Deliver us from Evil (67 page)

The Earl of Rochester, 'The Wish'

I
stood motionless for a long, long while. The Redskin's cry still seemed to echo through my thoughts. Suddenly,
I
felt a hand upon my shoulder.
I
turned;
I
imagined
I
saw my parents before me: my mother, smiling, and reaching out her hand; my father, very fine, as he had always been. Then snow began to fall; and as the first gust was blown into my face, so my parents seemed to vanish.
I
walked forward; where they had been standing, there was nothing at all.
I
continued to walk towards the crashing of the waterfall; and then beyond it - towards a series of crags
I
could make out dimly through the storm.

'The effect of the Redskin's blood soon began to fade; and delirium returned upon the screaming of the gale.
I
imagined
I
could hear a fluttering in my ears, very faint at first, then starting to pound like a tiny heart. Louder and louder it grew, until
I
could hear nothing of the storm, and blocked my ears, and sank into the snow.
I
screamed; at once, the pounding stopped.
I
gazed about me. It was dark.
I
knew now
I
would die: for the Redskin had taken our coverings with him, and
I
had only a gourd of liquor and two bags of food. What hope, then, did
I
have in such a place, in such a cold? But
I
staggered on, and waited for the pounding in my stomach to return.

I
walked all night, and heard nothing save the storm. Nor did
I
drop; but continued on my way as though blown upon the winds, for my being seemed melted into spirit, and my limbs composed of swift
-
gusting air. Dawn rose. Shadows melted from the snows, and all seemed cast an icy, golden blue.
I
turned to the east, to gaze at the sun - for
I
had never thought to see it rise again. And then suddenly
I
frowned, and turned my head further, for my eye had been caught by a moving dot. It was coming from behind me and, as
I
stared hard,
I
could see that it was following my tracks across the snow. My first thought was that it had to be the Redskin, that he must have changed his mind; for
I
could see how the figure wore a savage's furs, with feathers in his hair and bright paint upon his face. But then he drew closer, and
I
saw into his eyes. They were brighter than any
I
had ever seen, burning like diamonds; and his face, though unlined, seemed immeasurably old. A shudder of pleasure flickered through me; and
I
remembered, my Lord, as perhaps you may as well, the Pasha's vision of the Wandering Jew.
I
knew it was the same man - the same thing -before me now. As he passed me, he stared at me; and my pain,
I
realised, was fading, and then gone.
I
longed to cross to him, even to cry out; but
I
seemed utterly frozen, and the Wanderer did not pause in his walk.
I
watched him as he continued on his way; and then suddenly, he was gone and
I
could move once again.
I
ran through the snows. There were not even footsteps to mark where he had been.
I
gazed about me. A lake stretched on one side, cliffs on the other; but nothing stirred upon either water or rock.
I
stumbled on, my cries mocked by their own plaintive echoes; and then all at once -
I
saw it -the face of the old man.

'As in my dreams, it was a profile of rock emerging from the mountainside.
I
walked forward: it seemed to vanish.
I
returned to where
I
had been standing before: there it was again.
I
clasped my stomach, raised my hands. The blood was gleaming sticky and bright. "And now?"
I
cried. "Now? Where are you?" Nothing answered me. And then, very faint,
I
heard the pattering of a heart - tiny, remorseless, from deep within my guts.

I
sank into the snow, unable to move. How long
I
stayed there,
I
cannot say; for all sense of myself seemed utterly lost. There was only the cold, and the pounding of the heart, and the face on the mountainside, the profile made of rock. It may be that, like the wise men of the Indian's tribe,
I
stared at that face for many days, or even weeks; for that time was passing,
I
could tell from the heart, which was sounding ever louder and louder in my ears, like that of an infant awakening to life. Yet in a way
I
cannot explain, such a passage of time seemed frozen and stillborn; for
I
imagined it shrunk into a single second: measurable not by an endless but by a single beating of the heart. It rose, it pulsed, and then it passed away; and my pain, upon that silence, grew infinite. But
I
did not faint from it, as
I
had been doing since Prague; rather it was the agony - and the world -which seemed to faint from me instead. Only the face still remained in the end. Only the face.

'Slowly it turned, as
I
had seen in my dreams. It was living now, no longer made of rock.
I
met the Wanderer's stare. His Redskin's paint had gone; so too the furs, and the feathers in his hair. Rather, he seemed dressed like a beggarman, of the type you may see upon any English road. His black cloak was greasy; his clothes old and patched. He clenched between his teeth a thin, curling pipe.

'He gazed at me a long while, his stare unblinking, while tendrils of purple smoke rose from his lips. At last he lowered his pipe. Still the expression on his face did not alter, but seemed as frozen and eternal as the rock itself had been. "Why," he asked me slowly, "should
I
give you what you want?"

'His accent was one of wondrous melody; more wondrous even, my Lord, than yours. It froze on my tongue all the words
I
had rehearsed.
I
swallowed. "For the same reason,"
I
whispered, "that you came to Rabbi Loew."

'The Wanderer raised an eyebrow, and pulled deep on his pipe. "Indeed?" he answered, as he blew out the smoke.

I
clasped my stomach. It was still oozing blood, yet the touch of it somehow seemed to give me back my will. "You know what is here,"
I
said, "the seed of whose evil. Did you not appear before to the Jew, to save him and the world from the sickness of such a thing?"

'The Wanderer shrugged amusedly. "There is sickness enough in the world as it is." He gestured with his arm; and where before there had seemed to be nothing at all,
I
could now see the mountain and the lake once again, and a great expanse of forests. "How long," he asked me, "will the Redskins still come here, to seek me out as you have done? Not for long. Like a mist before the morning sun they must retreat, and then fade. It is the order of things - the sickness of the world."

I
shook my head, and hugged my stomach more tightly than before. "Yet you came to the Jew."

'The Wanderer leaned back. He shrugged again. "What of it?" ' "You gave him a book." ' "Well, sir - your point?"

' "It offered the path to a hidden world - for, as
I
have learned, the world men live in is but a shadow of the truth. In the hidden world -your world - there are creatures of dream.
I
do not know what you are, sir - whether an angel, or a god, or a demon yourself - but that some of you are demons,
I
have seen all too well."

'The Wanderer smiled mockingly. "Demons? Why, sir, who can you mean?"

' "You know."

'His smile lingered; and he shook his head. He rose and drew close to me, then took my hands. "It is true," he whispered very softly in my ear, "that there are forces in this world full of power and great strangeness - stranger, certainly, than you will ever know. For we are not to be comprehended by mortals - no, nor by blood-drinkers either, who were once mortals themselves. The creature you talk of - he is very great, but he is not so great as me. He is not, as you put it, a creature of dream. And yet - he sought to be. He sought to be . . ."

'
I
felt a great horror creeping through my blood; yet at the same moment, an exultation as well. "And this desire,"
I
whispered, "this ambition of his - is it that which has served to make him what he is?"

' "As moths are shrivelled by a candle flame, so souls are blackened which draw near to our world."

' "He was a mortal once?"

' "A mortal who grew a blood-drinker - and now - a nameless thing."

' "Yet even blood-drinkers -
I
have seen it - may be destroyed." ' "Be warned, then - for you are not even one of them. Do not draw too near."

'
"
I
must die anyway, if you do not give me the powers which you gave to Rabbi Loew."

'The Wanderer gazed at me; then he laughed.

' "Give me the powers,"
I
hissed, "and
I
will slay him, as he slew my parents and destroyed my world."

'He laughed again. "Why should
I
care what you would do?"

' "
I
cannot say,"
I
answered. Then
I
frowned. "And yet you do."

'The smile faded from the Wanderer's lips and he leaned close to me again, his cheek against my own.

' "Why would you have come to the Jew,"
I
asked him slowly, "when there is so much else in this world, as you have said, which is sick? Why would you have given him the book? Why would you have given him the power?"

'
I
turned to face him. 'He did not reply.

' "To destroy the demon,"
I
continued, answering myself. "So much is clear. Yet why? Why should you have cared? Is it possible, perhaps
..."
-
I
turned to face him again - "that the responsibility for his fall was somehow your own?"

'The Wanderer's stare seemed immeasurably deep.

' "Who was he?"
I
whispered. "How did he fall?"

' "That," the Wanderer murmured, "is another tale."

' "And yet it is not altogether,"
I
replied. "For if you did cause his fall - then you caused my own fall as well."

'The Wanderer gazed at me a moment more; then rose suddenly to his feet. "You cannot understand what it is that you request."

I
breathed in deeply. "Yet
I
ask for it all the same."

' "Be warned, then," he nodded, "lest you become like the thing you are seeking to destroy."

' "
I
will brave that risk."

'The Wanderer smiled very faintly. "And so it ever is," he whispered. "Forbidden fruit will always be plucked." He leaned over me; he pressed his hands upon my stomach, then raised them before my face.

I
gazed at the gore, my own, upon his fingers. "What,"
I
whispered, "would you have me do?"

'His smile broadened. "Why," he laughed, "have not your own scripmres taught you, that the Blood is the Life?"

'Then he turned, and began to walk away from me.
I
watched him go; even as
I
stared, he seemed to be fading. "What should
I
do?"
I
screamed. Still he did not pause. He was melting now into a shadow of cloud. "What should
I
do?"
I
screamed a second time. He continued to dissolve; he did not look round. He seemed nothing now but a haze of mountain mist. And then very faint, like an echo, came his voice:
"The Blood is the Life."
And then he was gone.

'At the same moment,
I
heard the beating of the heart rising from deep inside me once again; and an icy dampness seeping from my skin.
I
touched it. My blood was thickening; it seemed almost black.
I
parted my lips,
I
extended my tongue. Then
I
brought up my finger;
I
licked the very tip.

'At once, the mountains seemed to shudder. The dampness was growing all over me now; the heartbeats sounding with a deafening pitch. When
I
struggled to sit up,
I
seemed to be sitting in a spreading pool of gore.
I
reached behind me. Blood was flooding out as though from an open wound. "No,"
I
screamed, "no!"
I
bent back my head, as my muscles seemed to tear. Faster and faster the heartbeats were pulsing, louder and louder, as they slipped out on the pain.
I
clasped my stomach. It was pulsing up and down now, soggy with blood; and
I
began to lick my hands desperately, to suck upon the gore. As
I
did so, the mountains shuddered again; they writhed, and melted, and disappeared.
I
gazed about me. Briefly,
I
saw the forms of giant standing stones; and then they too were gone; and there seemed nothing but light, in straight burning beams, washing my thoughts where
I
lay within their heart. The light was mine,
I
realised;
I
could control it as
I
wished. "Ease the pain," and the pain at once was eased. "Purge me - purge me clean!"; and
I
seemed to shimmer and leave my own flesh.
I
could see my body laid out before me, and
I
resolved to play my own anatomist. Yet
I
needed no knife;
I
willed it, and
it
happened - my stomach was sliced apart. There, deep within the guts, the gnawing foetus lay.
It
twisted its corpse-white, thick-veined head; and then it hissed and spat, as though appalled by my gaze. And well it might have been; for
I
had never seen a thing
I
hated so.
I
ripped it out, bloody and unformed; and as
I
did so,
I
heard a violent screaming which was not my own, and
I
found myself restored to the veil of my own flesh. Again, though,
I
heard the scream, and again it was not my own.