The Case Against Satan (Penguin Classics) by Ray Russell

Author:Ray Russell [Russell, Ray]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-10-12T22:00:00+00:00

VIII

ENTER DIABOLUS

Pressed face to the wall as if held by a giant hand, her arms spreadeagled, her fingers clawing and raking the plaster, Susan looked like some crucified martyr who had been nailed facing the cross.

Gregory, when he tried to bring her back to the bed, found he could not budge her. It was only when he was joined by the Bishop and Mrs. Farley that it became possible to pry her away from the wall, her body feeling as if it weighed several hundred pounds, her toes clutching the carpet as they dragged her toward the bed.

“The mattress,” said the Bishop, his breath short with the effort. “Get rid of it. It will only be in the way, and it’s bound to get stained, besides.”

Mrs. Farley pulled the mattress off the bed, tugged it out into the hall, and returned.

Gregory and the Bishop held the girl down to the stripped bed, her back pressed against the sharp bare springs. Her eyes still tightly shut, she fought with the strength of a very strong man. “Take some of this rope,” said the Bishop. “Wind it around her ankles. Tightly! Tie her feet to the foot of the bed-frame. I’ll tie her hands.”

When she had been tied down, her arms and legs spread out in a large human X and the rope biting into the flesh of her ankles and wrists, Gregory looked down upon her and thought, with sadness: the rack. Stretched and bound to the stark iron bedframe, twisting with the unknown inner torture, she looked like a victim in some medieval dungeon, put to the rack for the slow breaking of her body.

Her body will not be broken here, thought Gregory; her limbs will not be stretched, her tendons will not be torn, her bones will not be disjointed; but here on this rack, what vital thing of her might be broken instead? Her mind? And is it possible for even a soul to be broken? To be snapped and sundered into fragments and sent whirling into eternal blackness? There are things worse than death, he had reminded the Bishop. And there is a breaking worse than the breaking of bones.

The Bishop’s face was shining with sweat. “Go on to the Psalm,” he told Gregory.

Gregory opened the book of rituals and read:

“Let the Lord rise up! And let His enemies be scattered! And let those flee from His face who hate him!”

Gregory held out his hand. Into it the Bishop placed a heavy crucifix. Gregory thrust it aloft.

“Behold the Cross of the Lord and flee, ye adverse ones!”

From Susan’s lips came a low groan, the groan of long sickness.

The Bishop, needing no book, took up the response:

“O Lion of the tribe of Judea, Root of David, be Thou victorious!”

Gregory read: “Let the mercy of the Lord fall upon us!”

“We shall ever place our trust in Thee,” said the Bishop.

Now the sounds coming from Susan were growls, beast growls of hate and terror. Though her eyes remained closed, her lips began to twist and stretch away from her grinding teeth in an expression of repelling ugliness.

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