I went out now and said it to the first person I met, it would be threatening behaviour. But soon as that person is a smoker, it\'s all ok again. Fucking leper pariahs! Yet the taxes on our cigarettes are keeping the NHS afloat! Can you imagine what would happen to the economy if every smoker in Britain suddenly packed up?" He slammed sugar into the mugs so hard that it scattered everywhere. "Well, fine! Fine! I\'ll pack up. I\'ll pack up right now. Then I\'ll go and throw myself off the nearest bridge, because I won\'t be able to deal with the cold turkey. You saw me attempt cold turkey over this. You didn\'t see the other times. I don\'t do cold turkey! Fuck \'em! Fuck their fucking horror pictures in my house! Fuck the..." He turned suddenly, green eyes flashing furiously behind his goggles. "Oh! It\'s ok sending those into people\'s houses. What if someone had kids? The government makes you be over a certain age to see horror in films, but it\'s quite alright them sending shit like this into people\'s houses! No PG-13 mark on them, not when they can attack the smokers! No, use the children! Scar the children for life, just as long as they can be used for emotional blackmail on their parents."



Mello rose and opened the bin. He threw the little square of plastic into it. "All gone now." It had taken him a few seconds to remove the picture from the pouch. The plastic was too thick to easily rip, so he\'d had to use his teeth. "Matty?"



"You don\'t need to keep tabs on me. I\'m not going out again. I wonder how many more cases of agrophobia in adult smokers have turned up over the past couple of years. People sick to death of being out there with the self-righteous motherfuckers abusing them at every turn." He relit his cigarette from where it hadn\'t caught properly the first time. "They want people to see the truth behind things? How about the meat? Do we get pictures of animals being slaughtered on it next? Spirits? Oh! It would be nice to have a picture of cirrhosis of the liver on the side of your posh wine. Only that\'s never going to happen is it? Because those with the power and the money won\'t have it in their restaurants. Hey! Know what? Crossing the road and flying are both huge killers! How about ensuring that every crossing has posters of small children ripped to shreds by hit and run drivers. Free with your plane ticket, how you can expect to look if this plane crashes. Pwnage."



Mello sighed. "It touched a nerve then, Matt? However, if you want a perfect example of Hell..."



"Mello." Matt turned furiously. "Don\'t you even... oh! Fuck you!"



"Hey! It\'s not my fault!" Mello gasped, as Matt stormed past him, flicking the birdie as he disappeared into the hallway and stamped up the stairs. Mello rolled his eyes, then stared at the pouch on the table. Matt would be back. He\'d left his cigarettes and his PSP. Mello wandered into the pantry and checked the shelves. Often Matt took his cigarettes upstairs but, occasionally, they were piled in here. This was one of those times. He had taken to rolling his own for reasons that Mello couldn\'t entirely fathom, but there were ten 50g pouches tidily stacked beside more Swan filter tips and Rizla papers than one man could surely require. Mello reached up and gathered the pouches into his arms, returning with them into the kitchen. He dropped them onto the table, then collected a pair of scissors from the drawer. Over half had pictures attached to the warnings. He carefully unwrapped the cellophane and set about cutting them off. Dropping them into the bin, Mello checked the security cameras in the pantry. Matt was intently playing a game on the large monitor in his study. Mello smiled faintly then returned to the kitchen, where he resecured the cellophane with cellotape and stacked the pouches back into their place in the pantry.



Mello surveyed the mugs of their cooling drinks. He supposed he ought to take Matt\'s to him, along with the open tobacco and the game, but long association with the redhead had taught him that eruptions were rare, but best left alone. He sat instead and created some warning labels of his own. \'Hell is having sanctimonous governments in your face\'; \'Shouting at Mello can cause a slow and painful death\'; \'Smoking means that Mello doesn\'t have to kill you\'; \'Not smoking causes bad moods\'; \'Happy Matt = Happy Mello\'; \'Smoking warnings = Hell on Earth\'; \'Reading the back of tobacco pouches can seriously damage your wellbeing\'; \'Storming off makes your tea go cold\'. He heard Matt returning so quickly raced into the pantry to hide the paper until he could get the chance to add them to the pouches.



"Sorry." Matt breathed, as he wandered across the kitchen.



Mello stepped out of the pantry. "Good." He smiled brightly and dashed across to intercept his husband. "Hey, baby." He gathered him into a hug and kissed him firmly. "Don\'t throw yourself off a bridge, eh? The government aren\'t worth it."



Matt smiled weakly. "I\'ll do my best."



"Good boy." Mello winked. "Now, you\'ve sampled Hell. How about I show you Heaven?"



Matt frowned. "That was the corniest line you\'ve ever come out with and that\'s seriously against some stiff competition."



"Maybe." Mello grinned. "But you get a shag out of it."



"kay." Matt reached back to claim his tea and drank it quickly. "Show me what all the fuss is about this Heaven then."



Mello laughed and wrapped himself around the redhead. "Of course. What kind of Catholic would I be if I didn\'t?"