Colin Wilson - Ritual in the Dark

Is all this in the Bible?

Certainly it is. The evidence is quite plain. The Bible says that the devil came down to earth in 1914, and that from that day forward, the world has belonged to him. And can you doubt it when you look around at the world? The threat of war everywhere, crime and evil reaching a new high level. Look at these murders in the East End. Look at what the Russians are doing in Hungary. Look at the H-bomb tests. The world has gone mad, because it belongs to the devil now. That is why the flock of Christ is persecuted. It is all just as the Bible predicted. The Apocalypse of St John makes it quite plain. It predicts that men will try to improve things, but it is too late. 'And he opened the pit of the abyss, and a smoke ascended out of the pit as the smoke of a great furnace, and the sun and the air were darkened by the smoke of the pit.'

He leaned forward to declaim the quotation. When he raised it to intone, his voice had a foghorn quality; it reminded Sorme of one of his uncles who used to recite 'The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck' at Christmas parties. Before he could comment, Brother Robbins had swept on:

Nothing can stop the dominion of evil in the world because the world belongs to the old evil one now. They might pass this Bill to stop hanging. They might persuade Russia to put an end to the Cold War. But nothing will stop the world from hurtling towards the Last Judgment.

He paused for a moment, passed a hand over his forehead. He wiped his damp fingers on the arm of the chair. Sorme said:

You sound pretty gloomy.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Glasp smile. He kept his own face stiff and grave in case Brother Robbins should feel he was being mocked.

Gloomy! No, I'm not gloomy. We are not pessimists. We go on joyfully, certain of eternal life. When the battle of Armageddon is over we shall all live on a paradise earth for ever.

This earth?

Certainly. This earth, but transfigured and made into a heaven.

But only after the battle's been won?

Of course.

Supposing your side doesn't win the battle?

That is impossible. God is all-powerful. We must win.

Sorme said: In that case, there's not much credit in winning, is there? It should be a walkover.

You don't understand, Brother Robbins said gravely.

Sorme saw the suspicion that nickered in his eyes for a moment. He said hastily:

Don't think I'm just heckling you. I'd like to know.

Then you should read your Bible. And I'm sure Sister Quincey would lend you some of our books and tracts.

Glasp said abruptly: We ought to go.

Brother Robbins turned a stern face on him. He said:

You should be more like your friend here and take a serious interest in serious questions. God is not mocked!

For a moment, Sorme thought Glasp intended to ignore the comment; he scowled and hunched his shoulders, his forehead wrinkling into creases. Then he said shortly:

I'd need to be a bloody moron to fall for that crap.

Miss Quincey came into the room as he spoke. She looked as if her worst fears had been confirmed, and as if she now expected Glasp to urinate on the carpet. She said:

Oliver! I shall have to ask you to go if you're rude!

Brother Robbiris said equably:

No no, my dear. There's no point in doing that. If he doesn't believe, you won't make him believe by turning him away.

Then he ought to apologise. That wasn't polite.

Glasp said sullenly and sarcastically:

Oh no. It's not polite when I say what I think! It's OK for him to ram his opinions down everybody's throat. I'm damned if I don't believe it, but I'm not allowed any beliefs of my own. Just because he's got no sense of reality, I'm rude if I contradict him.

Miss Quincey took this unexpectedly well. She said:

It's you who lack a sense of reality, Oliver. Every great truth sounds fantastic. You think the truth has to be commonplace and ordinary, but you're wrong. It's you who are tied down by your sense of reality…

Sorme could see that Glasp was becoming more irritable and inarticulate as she spoke; he had a foreboding that Glasp would shout some obscenity and stamp out of the house. He intervened quickly:

I don't quite agree with you, Gertrude. I don't think Oliver rejects your beliefs because he prefers everyday reality. In fact, I think that every artist has the same kind of dreams — an earth turned into heaven, men made into immortals. On the other hand, it seems like wishful thinking to suppose it'll happen tomorrow week. We both believe that if you want to change the world into a paradise, you've got to do it yourself.

Brother Robbins had stood up as he spoke; now he extended his arms, as if inviting Sorme and Glasp to be embraced.

But my dear man, you're one of us. You want the same things. It's only a question of the means, and we can show you the way.

I agree it's a question of means, Sorme said cautiously. We ought to discuss it more fully some time.

They were all standing, looking at one another. Miss Quincey was obviously nervous about Glasp; as Sorme started to say: I'm afraid we'll have to… Brother Robbins interrupted with enthusiasm:

Why not now? I am always glad to discuss these things. Can anything be of greater importance?

We have to see someone, Sorme said, looking at his watch. But any other time I'd be glad…

To bridge an awkward lapse in the conversation he looked at Glasp, saying: Ready, Oliver?

Glasp muttered something, and turned his back on them. Sorme said:

Er… delighted to'v met you. Goo'bye. 'Bye, Gertrude.

He hurried after Glasp, catching him up at the front door. Miss Quincey came after him, touching his shoulder. She said quickly:

Come back tomorrow, Gerard.

All right. I want to talk to you.

From the darkness outside Glasp called suddenly:

Goodnight, Gertrude.

She looked surprised, then called calmly:

Goodnight, Oliver.

She added quickly, to Sorme:

Ask him to come again — when I'm alone.

OK. Goodnight.

She had been keeping her voice low, her face close to him. Seeing that Brother Robbins and Glasp were both out of sight, Sorme bent quickly and kissed her. She stepped back a pace, looked quickly behind her towards the lounge, then said coolly: Goodnight.

She closed the door behind him; he went into the darkness, thinking: All women have a talent for intrigue.

Glasp was standing by the gates. Sorme said:

How d'you feel?

OK.

Gertrude told me to ask you to go back some time — when he's not there.

Glasp grunted. Sorme said:

Don't you like her either?

Oh, she's OK… Must be a bloody fool, though. Swallow that balls.

I wonder how far she does?

All the way, Glasp said with disgust.

They were passing the telephone kiosk at the end of Well Walk; Sorme said:

Do you mind if I try and phone Austin again?

No.

The telephonist's voice told him that Nunne was still not home, and asked if she could take a message, Sorme said:

No; it's not important. I just wanted to ask him to come to a party.

This evening?

Yes.

If you'd like to leave the address, I'll give it to him when he comes in.

After a moment's hesitation, Sorme gave his own address, reflecting that Glasp's presence gave him a reason for speaking of a party, in case he was ever forced to justify the call.

Not in yet? Glasp said:

No.

What are you going to do about him?

I don't know. Warn him in some way.

There's not much danger.

Why do you say that?

Because a crime committed a long time ago in Hamburg won't be easy to pin on him.

Sorme realised with surprise that Glasp had not yet connected Nunne with the Whitechapel murders. For some reason, he had taken it for granted that Glasp knew. He rejected the idea of mentioning it now, remembering Glasp's outburst at supper a few nights before, and suspecting suddenly that Glasp was capable of betraying Nunne to the police. He said: