Then something happened. A face appeared. It was not a face I wanted to see. It was not an ugly face; perhaps one would say it was well-favored. But I had the feeling it was a horrible face trying very hard to look like something that was not horrible. To put it simply, it was false.
It spoke. “There is one who would speak to you. Someone you know well.”
This was perhaps my second worst moment. Because he — it — showed me a face, one I knew well indeed. It was tear-streaked. The beautiful black hair had turned mostly gray. But I recognized my wife.
I was about to reply when a familiar whisper said, “Remain silent. Do not speak.” So I said nothing.
The face seemed puzzled, then it began slowly to change. “You have no feelings for your wife?” it asked. It had somehow become a less pleasing appearance and the voice now held an edge. “You will not be given another chance,” it said even more harshly.
“Say nothing,” said the whisper. It was strange because I knew I did not have to obey the whisper, and I wanted to speak to my wife. But … I trusted the whisper. I knew the whisperer would not try to harm me, and I had no such confidence about the face before me. And finally a kind of anger welled up inside me, that this thing, whatever it was, would take advantage of my longing for my wife, and her longing for me. For I knew more and more certainly that it was evil and was trying to trap me or my wife or both of us.
Then something really horrible happened. The face changed. It became a thing of nightmare. What is more, it touched me in every sense — smell, sight, hearing; I even tasted the horrible thing. I was sinking in a burning, fetid cesspool of corruption, a pit full of evil and death that seared me wherever I contacted it. As my shadowy head went under, I called out, “Jove! Be near me!”
Suddenly the appearance was gone. I was back to the gray dungeon.
I fell on my knees in gratitude. That is, the immaterial thing that bore my consciousness made a gesture that my consciousness interpreted as falling on my knees.
The memory of some song in Greek I learned in my childhood rose to my mind:
Most glorious of immortals, Zeus
The many named, almighty evermore,
Nature’s great Sovereign, ruling all by law
Hail to thee! On thee ’tis meet and right
That mortals everywhere should call.
From thee was our begetting; ours alone
Of all that live and move upon the earth
The lot to bear God’s likeness.
Thee will I ever chant, thy power praise!
[From Cleanthe’s Hymn To Zeus, translated by Frederick C. Grant]
It was longer than that, but this was all I could remember. As I sang it my voice seemed to grow in power and fill the dungeon. Then I seemed to hear a faint echo, as if some ghostly voice joined my song. I took courage in knowing that I was not alone, even though I still could see and touch no one.
… To Be Continued ….