Azazel - By Isaac Asimov Page 0,1

to my family. The exact shrubs were listed, the manner of burning, the pacing, the names of power, the intonations. Everything. It was written in Old English - Anglo-Saxon, you know - but I am by way of being a linguist and - "

A certain mild skepticism made itself felt. "You're joking," I said.

His glance was haughty. "Why do you think so? Am I tittering? It was an authentic book. I tested the recipes myself."

"And got a demon."

"Yes, indeed," he said, pointing significantly to the breast pocket of his suit coat.

"In there?"

George touched the pocket and seemed on the point of nodding, when his fingers seemed to feel something significant, or perhaps failed to feel something. He peered inside.

"He's gone," he said with dissatisfaction. "Dematerialized. - But you can't blame him, perhaps. He was with me last night because he was curious about this convention, you know. I gave him some whiskey out of an eyedropper and he liked it. Perhaps he liked it a little too much, for he wanted to fight the caged cockatoo in the bar and began squeaking opprobrious names at it. Fortunately he fell asleep before the offended bird could retaliate. This morning he did not seem at his best and I suppose he has gone home, wherever that might be, to recover."

I felt a touch rebellious. Did he expect me to believe all this? "Are you telling me you had a demon in your breast pocket?"

"Your quick grasp of the situation," said George, "is gratifying."

"How big was he?"

"Two centimeters."

"But that's less than an inch."

"Perfectly correct. An inch is 2.54 centimeters."

"I mean, what kind of a demon is two centimeters tall?"

"A small one," said George, "but as the old saying goes, a small demon is better than no demon."

"It depends on his mood."

"Oh, Azazel - that's his name - is a friendly demon. I suspect he is looked down upon in his native haunts, for he is extraordinarily anxious to impress me with his powers, except that he won't use them to make me rich, as he should out of decent friendship. He says his powers must be used only to do good to others."

"Come, come, George. Surely that's not the philosophy of hell."

George put a finger to his lips. "Don't say things like that, old man. Azazel would be enormously offended. He says that his country is kindly, decent, and highly civilized, and he speaks with enormous respect of his ruler whom he won't name but whom he calls merely the All-in-All"

"And does he indeed do kindnesses?"

"Whenever he can. Take the case of my goddaughter, Juniper Pen - "

"Juniper Pen?"

"Yes. I can see by the look of intense curiosity in your eye that you wish to know the story and I will gladly tell it to you."

Juniper Pen [said George] was a wide-eyed sophomore at college when the tale I tell you opened - an innocent, sweet girl fascinated by the basketball team, one and all of whom were tall, handsome young men.

The one of the team upon whom her girlish fancies seemed most fixed was Leander Thomson, tall, rangy, with large hands that wrapped themselves about a basketball, or anything else that was the size and shape of a basketball, which somehow brings Juniper to mind. He was the undoubted focus of her screaming when she sat in the audience at one of the games.

She would speak to me of her sweet little dreams, for like all young women, even those who were not my goddaughters, she had the impulse to confide in me. My warm but dignified demeanor invited confidence.

"Oh, Uncle George," she would say, "surely it isn't wrong of me to dream of a future with Leander. I see him now as the greatest basketball player in the world, as the pick and cream of the great professionals, as the owner of a long-term, large-sized contract. It's not as if I ask for much. All I want out of life is a little vine-covered mansion, a small garden stretching out as far as the eye can see, a simple staff of servants organized into squads, all my clothing arranged alphabetically for each day of the week, and each month of the year, and - "

It was forced to interrupt her charming prattle. "Little one," I said, "there is a tiny flaw in your scheme. Leander is not a very