My reception at the Pale Horse was conventional in the extreme. I don’tknow what particular atmospheric1 effect I had expected—but it was notthis.
Thyrza Grey, wearing a plain dark wool dress, opened the door, said in abusinesslike tone: “Ah, here you are. Good. We’ll have supper straight-away—”
Nothing could have been more matter-of-fact, more completely ordin-ary….
The table was laid for a simple meal at the end of the panelled hall. Wehad soup, an omelette, and cheese. Bella waited on us. She wore a blackstuff dress and looked more than ever like one of the crowd in an Italianprimitive. Sybil struck a more exotic note. She had on a long dress of somewoven peacock-coloured fabric2, shot with gold. Her beads3 were absent onthis occasion, but she had two heavy gold bracelets4 clasping her wrists.
She ate a minute portion of omelette but nothing else. She spoke5 little,treating us to a faraway wrapped-up-in-higher-things mood. It ought tohave been impressive. Actually it was not. The effect was theatrical6 andunreal.
Thyrza Grey provided what conversation there was — a brisk chattycommentary on local happenings. She was this evening the British coun-try spinster to the life, pleasant, efficient, uninterested in anything beyondher immediate7 surroundings.
I thought to myself, I’m mad, completely mad. What is there to fearhere? Even Bella seemed tonight only a half-witted old peasant woman—like hundreds of other women of her kind—inbred, untouched by educa-tion or a broader outlook.
My conversation with Mrs. Dane Calthrop seemed fantastic in retro-spect. We had worked ourselves up to imagine goodness knows what. Theidea of Ginger8—Ginger with her dyed hair and assumed name—being indanger from anything these three very ordinary women could do, waspositively ludicrous!
The meal came to an end.
“No coffee,” said Thyrza apologetically. “One doesn’t want to be over-stimulated.” She rose. “Sybil?”
“Yes,” said Sybil, her face taking on what she clearly thought was an ec-static and otherworld expression. “I must go and PREPARE….”
Bella began to clear the table. I wandered over to where the old inn signhung. Thyrza followed me.
“You can’t really see it at all by this light,” she said.
That was quite true. The faint pale image against the dark encrustedgrime of the panel could hardly be distinguished9 as that of a horse. Thehall was lit by feeble electric bulbs shielded by thick vellum shades.
“That red-haired girl—what’s her name?—Ginger something—who wasstaying down here—said she’d do a spot of cleaning and restoring on it,”
said Thyrza. “Don’t suppose she’ll ever remember about it, though.” Sheadded casually10, “She works for some gallery or other in London.”
It gave me a strange feeling to hear Ginger referred to lightly and casu-ally.
I said, staring at the picture:
“It might be interesting.”
“It’s not a good painting, of course,” said Thyrza. “Just a daub. But it goeswith the place—and it’s certainly well over three hundred years old.”
“Ready.”
We wheeled abruptly11.
Bella, emerging out of the gloom, was beckoning12.
“Time to get on with things,” said Thyrza, still brisk and matter-of-fact.
I followed her as she led the way out to the converted barn.
As I have said, there was no entrance to it from the house. It was a darkovercast night, no stars. We came out of the dense13 outer blackness into thelong lighted room.
The barn, by night, was transformed. By day it had seemed a pleasantlibrary. Now it had become something more. There were lamps, but thesewere not turned on. The lighting14 was indirect and flooded the room with asoft but cold light. In the centre of the floor was a kind of raised bed or di-van. It was spread with a purple cloth, embroidered15 with various cabbal-istic signs.
On the far side of the room was what appeared to be a small brazier,and next to it a big copper16 basin—an old one by the look of it.
On the other side, set back almost touching17 the wall, was a heavy oak-backed chair. Thyrza motioned me towards it.
“Sit there,” she said.
I sat obediently. Thyrza’s manner had changed. The odd thing was that Icould not define exactly in what the change consisted. There was none ofSybil’s spurious occultism about it. It was more as though an everydaycurtain of normal trivial life had been lifted. Behind it was the real wo-man, displaying something of the manner of a surgeon approaching theoperating table for a difficult and dangerous operation. This impressionwas heightened when she went to a cupboard in the wall and took from itwhat appeared to be a kind of long overall. It seemed to be made, whenthe light caught it, of some metallic18 woven tissue. She drew on long gaunt-lets of what looked like a kind of fine mesh19 rather resembling a “bullet-proof vest” I had once been shown.
“One has to take precautions,” she said.
The phrase struck me as slightly sinister20.
Then she addressed me in an emphatic21 deep voice.
“I must impress upon you, Mr. Easterbrook, the necessity of remainingabsolutely still where you are. On no account must you move from thatchair. It might not be safe to do so. This is no child’s game. I am dealingwith forces that are dangerous to those who do not know how to handlethem!” She paused and then asked, “You have brought what you were in-structed to bring?”
Without a word, I drew from my pocket a brown suède glove andhanded it to her.
She took it and moved over to a metal lamp with a gooseneck shade. Sheswitched on the lamp and held the glove under its rays which were of apeculiar sickly colour, turning the glove from its rich brown to a charac-terless grey.
She switched off the lamp, nodding in approval.
“Most suitable,” she said. “The physical emanations from its wearer arequite strong.”
She put it down on top of what appeared to be a large radio cabinet atthe end of the room. Then she raised her voice a little. “Bella. Sybil. Weare ready.”
Sybil came in first. She wore a long black cloak over her peacock dress.
This she flung aside with a dramatic gesture. It slid down, looking like aninky pool on the floor. She came forward.
“I do hope it will be all right,” she said. “One never knows. Please don’tadopt a sceptical frame of mind, Mr. Easterbrook. It does so hinderthings.”
“Mr. Easterbrook has not come here to mock,” said Thyrza.
There was a certain grimness in her tone.
Sybil lay down on the purple divan22. Thyrza bent23 over her, arranging herdraperies.
“Quite comfortable?” she asked solicitously24.
“Yes, thank you, dear.”
Thyrza switched off some lights. Then she wheeled up what was, in ef-fect, a kind of canopy25 on wheels. This she placed so that it overshadowedthe divan and left Sybil in a deep shadow in the middle of outlying dimtwilight.
“Too much light is harmful to a complete trance,” she said.
“Now, I think, we are ready. Bella?”
Bella came out of the shadows. The two women approached me. Withher right hand Thyrza took my left. Her left hand took Bella’s right. Bella’sleft hand found my right hand. Thyrza’s hand was dry and hard, Bella’swas cold and boneless—it felt like a slug in mine and I shivered in revul-sion.
Thyrza must have touched a switch somewhere, for music soundedfaintly from the ceiling. I recognised it as Mendelssohn’s funeral march.
“Mise en scêne,” I said to myself rather scornfully. “Meretricious trap-pings!” I was cool and critical—but nevertheless aware of an undercurrentof some unwanted emotional apprehension26.
The music stopped. There was a long wait. There was only the sound ofbreathing. Bella’s slightly wheezy, Sybil’s deep and regular.
And then, suddenly, Sybil spoke. Not, however, in her own voice. It wasa man’s voice, as unlike her own mincing27 accents as could be. It had a gut-tural foreign accent.
“I am here,” the voice said.
My hands were released. Bella flitted away into the shadows. Thyrzasaid: “Good evening. Is that Macandal?”
“I am Macandal.”
Thyrza went to the divan and drew away the protecting canopy. Thesoft light flowed down onto Sybil’s face. She appeared to be deeply asleep.
In this repose28 her face looked quite different.
The lines were smoothed away. She looked years younger. One could al-most say that she looked beautiful.
Thyrza said:
“Are you prepared, Macandal, to submit to my desire and my will?”
The new deep voice said:
“I am.”
“Will you undertake to protect the body of the Dossu that lies here andwhich you now inhabit, from all physical injury and harm? Will you ded-icate its vital force to my purpose, that that purpose may be accomplishedthrough it?”
“I will.”
“Will you so dedicate this body that death may pass through it, obeyingsuch natural laws as may be available in the body of the recipient29?”
“The dead must be sent to cause death. It shall be so.”
Thyrza drew back a step. Bella came up and held out what I saw was acrucifix. Thyrza placed it on Sybil’s breast in a reversed position. ThenBella brought a small green phial. From this Thyrza poured out a drop ortwo onto Sybil’s forehead, and traced something with her finger. Again Ifancied that it was the sign of the cross upside down.
She said to me, briefly30, “Holy water from the Catholic church at Garsing-ton.”
Her voice was quite ordinary, and this, which ought to have broken thespell, did not do so. It made the whole business, somehow, more alarming.
Finally she brought that rather horrible rattle31 we had seen before. Sheshook it three times and then clasped Sybil’s hand round it.
She stepped back and said:
“All is ready—”
Bella repeated the words:
“All is ready—”
Thyrza addressed me in a low tone:
“I don’t suppose you’re much impressed, are you, by all the ritual? Someof our visitors are. To you, I daresay, it’s all so much mumbo jumbo… Butdon’t be too sure. Ritual—a pattern of words and phrases sanctified bytime and usage, has an effect on the human spirit. What causes the masshysteria of crowds? We don’t know exactly. But it’s a phenomenon that ex-ists. These old- time usages, they have their part — a necessary part, Ithink.”
Bella had left the room. She came back now, carrying a white cock. Itwas alive and struggling to be free.
Now with white chalk she knelt down and began to draw signs on thefloor round the brazier and the copper bowl. She set down the cock withits back on the white curving line round the bowl and it stayed there mo-tionless.
She drew more signs, chanting as she did so, in a low guttural voice. Thewords were incomprehensible to me, but as she knelt and swayed, shewas clearly working herself up to some pitch of obscene ecstasy32.
Watching me, Thyrza said: “You don’t like it much? It’s old, you know,very old. The death spell according to old recipes handed from mother todaughter.”
I couldn’t fathom33 Thyrza. She did nothing to further the effect on mysenses which Bella’s rather horrible performances might well have had.
She seemed deliberately34 to take the part of a commentator35.
Bella stretched out her hands to the brazier and a flickering36 flamesprang up. She sprinkled something on the flames and a thick cloying37 per-fume filled the air.
“We are ready,” said Thyrza.
The surgeon, I thought, picks up his scalpel….
She went over to what I had taken to be a radio cabinet. It opened upand I saw that it was a large electrical contrivance of some complicatedkind.
It moved like a trolley38 and she wheeled it slowly and carefully to a posi-tion near the divan.
She bent over it, adjusted the controls, murmuring to herself:
“Compass, north-northeast…degrees…that’s about right.” She took theglove and adjusted it in a particular position, switching on a small violetlight beside it.
Then she spoke to the inert39 figure on the divan.
“Sybil Diana Helen, you are set free from your mortal sheath which thespirit Macandal guards safely for you. You are free to be at one with theowner of this glove. Like all human beings, her goal in life is towardsdeath. There is no final satisfaction but death. Only death solves all prob-lems. Only death gives true peace. All great ones have known it. Remem-ber Macbeth. ‘After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.’ Remember the ecstasyof Tristan and Isolde. Love and death. Love and death. But the greatest ofthese is death….”
The words rang out, echoing, repeating—the big box-like machine hadstarted to emit a low hum, the bulbs in it glowed— I felt dazed, carriedaway. This, I felt, was no longer something at which I could mock. Thyrza,her power unleashed40, was holding that prone41 figure on the divan com-pletely enslaved. She was using her. Using her for a definite end. I realisedvaguely why Mrs. Oliver had been frightened, not of Thyrza but of theseemingly silly Sybil. Sybil had a power, a natural gift, nothing to do withmind or intellect; it was a physical power, the power to separate herselffrom her body. And, so separated, her mind was not hers, but Thyrza’s.
And Thyrza was using her temporary possession.
Yes, but the box? Where did the box come in?
And suddenly all my fear was transferred to the box! What devilishsecret was being practised through its agency? Could there be physicallyproduced rays of some kind that acted on the cells of the mind? Of a par-ticular mind?
Thyrza’s voice went on:
“The weak spot…there is always a weak spot…deep in the tissues of theflesh… Through weakness comes strength — the strength and peace ofdeath… Towards death—slowly, naturally, towards death—the true way,the natural way. The tissues of the body obey the mind… Command them— command them… Towards death… Death, the Conqueror… Death…soon…very soon… Death… Death… DEATH!”
Her voice rose in a great swelling42 cry… And another horrible animal crycame from Bella. She rose up, a knife flashed… there was a horriblestrangled squawk from the cockerel… Blood dripped into the copper bowl.
Bella came running, the bowl held out….
She screamed out:
“Blood…the blood… BLOOD!”
Thyrza whipped out the glove from the machine. Bella took it, dipped itin the blood, returned it to Thyrza who replaced it.
Bella’s voice rose again in that high ecstatic call….
“The blood…the blood…the blood…”
She ran round and round the brazier, then dropped twitching43 to thefloor. The brazier flickered44 and went out.
I felt horribly sick. Unseeing, clutching the arm of my chair, my headseemed to be whirling in space….
I heard a click, the hum of the machine ceased.
Then Thyrza’s voice rose, clear and composed:
“The old magic and the new. The old knowledge of belief, the new know-ledge of science. Together, they will prevail….”
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收听单词发音
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1
atmospheric
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| adj.大气的，空气的；大气层的；大气所引起的 | |
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2
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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6
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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7
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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8
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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9
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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10
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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11
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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12
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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13
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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14
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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15
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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17
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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18
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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19
mesh
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| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
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20
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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21
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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24
solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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25
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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26
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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27
mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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28
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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29
recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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30
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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31
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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32
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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commentator
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| n.注释者，解说者；实况广播评论员 | |
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36
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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cloying
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| adj.甜得发腻的 | |
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38
trolley
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| n.手推车，台车；无轨电车；有轨电车 | |
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39
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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40
unleashed
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| v.把（感情、力量等）释放出来，发泄( unleash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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42
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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44
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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