Of Love and Evil - By Anne Rice Page 0,42

I couldn’t think or feel. Had Malchiah really come? Had he driven the demon away? Ankanoc. Suddenly all I could visualize was his pleasing face, his seemingly solicitous manner, his undoubted charm.

I realized I was standing in the rain. I hated the rain. I didn’t want to be wet. I didn’t want the lute to get wet. I stood in the darkness, and the rain was pelting me and I was cold.

I closed my eyes and I prayed, to God in whom I believed, to the God of my belief system, I thought bitterly, asking Him to help me now.

I believe in You. I believe that You are here, whether I can feel it or not, or ever know for certain that it is true. I believe in the universe that You made, constructed out of Your love, and Your power. I believe that You see and know all things.

I thought silently, I believe in Your world, in Your justice, in Your coherence. I believe in what I heard in the music only moments ago. I believe in all that I can’t deny. And there is the fire of love at the center of it. Let me be consumed heart and mind in this fire.

Dimly, I was aware of making a choice, but it was the only choice I could make.

My head cleared.

I heard that melody from within the palazzo, the one I’d heard when the musicians had first begun to play. I didn’t know whether I was shaping it out of the distant raw threads of the music, or whether they were really playing it, so faint was the song. But I knew the melody and I began to hum it to myself. I wanted to cry.

I didn’t cry. I stood there until I was calm again and resolute and the darkness did not seem to be a fatal gloom enveloping the entire world. Oh, if only Malchiah would come back, I thought, if only he would speak to me some more. Why had he let that demon come to me, that evil dybbuk? Why had he allowed it? But then who was I to ask such a question of him? I didn’t set the rules for this world. I didn’t set the rules for this mission.

I had to return to Vitale now.

Malchiah was giving me the opportunity to do this, to fulfill the mission, and that is exactly what I meant to do.

I saw, far to my left, the alleyway through which I’d come to this place, and I hurried towards it, and then down the long alley towards the piazza before Vitale’s house.

I was running with my head down when, just before the gate of the house, Pico caught me and threw a mantle over my head and shoulders. He brought me inside the gateway, out of the rain, and quickly dried my face with a clean dry cloth.

A lone torch blazed in its iron sconce, and on a small table was a simple iron candelabrum with three burning candles.

I stood shivering, hating the cold. It was only a little warmer here, but gradually the sharpness of the chill was going away.

In my mind, I saw the face of Ankanoc and I heard his words again, “a belief system,” and I heard the long sentences he’d spoken and all the familiar phrases that had spilled from his lips. I saw the passion in his eyes. Then I heard that hiss when he’d confessed his name.

I saw the fire again and heard the deafening roar that came with it. I rested my weight against the damp stone wall.

A growing awareness came to me: you never know anything for certain, even when your faith is great. You don’t know it. Your longing, your anguish, can be without end. Even here, in this strange house in another century, with all the proofs of Heaven given to me, I didn’t really know all that I longed to know. I couldn’t escape fear. Only a moment ago an angel had spoken to me, but now I was alone. And the longing to know was pain, because it was a longing for all tension and misery to end. And they do not really ever end.

“My master says for you to leave,” said Pico desperately. “Here I have money for you from him. He thanks you.”

“I don’t need money.”

He seemed glad of that and put away the purse.

“But Master,” he said, “I beg you. Do not go. My master is locked up now in