furthermore of the utmost skill and power, for her chant was as lovely as any sound I have heard, and I found that I was rooted like a tree to the spot. I remember thinking vaguely that we should head off pretty sharpish, for I had this nervous feeling that the voice had discovered us, and I was afraid that our place of hiding was revealed; Eliot too, I know – from speaking to him later – felt exactly the same. But I couldn’t move -nor could Eliot – nor could Cuff.
I closed my eyes, and a woman’s face seemed to fill my thoughts; she was dark-eyed and lovely, with a necklace made from drops of the finest gold. She was the woman who had been our prisoner and escaped -and yet, in a strange way, she was also the goddess whose statue we had seen. Don’t ask me how I knew this; I just had a sense of it, and pretty soon I was prickling with the most ghastly feelings of animal lust. And all the time, as these feelings were building up and I was attempting to cool them down, so this hellish woman was chanting; it was her voice I had been listening to, I realised now, and I wasn’t surprised, for the chant was as lovely and unnerving as her face. Suddenly I recognised a word she sang interspersed among all the rest: ‘Kali.’ Faster and faster the chant rose, and the sitars with it, and the beat of the drums. My eardrums ached and seemed fit to burst. One last sound filled my brain, and I felt a shiver of terror and delight pass through my blood. ‘Kali!’ The music peaked on the final syllable, peaked and fell away. Then there was silence. I pressed my ears. I opened my eyes.
The Russian prisoner had been untethered. He was being dragged towards the statue of Kali, and once there he was lifted like an offering before the goddess’s face. Meanwhile, one of the other guards was lowering the statue’s upper arms; these were not fixed, I saw now, but could be cranked up or down and then positioned at will. I saw the guard polish the gleaming steel hook … and I suddenly understood what was happening, the fidl repulsive magnitude of it. I wanted to turn away but I could not, for it was as though the voice were still chanting its honeyed poison through my soul. And so I stayed where I was – stayed frozen, and watched. The Russian’s hands were bound fast together and his wrists placed over the point of the hook. The guard pressed them down; the Russian screamed and then screamed again as the guard moved his wrists up the curve of the hook, greasing the metal with the poor wretch’s blood. He was left there, sobbing and whimpering, as a second prisoner – a young native girl – was brought forward by the guards. The same hellish routine was repeated with her, and then the guards cranked up the goddess’s arms so that the victims were left hanging like carcasses of meat. The poor girl moaned and tried to stir, but the pain of the steel in her wrists was too great, and she slumped with the agony and hung motionless again. Behind her the orange flames writhed and twisted up into the night, but she and the Russian and the statue were still, a dark silhouette of unparalleled horror. *
Then I heard the machinery start to grind and creak. The goddess turned. As it did so, the Russian and the native girl writhed and screamed, for the jolting that was sent through their wrists must have been well-nigh unbearable. The statue shuddered and came to a halt and a low moan of disappointment went up from the crowd. My knuckles whitened as I clenched my pistol. How I longed then for a gatling or a Maxim! But I was helpless, and there was nothing I could do but lie there and watch. The sitar, I realised, was droning again now, and its notes hung heavy in the air like the mood of dread. The statue jolted suddenly; as it did so, the sitar was joined by the drums, and as the statue began to move round and round so the pace of the tabla increased in time. The victims hanging from their hooks were twisting uncontrollably now; their
I closed my eyes, and a woman’s face seemed to fill my thoughts; she was dark-eyed and lovely, with a necklace made from drops of the finest gold. She was the woman who had been our prisoner and escaped -and yet, in a strange way, she was also the goddess whose statue we had seen. Don’t ask me how I knew this; I just had a sense of it, and pretty soon I was prickling with the most ghastly feelings of animal lust. And all the time, as these feelings were building up and I was attempting to cool them down, so this hellish woman was chanting; it was her voice I had been listening to, I realised now, and I wasn’t surprised, for the chant was as lovely and unnerving as her face. Suddenly I recognised a word she sang interspersed among all the rest: ‘Kali.’ Faster and faster the chant rose, and the sitars with it, and the beat of the drums. My eardrums ached and seemed fit to burst. One last sound filled my brain, and I felt a shiver of terror and delight pass through my blood. ‘Kali!’ The music peaked on the final syllable, peaked and fell away. Then there was silence. I pressed my ears. I opened my eyes.
The Russian prisoner had been untethered. He was being dragged towards the statue of Kali, and once there he was lifted like an offering before the goddess’s face. Meanwhile, one of the other guards was lowering the statue’s upper arms; these were not fixed, I saw now, but could be cranked up or down and then positioned at will. I saw the guard polish the gleaming steel hook … and I suddenly understood what was happening, the fidl repulsive magnitude of it. I wanted to turn away but I could not, for it was as though the voice were still chanting its honeyed poison through my soul. And so I stayed where I was – stayed frozen, and watched. The Russian’s hands were bound fast together and his wrists placed over the point of the hook. The guard pressed them down; the Russian screamed and then screamed again as the guard moved his wrists up the curve of the hook, greasing the metal with the poor wretch’s blood. He was left there, sobbing and whimpering, as a second prisoner – a young native girl – was brought forward by the guards. The same hellish routine was repeated with her, and then the guards cranked up the goddess’s arms so that the victims were left hanging like carcasses of meat. The poor girl moaned and tried to stir, but the pain of the steel in her wrists was too great, and she slumped with the agony and hung motionless again. Behind her the orange flames writhed and twisted up into the night, but she and the Russian and the statue were still, a dark silhouette of unparalleled horror. *
Then I heard the machinery start to grind and creak. The goddess turned. As it did so, the Russian and the native girl writhed and screamed, for the jolting that was sent through their wrists must have been well-nigh unbearable. The statue shuddered and came to a halt and a low moan of disappointment went up from the crowd. My knuckles whitened as I clenched my pistol. How I longed then for a gatling or a Maxim! But I was helpless, and there was nothing I could do but lie there and watch. The sitar, I realised, was droning again now, and its notes hung heavy in the air like the mood of dread. The statue jolted suddenly; as it did so, the sitar was joined by the drums, and as the statue began to move round and round so the pace of the tabla increased in time. The victims hanging from their hooks were twisting uncontrollably now; their
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