Of Love And Evil Part 10

His fingers were digging into my flesh and it was plainly painful. The sound of the crowd and the music had become louder and louder and now it seemed deafening to me, just as the lights had become a kind of engulfing glare.

I was struggling with all my senses to know the moment, to know my thoughts, to know what to do.

A great riot of applause and shouts from the crowd shocked me. And at this moment, he locked his arm around me and started to drag me across the floor.

I drew back. "Get thee behind me, Satan!" I whispered. And I drew back my fist, and then struck him with one fine blow to the face that sent him flying backwards away from me, as if he were made of nothing but air.

I saw his form rus.h.i.+ng away, as if down a huge tunnel of light. Indeed the very fabric of the world around me was ripped, and his body exploded in that rip into huge splashes of blinding fire. I shut my eyes. I couldn't help it. I fell down on my knees. The light was volcanic and searing. A huge cry filled my ears that became a kind of howl.

A voice spoke, "Tell me your name!"

I tried to see but the light still blinded me. I covered my face with my hands, trying to peer through my fingers, but all I could see was this rolling fire.

"Tell me your name!" came the voice again, and I heard the answer, like a hiss, "Ankanoc! Let me go."

The voice spoke again, in unmistakable denunciation, though I couldn't hear the words. Ankanoc, go back to h.e.l.l. Ankanoc, go back to h.e.l.l. He'd been banished, and the force that had sent him fleeing was still near. He'd been banished, and the force that had sent him fleeing was still near.

There was a rolling roar, which grew louder and louder, and even though my eyes were closed, I knew the light was gone. Ankanoc. Ankanoc. It was reverberating in my mind and I had the sense I would never forget it. I thought I knew the voice that had demanded this name, that had demanded that the being leave, and it was Malchiah's voice, but I wasn't sure. I was shaken to the bone. It was reverberating in my mind and I had the sense I would never forget it. I thought I knew the voice that had demanded this name, that had demanded that the being leave, and it was Malchiah's voice, but I wasn't sure. I was shaken to the bone.

I opened my eyes.

I found myself kneeling on the flags. The crowd was close around me, same laughter, voices and dim soaring musical notes. My head throbbed. My shoulders hurt.

Malchiah was kneeling next to me, supporting me, but he wasn't really visible to me. I felt his hands steadying me. In a soundless voice, he said, "Now you know his name. Call him by name, in whatever guise he comes to you, and he must answer! Remember this, for now and for later and for always. Ankanoc. Now I leave you to do what you must do."

Lies, belief system, beings, feeding...

"Don't leave me!" I whispered.

But he was gone.

A man stood beside me, a sweet, round-faced man in a long flowing red robe. I saw his hand reaching down for me as he said, "Here, let me help you up, young man, come on, it's only just past midnight, and that is far too early for you to be stumbling about." Other hands helped me to my feet.

Then, patting me on the shoulder, the man smiled and went on with his companions into the banquet room.

I was before the open doors of the palazzo. And I could see it was raining outside.

I tried to clear my head. I tried to think on all that had happened.

Just past midnight. I'd been gone that long.

What had I been thinking to let this happen, and what did I think had happened? The fear took hold of me again, the fear gradually acc.u.mulating until I couldn't think or feel. Had Malchiah really come? Had he driven the demon away? Ankanoc. Suddenly all I could visualize was his pleasing face, his seemingly solicitous manner, his undoubted charm.

I realized I was standing in the rain. I hated the rain. I didn't want to be wet. I didn't want the lute to get wet. I stood in the darkness, and the rain was pelting me and I was cold.

I closed my eyes and I prayed, to G.o.d in whom I believed, to the G.o.d of my belief system, I thought bitterly, asking Him to help me now.

I believe in You. I believe that You are here, whether I can feel it or not, or ever know for certain that it is true. I believe in the universe that You made, constructed out of Your love, and Your power. I believe that You see and know all things.

I thought silently, I believe in Your world, in Your justice, in Your coherence. I believe in what I heard in the music only moments ago. I believe in all that I can't deny. And there is the fire of love at the center of it. Let me be consumed heart and mind in this fire.

Dimly, I was aware of making a choice, but it was the only choice I could make.

My head cleared.

I heard that melody from within the palazzo, the one I'd heard when the musicians had first begun to play. I didn't know whether I was shaping it out of the distant raw threads of the music, or whether they were really playing it, so faint was the song. But I knew the melody and I began to hum it to myself. I wanted to cry.

I didn't cry. I stood there until I was calm again and resolute and the darkness did not seem to be a fatal gloom enveloping the entire world. Oh, if only Malchiah would come back, I thought, if only he would speak to me some more. Why had he let that demon come to me, that evil dybbuk? Why had he allowed it? But then who was I to ask such a question of him? I didn't set the rules for this world. I didn't set the rules for this mission.

I had to return to Vitale now.

Malchiah was giving me the opportunity to do this, to fulfill the mission, and that is exactly what I meant to do.

I saw, far to my left, the alleyway through which I'd come to this place, and I hurried towards it, and then down the long alley towards the piazza before Vitale's house.

I was running with my head down when, just before the gate of the house, Pico caught me and threw a mantle over my head and shoulders. He brought me inside the gateway, out of the rain, and quickly dried my face with a clean dry cloth.

A lone torch blazed in its iron sconce, and on a small table was a simple iron candelabrum with three burning candles.

I stood s.h.i.+vering, hating the cold. It was only a little warmer here, but gradually the sharpness of the chill was going away.

In my mind, I saw the face of Ankanoc and I heard his words again, "a belief system," and I heard the long sentences he'd spoken and all the familiar phrases that had spilled from his lips. I saw the pa.s.sion in his eyes. Then I heard that hiss when he'd confessed his name.

I saw the fire again and heard the deafening roar that came with it. I rested my weight against the damp stone wall.

A growing awareness came to me: you never know anything for certain, even when your faith is great. You don't know it. Your longing, your anguish, can be without end. Even here, in this strange house in another century, with all the proofs of Heaven given to me, I didn't really know all that I longed to know. I couldn't escape fear. Only a moment ago an angel had spoken to me, but now I was alone. And the longing to know was pain, because it was a longing for all tension and misery to end. And they do not really ever end.

"My master says for you to leave," said Pico desperately. "Here I have money for you from him. He thanks you."

"I don't need money."

He seemed glad of that and put away the purse.

"But Master," he said, "I beg you. Do not go. My master is locked up now in Signore Antonio's house. Fr. Piero has demanded that he be locked up until more priests come. They are holding him on account of the demon."

"I won't abandon him," I said.

"Thank Heaven," said Pico, and he started to weep. "Thank Heaven." He said it over and over. "If my master is tried for witchcraft the verdict will be certain. He will die."

"I will do my best to see this never happens!"

I turned to go into the house.

"No, Master, please, don't go in. The demon has been quiet only a few hours. If we go towards the stairs, he will know it and start again."

"Stay here then, but I'm going to talk to this demon," I said. I picked up the iron candelabrum. "I've just been talking to another one, and this demon holds no new fear for me."

CHAPTER TEN

AS SOON AS I I REACHED THE STONE STAIRS REACHED THE STONE STAIRS, I HEARD HEARD the dybbuk. He was high above me. I thought of Vitale's words to me that "upstairs" he had found the synagogue of the house, with its sacred books. I went on upward, s.h.i.+elding the s.h.i.+vering flames of the candles, past the doors of Vitale's study and towards the top story of the house. the dybbuk. He was high above me. I thought of Vitale's words to me that "upstairs" he had found the synagogue of the house, with its sacred books. I went on upward, s.h.i.+elding the s.h.i.+vering flames of the candles, past the doors of Vitale's study and towards the top story of the house.

The noises grew louder and more insistent. Something shattered. There were thumps and knocks, as objects perhaps struck the walls.

Finally I found myself in the open doorway to a large room. Silence. Its ceiling was somewhat lower than those below, but not by much.

At once the light revealed the distant gleaming silver doors of the Ark or repository which no doubt held the sacred books of Moses. This was set into the eastern wall. To one side, a podium of sorts faced the room, with several dusty benches before it, and further to the right there stood a large painted and gilded screen. Behind this was a long bench, once intended in all probability for the women who might attend the service or sermon here. The walls were paneled in dark wood, very rich, but not so dark that I couldn't see the many inscriptions on them, painted in black Hebrew letters. A table lay to one side of the podium on which there was a heap of scrolls.

Fine silver chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The windows were shuttered and bolted. And my candelabrum was of course the only light.

Suddenly the benches before me started to vibrate, then to move, one bench slamming into another, and the chandeliers began to creak on their silver chains.

A small bound book was lifted from one of the benches and this came flying at me, so that I had to duck. It landed behind me on the floor.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "If you're a dybbuk, I demand that you tell me your name!"

All the benches were moving, cras.h.i.+ng into one another, and the painted screen came down with a huge clatter. Again objects were being hurled at me, and I had to get out of the doorway, s.h.i.+elding myself instinctively with my right hand. There was a hollow sound, a rumble, rather like the noise I'd heard when Ankanoc had been banished, but this seemed made by a human voice. It was so loud I covered my ears.

"In the name of G.o.d," I said, "I demand that you tell me your name." But this only increased the creature's fury. One of the chandeliers began to rock furiously back and forth until it was ripped from its chains, and thundered into the benches below.

I slumped down on the floor, as if I was cowering, but I was not. I watched another chandelier come cras.h.i.+ng down on the benches, and tried not to blink or shudder at the sheer noise.

Putting the candelabrum on the floor, I sat very still. If this thing blew out the lights, I would be very uncomfortable, but so far it had not done that, and as I remained there without moving or speaking, it grew quiet again.

Slowly, I reached back for my lute and brought it around into my lap. I wasn't sure what I meant to do, but I tightened the strings of the lute, plucking it very softly, to tune it. Closing my eyes, I began to play from memory that melody that I'd heard in the Cardinal's palace. I thought, without words, of what that music had meant to me when I'd been arguing with Ankanoc. I thought of the coherence, the eloquence of it, the way it spoke to me of a world in which harmony was infinitely more than dream, in which beauty pointed to the divine. I was almost weeping suddenly as I gave in to the music, trusting myself to reconstruct the melody and make it my own with any changes that memory couldn't support.

The soft notes of the lute echoed off the walls. I grew a little bolder, playing faster, and with greater variation, and slowly taking the melody into a melancholy comment on itself. I began to hum with the lower notes, and then to sing under my breath in low monosyllables, na nah, na nah nah, na, letting my fingers and my voice take me where they would. The tears came to my eyes. I let them spill down my face. I began to sing under my breath the words of a psalm.

"'Oh, Lord of my salvation, when I cry out in the darkness before you, let my prayers reach you.'" I struggled, unable to remember, paraphrasing, "'I am near to the brink of Sheol. Bend your ear to my pain.'"

I went on singing, breaking into words when phrases came back to me, humming if no words came. My eyes moved over the shadowy room before me, and I realized that I was not alone.

There standing before the repository, and not very far away from me, was a small elderly man.

We looked at one another, and his face revealed a great astonishment, and it wasn't difficult to figure why. He was amazed that I could see him, just as I was myself. He was amazed that I could see him, just as I was myself.

I had stopped playing. I merely looked at him, determined to show no fear, and indeed I felt no fear. I felt only a growing excitement and a wonder, and a desperation to know what to do.

"You are no dybbuk," I whispered under my breath. He didn't appear to hear the words. He was looking me over in detail. And I did the same now with him, memorizing all that I saw with the old training of an a.s.sa.s.sin, determined to miss nothing of what was being presented to me here.

He was smallish, a little bent and very ancient, with a bald pate and a rich mane of long white hair falling down to his shoulders. He had a white mustache and a white beard. His black velvet clothes, though once elegant, were now shabby and dusty and torn here and there. Blue ta.s.sels were sewn to the ends of his mantle and he wore the hated yellow badge over his heart, which marked him as a Jew. He stood collected, fiercely examining me through a pair of glittering spectacles, with small burning eyes.

Spectacles. I hadn't known people in this era had such things. But he was definitely wearing spectacles and now and then the flames of my candles glittered in the lenses.

Malchiah, give me the grace to speak to him.

"You realize that I can see you," I said. "I don't come as an enemy. I come only to discover why it is that you haunt. What has left you so restless? What has left you unwilling to go on into the light?"

For a second he was silent, motionless and reflective. Then he started towards me.

I thought my heart would stop. He came on steadily until he stood directly in front of me. I held my breath. He was seemingly solid, human, breathing, as he looked at me from beneath his white brows.

It was no consolation to me that I myself was a spirit in this realm, that he was no more of a miracle than I was myself. I was afraid, but determined to conceal it.

He walked past me and out into the pa.s.sage.

At once I had the candelabrum, and forgetting the lute, I turned and went behind him. He went on towards the staircase and then began a rapid soundless descent.

I followed.

Not once did he look back. Hunched and small he moved rapidly, with the dexterity of a ghost perhaps, until he came to the bolted cellar door. He pa.s.sed through this, and I hurriedly unbolted it to follow him, discovering him near the bottom of the stairs as I rushed after him, the candles slowly revealing the wreckage of the cellar all around us.

Broken tables and chairs lay everywhere on the flags. Dusty wine casks lined the walls. Bundles of old furniture, tied with rope, were stacked above the casks, with some broken open and spilling their shattered contents down to the floor. Hundreds of moldering books lay in heaps with spines broken and pages crushed.

Lamp stands and candelabra had been overthrown, and baskets scattered. Old garments had been twisted and strewn about.

The small elderly man now stood in the middle of the floor staring at me.

"What is it you want me to know?" I asked. I wanted to make the Sign of the Cross, but this would be an affront to him. "In the name of the Lord in Heaven, what is it that I can do?"

He went into a rage.

He bellowed and roared at me, stamping his foot over and over against the cellar floor, and glaring down at it, and then he began to reach for those small things that already lay strewn about. He grabbed hold of a bottle and smashed it on the stones. He hurled books at the stones. He tore loose parchment pages and attempted vainly to fling them down, furious as they floated and swirled around him. He stamped and pointed, and bellowed as if he were a wild beast.

"Stop this, please, I beg you!" I cried out. "You are no dybbuk. I know this. I hear your cries. Tell me your heart."

But I couldn't tell whether or not he heard this over his own cries.

He began to hurl objects at me. Chair legs, bits of crockery, broken bottles-whatever he could s.n.a.t.c.h up, he threw at me.

It seemed the whole cellar was shaking; bundles of furniture were tumbling down off the kegs as if we were in an earthquake. A bottle of wine struck me hard on the side of my head and I felt the vinegary liquid pour down over my shoulder. I backed up, reeling, dizzy. But I held the lighted candelabrum firmly as if for my life.

I was tempted to condemn him for this and argue with him, to appeal to his grat.i.tude that I had deigned to come here on his account, but I realized immediately that this was boastful and proud and stupid. He was miserable. What were my intentions to him?

I bowed my head and prayed softly. Lord, please do not let me fail as I did with Lodovico. Lord, please do not let me fail as I did with Lodovico. Again, I chose a half-remembered psalm, and as I chanted the ancient words of appeal, he gradually stopped. Again, I chose a half-remembered psalm, and as I chanted the ancient words of appeal, he gradually stopped.

He stood still pointing to the floor. Yes, he was pointing.

Suddenly I heard Pico in the doorway at the top of the stairs.

"Master, for the love of Heaven, come out!" he cried.