as if we swayed together in a dance, like snake and victim.
I shook my head. My mind was too full of conflict. I felt that I was losing both physical and mental balance at once.
He touched my hand again. I gasped.
“Come, von Bek. Come to Hell.”
His flesh was hot but did not bum me. It was sensuous, that touch, though immensely strong.
“Your Majesty …” I was pleading, in turn.
“Will you not have pity, von Bek? Have pity on the Fallen One. Pity Lucifer.”
The urgency, the pain, the need, the desperation, all conspired to win me, but I fought for a few seconds more. “I have no pity,” I said. “I have scoured pity from my soul. I have scoured mercy. I feel only for myself!”
“That is not so, von Bek.”
“It is so! It is!”
“A truly merciless creature would not even know what it was. You resist mercy in yourself. You resist pity. You are a victim of your reason. It has replaced your humanity. And that is truly what death is, though you walk and breathe. Help me restore myself to Heaven, and I shall help you to come to life again …”
“Oh, Your Majesty,” said I, “you are as clever as they say you are.” For all that I was, at that moment, His, I still attempted to strike some temporary sort of bargain. “I’ll come, on the understanding that I shall be back in this room before the hour’s over. And that I shall see Sabrina again …”
“Granted.”
The flagstones of the library melted away before us. They turned to mercury and then to blue water. We began to float downwards, as if through a cold sky, towards a distant landscape, wide and white and without horizon.
Chapter III
MY SKIN NOW seemed to have turned almost as white as that featureless plain. I observed on my hands details of line, contours of vein and bone, which I had never before noticed.
My nails glittered like glass and appeared extraordinarily fragile.
I possessed virtually no weight at all. I thought that I might have been a crystal ghost.
“This is Hell?” said I to Lucifer.
The Prince of Darkness, too, was pale. Only His eyes, black as weathered iron, were alive.
“This is Hell,” He said. “One part, I should say, of my domain. A domain which is, of course, infinite.”
“And has infinite aspects?” I suggested.
“Of course not. You speak of Heaven. Hell is the Realm of Restraint and Bleak Singularity.” His smile was almost hesitant, His glance sidelong, as if He was concerned that I should not miss His irony.
Lucifer seemed to exhibit a certain shyness with me. I could believe that He hoped for my good opinion. I was puzzled as to why this should be. He still gave off an aura of tremendous power and genius. I was still, against every effort of will, drawn to Him. I was certainly no match for Him in any conceivable terms. Yet it was my impression that He was nervous of me. What might I possess that He could not demand? Why should He be so desperate to own my soul?
But I saw no sense in trying to outguess Satan. Surely He could read every thought, anticipate every argument, forestall every action I chose to take.
It then occurred to me that perhaps He was refusing to do this. Perhaps His apparent delicacy was the result of His own reluctance to use the power that was His. The Prince of Darkness, who could manipulate kings and generals, Popes and cardinals, to whom such manipulation was second nature, was seeking somehow to be direct, was resisting in Himself the habits of an eternal lifetime.
This impression of mine could in itself have been created by means of careful deception.
There was plainly no point in attempting to understand Lucifer’s motives or guess His character. Neither should I, I told myself, waste what few mental resources I still had in trying to anticipate either His actions or His needs.
I should merely trust that he would keep His word. I would let Him show me what He wished to show me of His Realm. And I would believe nothing to be wholly what it might seem to
I shook my head. My mind was too full of conflict. I felt that I was losing both physical and mental balance at once.
He touched my hand again. I gasped.
“Come, von Bek. Come to Hell.”
His flesh was hot but did not bum me. It was sensuous, that touch, though immensely strong.
“Your Majesty …” I was pleading, in turn.
“Will you not have pity, von Bek? Have pity on the Fallen One. Pity Lucifer.”
The urgency, the pain, the need, the desperation, all conspired to win me, but I fought for a few seconds more. “I have no pity,” I said. “I have scoured pity from my soul. I have scoured mercy. I feel only for myself!”
“That is not so, von Bek.”
“It is so! It is!”
“A truly merciless creature would not even know what it was. You resist mercy in yourself. You resist pity. You are a victim of your reason. It has replaced your humanity. And that is truly what death is, though you walk and breathe. Help me restore myself to Heaven, and I shall help you to come to life again …”
“Oh, Your Majesty,” said I, “you are as clever as they say you are.” For all that I was, at that moment, His, I still attempted to strike some temporary sort of bargain. “I’ll come, on the understanding that I shall be back in this room before the hour’s over. And that I shall see Sabrina again …”
“Granted.”
The flagstones of the library melted away before us. They turned to mercury and then to blue water. We began to float downwards, as if through a cold sky, towards a distant landscape, wide and white and without horizon.
Chapter III
MY SKIN NOW seemed to have turned almost as white as that featureless plain. I observed on my hands details of line, contours of vein and bone, which I had never before noticed.
My nails glittered like glass and appeared extraordinarily fragile.
I possessed virtually no weight at all. I thought that I might have been a crystal ghost.
“This is Hell?” said I to Lucifer.
The Prince of Darkness, too, was pale. Only His eyes, black as weathered iron, were alive.
“This is Hell,” He said. “One part, I should say, of my domain. A domain which is, of course, infinite.”
“And has infinite aspects?” I suggested.
“Of course not. You speak of Heaven. Hell is the Realm of Restraint and Bleak Singularity.” His smile was almost hesitant, His glance sidelong, as if He was concerned that I should not miss His irony.
Lucifer seemed to exhibit a certain shyness with me. I could believe that He hoped for my good opinion. I was puzzled as to why this should be. He still gave off an aura of tremendous power and genius. I was still, against every effort of will, drawn to Him. I was certainly no match for Him in any conceivable terms. Yet it was my impression that He was nervous of me. What might I possess that He could not demand? Why should He be so desperate to own my soul?
But I saw no sense in trying to outguess Satan. Surely He could read every thought, anticipate every argument, forestall every action I chose to take.
It then occurred to me that perhaps He was refusing to do this. Perhaps His apparent delicacy was the result of His own reluctance to use the power that was His. The Prince of Darkness, who could manipulate kings and generals, Popes and cardinals, to whom such manipulation was second nature, was seeking somehow to be direct, was resisting in Himself the habits of an eternal lifetime.
This impression of mine could in itself have been created by means of careful deception.
There was plainly no point in attempting to understand Lucifer’s motives or guess His character. Neither should I, I told myself, waste what few mental resources I still had in trying to anticipate either His actions or His needs.
I should merely trust that he would keep His word. I would let Him show me what He wished to show me of His Realm. And I would believe nothing to be wholly what it might seem to
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