Paulo Coelho - Aleph

And that love is still too strong for me to master. I do not want to see her suffer.

“I have never called up the Devil. You know me, and you know my friends as well. Tell him”—she points to my Superior—“that I’m innocent.”

The Inquisitor then speaks with surprising tenderness, which can only have its source in divine mercy.

“I, too, know your family, but the Church is aware that the Devil does not choose his subjects on the basis of social class but for their capacity to seduce with words or with false beauty. Jesus said that evil comes out of the mouths of men. If the evil is within, it will be exorcised by screams and will become the confession we all hope for. If there is no evil there, then you will be able to withstand the pain.”

“I’m cold. Do you think—”

“Do not speak unless spoken to,” he responds gently but firmly. “Merely nod or shake your head. Your four friends have already told you what happens, haven’t they?”

She nods.

“Take your seats, gentlemen.”

Now the cowards will have to show their faces. Judges, scribes, and noblemen take their places around the large table at which the Inquisitor has been sitting alone until now. Only myself, the guards, and the girl remain standing.

I would prefer this rabble not to be here. If it were only the three of us, I know that he would be moved. Most denunciations are made anonymously, because people fear what their fellow townspeople will say; had this denunciation not been made in public, then perhaps none of this would be happening. But destiny has determined that things should take a different course, and the Church needs the rabble. The legal process must be followed. Having been accused of excesses in the past, it was decreed that everything should be set down in the appropriate civil documents. Thus, in the future, everyone will know that the ecclesiastical authorities acted with dignity and in legitimate defense of the faith. The sentence is handed down by the state; the Inquisitors have only to indicate the guilty party.

“Don’t be afraid. I have just spoken to your parents and promised to do all I can to establish that you never took part in the rituals of which you have been accused. That you did not invoke the spirits of the dead or try to discover what lies in the future, that you never tried to visit the past, that you do not worship nature, that the disciples of Satan never touched your body, despite the mark that is clearly there.”

“You know that—”

Everyone present, their faces now visible to the prisoner, turn indignantly to the Inquisitor, expecting a justifiably stern response. However, he merely raises his finger to his lips, asking her once again to respect the court.

My prayers are being heard. I ask God to fill my Superior with patience and tolerance, and not to send her to the Wheel. No one can resist the Wheel, and so only those whose guilt is assured are placed on it. So far, none of the four girls who have appeared before the court has merited that extreme form of punishment, which involves being tied to the frame of the Wheel, studded with sharp nails and hot coals. When the Wheel is turned, the prisoner’s flesh is scorched and torn.

“Bring the bed.”

My prayers have been answered. One of the guards bawls out the order.

She tries to run away, even though she knows this is impossible. She runs from one side of the room to the other, hurls herself at the stone walls, rushes to the door, but is repelled. Despite the cold and damp, her body is covered in sweat and gleams in the dim light. She doesn’t scream like the other girls; she merely tries to escape. The guards finally manage to hold her down and, in the confusion, deliberately touch her small breasts and the tuft of hair covering her pubis.

Another two men arrive, carrying a wooden bed made specially in Holland for the Holy Office. Today its use is recommended in several countries. They place it very near to the table and bind the silently struggling girl. They open her legs and clamp her ankles with the two rings at one end of the bed. Then they stretch her arms above her head and tie them to ropes attached to a lever.

“I will work the lever,” I say.

The Inquisitor looks at me. Normally, this would be done by a soldier, but I know how easily these barbarians could tear her muscles, and, besides, he has already allowed me to take charge on the four previous occasions.

“All right.”

I go over to the bed and place my hands on the piece of wood that is now worn with use. The other men lean forward. The sight of this naked girl tied to a bed, her legs spread, could be seen as simultaneously hellish and heavenly. The Devil tempts and provokes me. Tonight I will whip him out of my body, and with him the thought that right now I want to be here embracing and protecting her from all those leering eyes and smiles.

“Get behind me in the name of Jesus!” I cry out to the Devil, unwittingly pressing the lever so that her body is pulled taut. She barely groans when her spine arches upward. I ease the pressure, and her spine relaxes.

I am still praying ceaselessly, begging for God’s mercy. Once the pain threshold has been crossed, the spirit grows strong. Everyday desires become meaningless, and man is purified. Suffering comes from desire, not from pain.

My voice is calm and comforting.

“Your friends have told you about this, haven’t they? When I move this lever, your arms will be pulled backward, your shoulders will come out of joint, your spine will rupture, and your skin will tear. Don’t force me to go that far. Simply confess, as your friends did. My Superior will absolve you of your sins, you will be able to go home with only a penance, and everything will return to normal. The Holy Office will not revisit the town for a while.”

I glance to the side to make sure the scribe is noting my words correctly, that the record is there for the future.

“I confess,” she says. “Tell me what my sins are and I will confess.”

I touch the lever very gently, just enough to make her cry out in pain. Please, don’t make me go any further. Help me, please, and confess at once .

“I cannot tell you what your sins are. Even if I knew them, you are the one who must declare them to the court.”

She starts telling us everything we expected to hear, thus making torture unnecessary, but she is writing her own death sentence, and I must prevent that. I pull the lever a little harder to try to silence her, but despite the pain, she continues. She speaks of premonitions, of sensing what will happen in the future, of how nature has revealed many medical secrets to her and her friends. I start to pull the lever harder, desperate to make her stop, but she continues, her words interspersed with cries of pain.

“Just a moment,” says the Inquisitor. “Let us hear what she has to say. Slacken the pressure.”

Then, turning to the other men, he says, “We are all witnesses. The Church calls for death by burning for this poor victim of the Devil.”

No! I want to tell her to stay silent, but everyone is looking at me.

“The court agrees,” says one of the judges.

She hears this and is lost forever. For the first time since she entered the room, her eyes change and take on a determined look that can come only from the Evil One.

“I confess to having committed all the sins in the world. I confess to having dreamed of men coming to my bed and giving me intimate kisses. One of those men was you, and I confess that, in my dreams, I tempted you. I confess that I gathered together with my friends to conjure up the spirits of the dead because I wanted to know if I would one day marry the man I had always dreamed of having by my side.”

She indicates me with a gesture of her head.