Discriminatio Spirituum

Blandina too rolled to her side. "It was wintertime," she said. "The evening of Epiphany. God Made Manifest. The little Sisters took me to San Marco, airing me, I suppose, but doing it at night so that no one would see a novice of their order beneath such a load of . . . I don't know . . . madness? Perhaps they meant to cure me. There are relics in San Marco's: thumbs and skulls and such.

"It was sleeting. We carried big black umbrellas which glistened like domes of mica beneath the street lamps. The drowned piazza steamed cold and water washed the wrinkled stones of the narthex. It was as though Venice were a ship which had sprung a leak and was slowly sinking, waves washing the deck that was the piazza. The ship tossed. I felt quite unsteady on my pins. We entered the basilica. What with the roll and swell , I had to seize hold of objects as I made my way down the aisle . . . to keep upright. Sometimes they proved to be the arms of people -- soft, spongey flesh and then hard bone. I had no way of telling -- what with the pain, the fog -- what lived and what didn't. And suddenly I saw them."

"Who?" asked Sabra.

"The demons," replied Blandina. "They emerged from the fog. Wafted into slow focus. They blew towards me like the disasphora of a dandelion clock, and the next thing I knew, they had attached themselves to me, as if with suckers. They hung from my arms; they clambered over me like monkeys, licking me with tongues... tongues not like tongues but... you know what I mean... like the... the private parts of men (have you ever seen these things? Oh, they are disgusting.)" Blandina's elegant nose wrinkled finely at the bridge.

"Is that a fact?" Sabra asked, swallowing hard.

"Oh yes," said Blandina.

"What do demons like like?" Sabra asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Like men," Blandina whispered back. She shuddered. "Like awful boys. But their skin is metallic, their features more finely chiselled than those of men, and their eyes are so disconcerting. Demons' eyes have no pupils. Did you know that? All eyeball and silver, almost shiny. They catch the lights. I've often wondered if they are really mirrors and not eyes at all. Mirrors reflecting some great, some hideous light."

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2008/Melissa Hardy