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I
looked
round
the
room
;
forced
myself
to
observe
it
dispassionately
.
There
were
other
cabbalistic
emblems
.
On
the
wall
to
my
right
a
black
cross
—
not
the
Christian
cross
,
because
the
top
of
the
upright
was
swollen
,
an
inverted
pear
shape
;
to
the
left
,
facing
the
cross
,
was
a
deep
red
rose
,
the
only
patch
of
color
in
the
black
and
white
room
.
At
the
far
end
,
over
the
one
large
door
,
was
painted
in
black
a
huge
left
hand
cut
off
at
the
wrist
,
with
the
forefinger
and
little
finger
pointing
up
and
the
two
middle
fingers
holding
down
the
thumb
.
The
room
stank
of
ritual
;
and
I
have
always
loathed
rituals
of
any
kind
.
I
kept
repeating
the
same
phrase
to
myself
:
keep
dignity
,
keep
dignity
,
keep
dignity
.
I
knew
I
must
look
ridiculous
with
the
black
cyclops
eye
on
my
forehead
and
the
white
ribbons
and
the
rosettes
.
But
I
somehow
had
to
contrive
not
to
be
ridiculous
.
Then
my
heart
jolted
.
A
terrifying
figure
.
Suddenly
and
silently
in
the
doorway
at
the
far
end
,
Herne
the
Hunter
.
A
neolithic
god
;
a
spirit
of
darkness
,
of
northern
forest
,
of
a
time
before
kings
,
as
black
and
chilling
as
the
touch
of
iron
.
A
man
with
the
head
of
a
stag
that
filled
the
arched
door
,
who
stood
silhouetted
,
giant
,
unforgettable
image
,
against
the
dimly
lit
whitewashed
wall
of
the
corridor
behind
.
The
antlers
were
enormous
,
as
black
as
almond
branches
,
many
-
tined
.
And
the
man
was
in
black
from
head
to
foot
,
with
only
the
eyes
and
the
nostril
ends
marked
in
white
.
He
imposed
his
presence
on
me
,
then
came
slowly
down
the
room
to
the
table
;
stood
centrally
and
regally
behind
it
for
another
long
moment
,
then
moved
to
the
extreme
left
end
.
By
that
time
I
had
noted
the
black
gloves
,
the
black
shoes
beneath
the
narrow
soutane
-
like
smock
he
wore
;
that
he
had
to
move
slowly
because
the
mask
was
slightly
precarious
,
being
so
large
.
The
fear
I
felt
was
the
same
old
fear
;
not
of
the
appearance
,
but
of
the
reason
behind
the
appearance
.
It
was
not
the
mask
I
was
afraid
of
,
because
in
our
century
we
are
too
inured
by
science
fiction
and
too
sure
of
science
reality
ever
to
be
terrified
of
the
supernatural
again
;
but
of
what
lay
behind
the
mask
.
The
eternal
source
of
all
fear
,
all
horror
,
all
real
evil
,
man
himself
.
Another
figure
appeared
,
and
paused
,
as
they
were
all
to
do
,
in
the
archway
.
This
time
it
was
a
woman
.
She
was
dressed
in
traditional
English
witch
costume
;
a
brimmed
black
-
peaked
hat
,
long
white
hair
,
red
apron
,
black
cloak
,
and
a
malevolent
mask
;
a
beaked
nose
.
She
hobbled
,
bentbacked
,
to
the
right
end
of
the
table
and
set
the
cat
she
was
carrying
on
it
.
It
was
dead
,
stuffed
in
a
sitting
position
.
The
cat
’
s
glass
eyes
were
on
me
.
Her
black
and
white
eyes
.
And
the
stagman
’
s
.
Another
startling
figure
:
a
man
in
a
crocodile
head
—
a
bizarre
maned
mask
that
projected
forwards
,
more
Negroid
than
anything
else
,
with
ferocious
white
teeth
and
bulging
eyes
.
He
hardly
paused
,
but
came
swiftly
to
his
place
beside
the
stag
,
as
if
the
wearer
was
uncomfortable
in
costume
;
unused
to
such
scenes
.
A
shorter
male
figure
came
next
:
an
abnormally
large
head
in
which
white
cube
teeth
reached
in
a
savage
grin
from
ear
to
ear
.
His
eyes
seemed
buried
in
deep
black
sockets
.
Round
the
top
of
his
head
there
rose
a
great
iguana
frill
.
This
man
was
dressed
in
a
black
poncho
,
and
looked
Mexican
;
Aztec
.
He
moved
to
his
place
beside
the
witch
.
Another
woman
figure
appeared
.
I
felt
sure
ft
was
Lily
.
She
was
the
winged
vampire
,
an
eared
bat
head
in
black
fur
,
two
long
white
fangs
;
below
her
waist
she
wore
a
black
skirt
,
black
stockings
,
black
shoes
.
Slim
legs
.
She
went
quickly
to
her
place
beside
the
crocodile
,
the
clawed
wings
held
rigidly
out
,
bellying
a
little
in
the
air
,
uncanny
in
the
torchlight
;
a
great
flickering
shadow
that
darkened
the
cross
and
the
rose
.
The
next
figure
was
African
,
a
folk
horror
,
a
corn
-
doll
bundle
of
black
strips
of
rag
that
hung
down
to
the
ground
in
a
series
of
skirted
flounces
.
Even
the
head
mask
was
made
of
these
rags
;
with
a
topknot
of
three
white
feathers
and
two
huge
saucer
eyes
.
It
appeared
armless
and
legless
,
and
indeed
sexless
,
some
ultimate
childish
nightmare
.
It
shuffled
forward
to
its
place
beside
the
vampire
;
added
to
the
chorus
of
outrageous
stares
.
Then
came
a
squat
succubus
with
a
Bosch
-
like
snout
.
The
following
man
was
by
contrast
mainly
white
,
a
macabre
Pierrot
-
skeleton
;
echo
of
the
figure
on
the
wall
of
my
cell
.
His
mask
was
a
skull
.
The
outline
of
the
pelvis
had
been
cleverly
exaggerated
;
and
the
wearer
had
a
stiff
,
bony
walk
.
Then
an
even
more
bizarre
personage
.
It
was
a
woman
,
and
I
began
to
doubt
whether
,
after
all
,
the
vampire
was
Lily
.
The
front
of
her
stiffened
skirt
had
the
form
of
a
stylized
fishtail
,
which
swelled
up
into
a
heavy
pregnant
belly
;
and
then
that
in
turn
,
above
the
breasts
,
became
an
up
-
pointed
bird
’
s
head
.
This
figure
walked
forward
slowly
,
left
hand
supporting
the
swollen
eight
-
months
’
belly
,
right
hand
between
the
breasts
.
The
beaked
white
head
with
its
almond
-
shaped
eyes
seemed
to
stare
up
towards
the
ceiling
.
It
was
beautiful
,
this
fish
-
woman
-
bird
,
strangely
tender
after
the
morbidity
and
threat
of
the
other
figures
.
In
its
upstretched
throat
I
could
see
two
small
holes
,
apertures
for
the
eyes
of
the
real
person
beneath
.
Four
more
places
remained
.
The
next
figure
was
almost
an
old
friend
.
Anubis
the
jackal
head
,
alert
and
vicious
.
He
strode
lithely
to
his
place
,
a
Negro
walk
.
A
man
in
a
black
cloak
on
which
were
various
astrological
and
alchemical
symbols
in
white
.
On
his
head
he
wore
a
hat
with
a
peak
a
yard
high
and
a
wide
nefarious
brim
;
a
kind
of
black
neck
-
covering
hung
from
behind
it
.
Black
gloves
,
and
a
long
white
staff
surmounted
by
a
circle
,
a
snake
with
its
tail
in
its
mouth
.
Over
the
face
there
was
no
more
than
a
deep
mask
in
black
.
I
knew
who
it
was
.
I
could
see
the
gleaming
eyes
and
the
implacable
mouth
.
Two
more
places
at
the
center
.
There
was
a
pause
.
The
rank
of
figures
behind
the
table
stared
up
at
me
,
unmoving
,
in
total
silence
.
I
looked
round
at
my
guards
,
who
stared
ahead
,
like
soldiers
;
and
I
shrugged
.
I
wished
I
could
have
yawned
,
to
put
them
all
in
their
place
;
and
to
help
me
in
mine
.
Four
men
appeared
in
the
white
corridor
.
They
were
carrying
a
black
sedan
chair
,
so
narrow
that
it
looked
almost
like
an
upright
coffin
.
I
could
see
closed
curtains
at
its
sides
,
and
in
front
.
On
the
front
panel
was
painted
in
white
the
same
emblem
as
the
one
above
my
throne
—
an
eight
-
spoked
wheel
.
On
the
roof
of
the
sedan
was
a
kind
of
black
tiara
,
each
of
whose
teeth
ended
in
a
white
meniscus
,
a
ring
of
new
moons
.
The
four
porters
were
black
-
smocked
.
On
their
heads
they
had
grotesque
masks
—
witch
-
doctor
faces
in
white
and
black
and
then
rising
from
the
crown
of
each
head
enormous
vertical
crosses
a
yard
or
more
high
.
Instead
of
breaking
off
cleanly
the
ends
of
the
arms
and
the
upright
of
these
crosses
burst
out
in
black
mops
of
rag
or
raffia
,
so
that
they
seemed
to
be
burning
with
black
flame
.
They
did
not
come
directly
to
the
center
of
the
table
,
but
as
if
it
was
some
host
,
some
purifying
relic
,
carried
their
coffin
-
sedan
round
the
room
,
up
the
left
side
,
round
in
front
of
my
throne
,
between
me
and
the
table
,
so
that
I
could
see
the
white
crescent
moons
,
the
symbols
of
Artemis
-
Diana
,
on
the
side
-
panels
,
then
on
down
the
right
side
to
the
door
again
and
then
finally
back
to
the
table
.
The
poles
were
slipped
out
of
the
brackets
,
and
the
box
was
lifted
forward
to
the
central
empty
place
.
Throughout
,
the
other
figures
remained
staring
at
me
.
The
black
porters
went
and
stood
by
the
brands
,
three
of
which
were
almost
extinguished
.
The
light
was
getting
dim
.
Then
the
thirteenth
figure
appeared
.
In
contrast
to
the
others
he
was
in
a
long
white
smock
or
alb
that
reached
to
the
ground
;
whose
only
decoration
consisted
of
two
black
bands
round
the
end
of
the
loose
sleeves
.
He
carried
a
black
staff
in
red
-
gloved
hands
.
The
head
was
that
of
a
pure
black
goat
;
a
real
goat
’
s
head
,
worn
as
a
kind
of
cap
,
so
that
it
stood
high
off
the
shoulders
of
the
person
beneath
,
whose
real
face
must
have
lain
behind
the
shaggy
black
beard
.
Huge
backswept
horns
,
left
their
natural
colors
;
amber
glass
eyes
;
the
only
ornament
,
a
fat
blood
-
red
candle
that
had
been
fixed
between
the
horns
and
lit
.
I
wished
I
could
speak
,
for
I
badly
needed
to
shout
something
debunking
,
something
adolescent
and
healthy
and
English
;
a
"
Doctor
Crowley
,
I
presume
.
"
But
all
I
could
do
was
to
cross
my
knees
and
look
what
I
was
not
—
unimpressed
.
The
goat
figure
,
his
satanic
majesty
,
came
forward
with
an
archidiabolical
dignity
and
I
braced
myself
for
the
next
development
:
a
black
mass
seemed
likely
.
Perhaps
the
table
was
to
be
the
altar
.
I
realized
that
he
was
lampooning
the
traditional
Christ
figure
;
the
staff
was
the
pastoral
crook
,
the
black
beard
Christ
’
s
brown
one
,
the
blood
-
red
candle
some
sort
of
blasphemous
parody
of
the
halo
.
He
came
to
his
place
,
the
long
line
of
black
-
carnival
puppets
stared
at
me
from
the
floor
.
I
stared
down
the
line
:
the
stag
-
devil
,
the
crocodile
-
devil
,
the
vampire
,
the
succubus
,
the
birdwoman
,
the
magician
,
the
coffin
-
sedan
,
the
goat
-
devil
,
the
jackal
-
devil
,
the
Pierrot
-
skeleton
,
the
corn
doll
,
the
Aztec
,
the
witch
.
I
found
myself
swallowing
,
looking
round
again
at
my
inscrutable
guards
.
The
gag
was
beginning
to
hurt
.
In
the
end
I
found
it
more
comfortable
to
stare
down
at
the
foot
of
the
dais
.
Perhaps
a
minute
passed
like
that
.
Another
of
the
brands
stopped
flaming
.
The
goat
figure
raised
his
staff
,
held
it
up
a
moment
,
then
made
to
lay
it
on
the
table
in
front
of
him
;
but
he
must
have
got
it
caught
in
something
because
there
was
a
comforting
little
hitch
in
the
stage
business
.
As
soon
as
he
had
managed
it
,
he
raised
both
hands
sacerdotally
,
but
fingers
devil
-
horned
,
and
pointed
at
the
corners
behind
me
.
My
two
guards
went
to
the
projectors
.
Suddenly
the
room
was
flooded
with
light
;
and
,
after
a
moment
of
total
stillness
,
flooded
with
movement
.
Like
actors
suddenly
offstage
,
the
row
of
figures
in
front
of
me
began
removing
their
masks
and
cloaks
.
The
cross
-
headed
men
by
the
brands
turned
and
took
the
torches
and
filed
out
towards
the
door
.
But
they
had
to
wait
there
,
because
a
group
of
twenty
or
so
young
people
appeared
.
They
came
in
loosely
,
in
ordinary
clothes
,
without
any
attempt
at
order
.
Some
of
them
had
files
and
books
.
They
were
silent
,
and
quickly
took
their
places
on
the
tiered
side
benches
to
my
right
.
The
men
with
the
torches
disappeared
.
I
looked
at
the
newcomers
—
German
or
Scandinavian
,
intelligent
faces
,
students
’
faces
,
one
or
two
older
people
among
them
,
and
three
girls
,
but
with
an
average
age
in
the
early
twenties
.
Several
of
the
men
I
recognized
from
the
incident
of
the
ridge
.
All
this
time
the
row
of
figures
behind
the
table
were
disrobing
.
Adam
and
my
two
guards
moved
about
helping
them
.
Adam
laid
cardboard
folders
with
white
labels
in
each
place
.
The
stuffed
cat
was
removed
,
and
the
staffs
,
all
the
paraphernalia
.
It
was
done
swiftly
,
well
rehearsed
.
I
kept
flashing
looks
down
the
line
,
as
one
person
after
another
was
revealed
.
The
last
arrival
,
the
goathead
,
was
an
old
man
with
a
clipped
white
beard
,
dark
gray
-
blue
eyes
;
a
resemblance
to
Smuts
.
Like
all
the
others
he
studiously
avoided
looking
at
me
,
but
I
saw
him
smile
at
Conchis
,
the
astrologer
-
magician
beside
him
.
Next
to
Conchis
appeared
,
from
behind
the
birdliead
and
pregnant
belly
,
a
slim
middleaged
woman
.
She
was
wearing
a
dark
gray
suit
;
a
headmistress
or
a
business
woman
.
The
jackal
head
,
Joe
,
was
dressed
in
a
dark
blue
suit
.
Anton
came
,
surprisingly
,
from
behind
the
Pierrot
-
skeleton
costume
.
The
succubus
from
Bosch
revealed
another
elderly
man
with
a
mild
face
and
pince
-
nez
.
The
corn
doll
was
Maria
.
The
Atzec
head
was
the
German
colonel
,
the
pseudo
Wimmel
of
the
ridge
incident
.
The
vampire
was
not
Lily
,
but
her
sister
;
a
scarless
wrist
.
A
white
blouse
,
and
the
black
skirt
.
The
crocodile
was
a
man
in
his
late
twenties
.
He
had
a
thin
artistic
looking
beard
;
a
Greek
or
an
Italian
.
He
too
was
wearing
a
suit
.
The
stag
head
was
another
man
I
did
not
know
;
a
very
tall
Jewish
looking
intellectual
of
about
forty
,
deeply
tanned
and
slightly
balding
.
That
left
the
witch
on
the
extreme
right
of
the
table
.
It
was
Lily
,
in
a
long
-
sleeved
high
-
necked
white
woolen
dress
.
I
watched
her
pat
her
severely
chignoned
hair
and
then
put
on
a
pair
of
spectacles
.
She
bent
to
hear
something
that
the
"
colonel
"
next
to
her
whispered
in
her
ear
.
She
nodded
,
then
opened
the
file
in
front
of
her
.
Only
one
person
was
not
revealed
:
whoever
was
in
the
coffin
-
sedan
.
I
sat
facing
a
long
table
of
perfectly
normal
-
looking
people
,
who
were
all
sitting
and
consulting
their
files
and
beginning
to
look
at
me
.
Their
faces
showed
interest
,
but
no
sympathy
.
I
stared
at
Rose
,
but
she
stared
back
without
expression
,
as
if
I
were
a
waxwork
.
I
waited
above
all
for
Lily
to
look
at
me
,
but
when
she
did
there
was
nothing
in
her
eyes
.
She
behaved
like
,
and
her
position
at
the
end
of
the
table
suggested
,
a
minor
member
of
a
team
,
of
a
selection
board
.
At
last
the
old
man
with
the
clipped
white
beard
rose
to
his
feet
and
a
faint
murmuring
that
had
begun
among
the
audience
stopped
.
The
other
members
of
the
"
board
"
looked
towards
him
.
I
saw
some
,
but
not
many
,
of
the
"
students
"
with
open
notebooks
on
their
laps
,
ready
to
write
.
The
old
man
with
the
white
beard
gazed
up
at
me
through
his
gold
-
rimmed
glasses
,
smiled
,
and
bowed
.
"
Mr
.
Urfe
,
you
must
long
ago
have
come
to
the
conclusion
that
you
have
fallen
into
the
hands
of
madmen
.
Worse
than
that
,
of
sadistic
madmen
.
And
I
think
my
first
task
is
to
introduce
you
to
the
sadistic
madmen
.
"
Some
of
the
others
gave
little
smiles
.
His
English
was
excellent
,
though
it
retained
clear
traces
of
a
German
accent
.
"
But
first
we
must
return
you
,
as
we
have
returned
ourselves
,
to
normality
.
"
He
signed
quietly
to
my
two
guards
,
who
had
come
back
beside
me
.
Deftly
they
untied
the
rosetted
white
ribbons
,
pulled
my
clothes
back
to
their
normal
position
,
peeled
off
the
black
forehead
patch
,
turned
back
my
pullover
,
even
brushed
my
hair
back
;
but
left
the
gag
.
"
Good
.
Now
…
if
I
may
be
allowed
I
shall
first
introduce
myself
.
I
am
Dr
.
Friedrich
Kretschmer
,
formerly
of
Stuttgart
,
now
director
of
the
Institute
of
Experimental
Psychology
at
the
University
of
Idaho
in
America
.
On
my
right
you
have
Dr
.
Maurice
Conchis
of
the
Sorbonne
,
whom
you
know
.
"
Conchis
rose
and
bowed
briefly
to
me
.
I
glared
at
him
.
"
On
his
right
,
Dr
.
Mary
Marcus
,
now
of
Edinburgh
University
,
formerly
of
the
William
Alanson
White
Foundation
in
New
York
.
"
The
professional
-
looking
woman
inclined
her
head
.
"
On
her
right
,
Professor
Mario
Ciardi
of
Milan
.
"
He
stood
up
and
bowed
,
a
mild
little
frog
of
a
man
.
"
Beyond
him
you
have
our
charming
and
very
gifted
young
costume
designer
,
Miss
Moira
Maxwell
.
"
"
Rose
"
gave
me
a
minute
brittle
smile
.
"
On
the
right
of
Miss
Maxwell
you
see
Mr
.
Yanni
Kottopoulos
.
He
has
been
our
stage
manager
.
"
The
man
with
the
beard
bowed
;
and
then
the
tall
Jew
stood
.
"
And
bowing
to
you
now
you
see
Arne
Halberstedt
of
the
Queen
’
s
Theatre
,
Stockholm
,
our
dramatizer
and
director
,
to
whom
,
together
with
Miss
Maxwell
and
Mr
.
Kottopoulos
we
mere
amateurs
in
the
new
drama
all
owe
a
great
deal
for
the
successful
outcome
and
aesthetic
beauty
of
our
…
enterprise
.
"
First
Conchis
,
then
the
other
members
of
the
"
board
,
"
then
the
students
,
began
to
clap
.
Even
the
guards
behind
me
joined
in
.
The
old
man
turned
.
"
Now
—
on
my
left
—
you
see
an
empty
box
.
