‘Please, I apologise, let me go,’
John begged him.
The young man considered this
apology for a moment, and then released him.’ I’ 11 have to think about you,’
he told him. ‘Having your heart cut out, that’s too dramatic for you. Too
heroic. Only warriors have their hearts cut out. That shows that somebody
respects them enough to want to put an end to them altogether. But you – you deserve
something more insulting. You deserve to have your foot cut off and thrust down
your throat.’
John was backing away as the young
man made these bloodthirsty threats, back towards the bed. So it was John alone
who saw Henry open his eyes, and look up at the young man’s back, and quietly
raise his head up from the pillow.
The young man said, ‘Maybe I’ll cut
both your feet off, and-’
He stopped in mid-sentence. His eyes
had caught the sideways glance that John had made towards Henry. He froze where
he was, his yellow eyes shining, and then he suddenly jumped around, so that he
was facing Henry with his scalpel lifted.
But Henry was sitting up in bed now,
and in his fist he was grasping the bag of nine seals that the priest had given
him in San Hipolito.
‘Yaomauitl,’ he said, and he managed
to smile. ‘You know what these are?’
The young man stared at the bag and
began to breathe slowly and deeply. His face lost all its colour, and his
forehead broke out into beads of sweat.
‘Who gave you those?’ he said, in
his harsh, deep voice.
‘The people of San Hipolito. The
people who believe that you belong there; not just now but for all time.’
‘You’re a fool. You cannot send me
back. You have already seen my power.’
Henry climbed of f the bed, and
stood in front of the young man, holding the bag of seals up in front of his
face. ‘I’ve seen your power, yes. But I’ve also seen the power of Ashapola, and
I’ve seen the power of simple human faith. You haven’t been defeated by corpses
or robots or battle-scarred veterans. You’ve been defeated by young people who
know that they’re capable of great deeds of heroism, and great acts of personal
sacrifice.’
Henry loosened the drawstring on the
bag of seals, brought them out, one by one, and brandished them in the young
man’s face.
‘You think this superstitious
nonsense can scare me?’ the young man mocked him.
‘You think these relics can make me
cringe? Let me ask you this, old fellow: what do you think those relics really
are? Humbug, that’s what they are. Faked-up souvenirs of the son of God. And
who was the son of God, old fellow? Do
you
believe in the son of God? Do you believe that he actually walked this
earth, all those years ago, and that his disciples left these pitiful
fragments, which survived until today?’
Henry looked at the seals, and then
smiled. ‘You’re quite right, of course,’ he admitted, ‘these are ridiculous,
aren’t they? But, the funny thing is, I
do
believe in them. I
do
believe
that the son of God walked on this earth, and I
do
believe that these relics came from his disciples. There are
times, you know, when even a professional sceptic like me has to take some
articles of faith for granted.’
He paused, and then he said, ‘There
are some things, you see, which can be proved only by the feeling in your
heart.’
In front of Henry’s eyes, the young
man’s face began to shift and change. His hair darkened, and his features
altered, and in a matter of a few moments he had turned into Salvador Ortega.
Henry thought to himself: the Devil certainly knows where to find a man’s
weakest and guiltiest thoughts.
John whispered, ‘My God, he’s
somebody else. Look at him – he’s somebody else!’
‘Don’t worry, John,’ said Henry. ‘He
just looks like somebody else. He’s doing it on purpose, to upset me.’
Salvador said, ‘Henry? Listen to me,
Henry.’
Henry replied, ‘You’re not Salvador.
Don’t even pretend that you are.’
‘Henry, you’re making a mistake,’
Salvador persisted. ‘You know what I felt about my religion, about Jesus and
the Holy Virgin. But I’ve seen heaven for myself now, Henry. I’ve seen it with
my own eyes, and it’s nothing like the priests told me it was going to be. It’s
wonderful, Henry, you shouldn’t feel guilty. But there’s no God here, no Jesus,
no angels, no Holy Mother. It’s a place where you can do and think and be
whatever you want. It’s freedom, Henry, that’s what heaven is. It’s total
freedom.
Throw down those pieces of trash,
Henry, and I’ll show you. Come on now, throw them down.’
Henry shook his head. ‘I’m holding
on to these seals, you bastard, because these seals are going to put you away
where you belong. John – I’m pleased that you’re here. I want you to look on my
desk. You’ 11 find a telephone number there, on top of my notepad. It’s a Baja
number. Call it now, and ask to speak to the priest. When you get through, tell
him you’re calling for Henry Watkins, and that he should send up the elm-wood
box. Tell him to send it straight away, just as quick as he possibly can.’
‘Elm-wood box,’ John repeated, quite
mystified. ‘Elm-wood box. All right, Henry.’
Now Henry stood alone with
Yaomauitl. The two of them faced each other in silence for a moment or two.
Henry could feel the coldness of sheer evil pouring from Yaomauitl like the
vapour from liquid oxygen.
‘Perhaps I can tempt you,’ Yaomauitl
suggested, in a throaty voice.
He twisted his hand, and produced,
like a stage magician, a tall glass of chilled vodka, with an olive in it.
‘Only one, Henry. Just to prove that you’re cured. You deserve it, after all,
now that you’ve defeated the great Yaomauitl.’
Henry stared at the drink for a long
time. Then he looked back at the Devil. It was a curious thing, but after last
night’s battle his craving for alcohol seemed to have subsided; and being so
blatantly tempted with his principal weakness somehow helped him to overcome it
even more completely. He was a man, he was a Night Warrior. There was nothing
that could deflect him from his power and his principles – especially not
liquor.
Yaomauitl twisted his hand, and the
glass of vodka vanished. ‘Women, perhaps?’ he suggested, and for one voluptuous
second, Henry glimpsed bare breasts and curving thighs and provocative lips
that glistened with lipstick. ‘You
do
like
women?’
Yaomauitl smiled.
Henry said, ‘You can try anything
you like, Yaomauitl. But you’re going back to San Hipolito, and they’re going
to shut you up in that elm-wood box, and that’s where you’re going to stay till
hell freezes over, I promise.’
Yaomauitl glared at him with yellow
eyes, and began to hiss. Dramatically, his head seemed slowly to explode, like
a speeded-up movie of a growing cauliflower. His cheeks grew pitted and
scabrous, and his forehead bulged out, and horns pushed out of his hair. His
chest grew too, and his hands turned into hairy claws, with long curved nails
that looked as if they could rip a man’s heart and lungs out with one swipe.
His legs thickened and grew shaggy with hair; and his feet narrowed into cloven
hoofs. This was the true shape of Yaomauitl. This was the legendary Devil whose
appearance had been described again and again by witches and warlocks and
frightened priests, all the way down the centuries. Only this Devil was real,
and he stank of death, and he stood in Henry’s bedroom.
‘Now,’
Yaomauitl
roared harshly.
‘Now
I
am going to slay you, old fellow. Now you
are going to experience hell!’
He lashed at the air, and his claws
made a sound like a thunder crack. Henry held up the seals, and shouted, ‘In
the name of Ashapola! In the name of God!’ But the Devil gripped him in both
hands, his nails piercing Henry’s pyjamas and digging into his flesh, and
lifted him clear off the floor.
For one second Henry was staring at
eyes that blazed like blowtorches and double layers of teeth that could have
bitten out his Adam’s-apple in one ferocious snap. But then he screamed:
‘I believe in God!
I
believe in the Father!
I
believe in the Son!
I
believe in the Holy Spirit!
I
believe in the Holy Virgin! And in the
Resurrection! And in
the life to
come! And
I
repudiate you, Yaomauitl!
I
deny you!
I
have defeated you!’
The Devil shook him and shook him
until he could feel his brain thumping against the inside of his skull, and the
beast’s claws digging right through his flesh and scraping against his ribs.
‘Oh God!’ he cried out, and lifted
the nine seals of the disciples and shook them in agony in Yaomauitl’s face.
Yaomauitl screeched – a noise like
boxcars being shunted in a railway siding, only twenty times louder. He dropped
Henry on to the floor, and covered his eyes with his hands, shuddering, as if
he were having a fit. Henry, bruised and bleeding, tried to crawl away across
the rug. Even the floor was trembling, and a picture dropped off the wall.
Then Yaomauitl fell, but his falling
was soft and silent, and when Henry at last managed to heave himself around,
and to prop himself up against the side of the bed, all that he could see was a
huddled figure, like a dead dog, shaggy and misshapen. Yaomauitl twitched, and
then lay still.
John appeared in the doorway, his
face the same colour as his linen jacket. ‘I’ve called the priest,’ he said, in
a papery voice. ‘He seemed to know what it was all about. He said he’ll be here
as quickly as possible.’
He saw the stains of blood on
Henry’s pyjamas, and came into the bedroom and knelt down beside him. ‘You’re
hurt,’ he said. ‘I’d better call for an ambulance, too.’
‘No, no,’ said Henry. ‘I don’t think
the paramedics would quite understand. Just go to the bathroom cabinet and
bring me some bandages. And then go to the liquor cabinet and bring me a bottle
of vodka.’
Slowly, painfully, Henry eased
himself out of his pyjamas. The wounds that Yaomauitl had made in his sides
were deep, but comparatively narrow. He dabbed them with his rolled-up pyjama
top. Then, when John came in with the bandage and the bottle, he splashed them
all with Smirnoff, to sterilise them. He winced, and clenched his teeth, as the
liquor burned into his skin, but the stinging soon faded, and he was able to
bind his sides with bandages.
John said, ‘I suppose you can’t
possibly explain any of this?’
Henry nodded towards the huddled
figure of Yaomauitl. ‘I told you that I had to fight the Devil. You didn’t
believe me. But there he is. And what’s more, I’ve won.’
‘But why
you,
Henry? Why did
you
have
to fight the Devil?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Henry,
philosophically. ‘I suppose, one day, everybody has to.’
I
t was evening when six Mexican
labourers slowly lowered the huge elm-wood box back into its tomb in the floor
of the church of San Hipolito. The tiled lid was lowered over the top, and the
priest sprinkled a crucifix of holy water over it. Henry and Gil and Susan and
Lloyd stood a little way away, watching the ceremony with a strange mixture of
pride and regret.
‘O Lord, keep this Devil securely
entombed until the Day of Judgement shall dawn, when he shall be required to
bow down before You and acknowledge your holy supremacy. And protect all those
who have incurred this Devil’s wrath, and all those innocent instruments who
may be used in the commission of his revenge, and may the world of men be kept
free of his stain for ever and ever.’
‘Amen,’ said Henry.
‘Amen,’ said Gil and Susan and
Lloyd.
They went out into the sunlit porch,
and shook hands with the priest, and gave money and cigarettes to the
labourers. The labourers crossed themselves over and over again, and hurried
off home before the sun finally went down. One of them muttered ‘
Yaomauitl,’
and spat into the dirt.
The priest said, ‘You have saved the
lives of many, my friends. You deserve our thanks.’
Henry rubbed the back of his neck
wearily. ‘We deserve some sleep, I can tell you that much.’
They left San Hipolito and drove
down the dusty roadway into the sunset. As they drove northwards, Gil said,
‘What do we do now? Are we still Night Warriors, or what?’
Henry glanced at him. ‘We’re always
going to be Night Warriors, you know that.’
‘But all the Devils are safely
locked up now.’
That doesn’t stop us from being
Night Warriors.’
Gil dropped Susan and Lloyd back
home, and then Gil and Henry went back to Henry’s cottage for a cup of coffee.
‘Are you going to start drinking
again?’ Gil asked Henry.
Henry came out of the kitchen wiping
his hands on a tea-towel. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t think I need it any more.’
They stayed up until two o’clock in
the morning. At last, Gil said, ‘I’d better get home.
I have to work in the store tomorrow
morning.’