Of Love and Evil (13 page)

“How can you say such a thing?”

“Do you really want to know? Do you really truly want to know?”

“I love you. I am you. I’m here to help you move on.”

“I know because deep in my soul, I know there is a God. There is someone I love whom I call God. That someone has emotions. That someone is Love. And I sense the presence of this God in the very fabric of the world in which I live. I know with a deep conviction that this God exists. That He would send angels to His children has an elegance to it that I can’t deny. I’ve studied your ideas, your system, as it were, and I find it barren and finally unconvincing, and cold. Finally it’s dreadfully cold. It’s without the personality of God and it’s cold.”

“No,” he protested, shaking his head. “It’s not cold. I’m pleading with you. You’re wrong. You’re putting a god at the center of your system that never existed. Only the child in you insists on this god. That child must yield to the man.”

I got up from the table, bringing the lute with me. I stopped, unbuckled the sword and let it drop to the floor. I let go of the cloak he’d given me when we met.

Suddenly my head began to spin.

“Don’t go, Toby,” he said.

He was standing next to me. No. We were walking together through the milling crowd. I was dizzy. Someone pushed a goblet of wine at me, and I waved it away.

He threw his arms around me and tried to stop me.

“Let me go, I warn you,” I said. “I do not care for what you’ve offered me. I don’t know whether you’re evil or simply lost on some journey of your own. But I know what I have to do. I have to return to Vitale and help him in any way I can.”

“You can be free,” he whispered, his face very close to mine. “Defy them, curse them!” he said, his face reddening. “Denounce them and repudiate them. They have no right to use you.” His whisper had become a hiss.

He glanced from right to left. He released me but then placed his hands tightly on my shoulders, and I could feel the pressure of his fingers growing very strong.

I hated this. It was all I could do not to hit him and try to knock him aside.

“Will you believe me,” he said, “if I make all this disappear? If I hurl you back into your bed in the Mission Inn? Or should I set you down on the leafy street in New Orleans where your lady friend lives?”

I felt the blood rise in my face.

“Get away from me,” I said. “If you are what you say you are, then you know no harm can come from me going back to Vitale. From my helping another human being in dire need.”

“The hell with Vitale!” he snarled. “The hell with him and his filthy entanglements. I will not let you be lost.”

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 rushing 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 Hell.
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.
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 accumulating 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 God in whom I believed, to the God 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 shivering, 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 passion 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.”

A
S SOON AS
I
REACHED THE STONE STAIRS
, I
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, shielding the shivering 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, crashing 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, shielding 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 God,” 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 crashing 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.