That Hideous Strength. C. S. Lewis

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СКАЧАТЬ have been before. I’m more sorry for the old man.’

      ‘You feel you can go to sleep again?’

      ‘Oh rather! Is your headache better, Mrs Dimble?’

      ‘Quite gone, thank you. Good night.’

      ‘Without a doubt,’ thought Mark, ‘this must be the Mad Parson that Bill the Blizzard was talking of.’ The Committee at Belbury did not meet till ten-thirty, and ever since breakfast he had been walking with the Reverend Straik in the garden, despite the raw and misty weather of the morning. At the very moment when the man had first buttonholed him, the threadbare clothes and clumsy boots, the frayed clerical collar, the dark, lean, tragic face, gashed and ill-shaved and seamed, and the bitter sincerity of his manner, had struck a discordant note. It was not a type Mark had expected to meet in the NICE.

      ‘Do not imagine,’ said Mr Straik, ‘that I indulge in any dreams of carrying out our programme without violence. There will be resistance. They will gnaw their tongues and not repent. We are not to be deterred. We face these disorders with a firmness which will lead traducers to say that we have desired them. Let them say so. In a sense we have. It is no part of our witness to preserve that organisation of ordered sin which is called Society. To that organisation the message which we have to deliver is a message of absolute despair.’

      ‘Now that is what I meant,’ said Mark, ‘when I said that your point of view and mine must, in the long run, be incompatible. The preservation, which involves the thorough planning, of Society is just precisely the end I have in view. I do not think there is or can be any other end. The problem is quite different for you because you look forward to something else, something better than human society, in some other world.’

      ‘With every thought and vibration of my heart, with every drop of my blood,’ said Mr Straik, ‘I repudiate that damnable doctrine. That is precisely the subterfuge by which the World, the organisation and body of Death, has sidetracked and emasculated the teaching of Jesus, and turned into priestcraft and mysticism the plain demand of the Lord for righteousness and judgment here and now. The Kingdom of God is to be realised here–in this world. And it will be. At the name of Jesus every knee shall bow. In that name I dissociate myself completely from all the organised religion that has yet been seen in the world.’

      And at the name of Jesus, Mark, who would have lectured on abortion or perversion to an audience of young women without a qualm, felt himself so embarrassed that he knew his cheeks were slightly reddening; and he became so angry with himself and Mr Straik at this discovery that they then proceeded to redden very much indeed. This was exactly the kind of conversation he could not endure; and never since the well remembered misery of scripture lessons at school had he felt so uncomfortable. He muttered something about his ignorance of theology.

      ‘Theology!’ said Mr Straik with profound contempt. ‘It’s not theology I’m talking about, young man, but the Lord Jesus. Theology is talk–eyewash–a smoke screen–a game for rich men. It wasn’t in lecture rooms I found the Lord Jesus. It was in the coal pits, and beside the coffin of my daughter. If they think that Theology is a sort of cotton wool which will keep them safe in the great and terrible day, they’ll find their mistake. For, mark my words, this thing is going to happen. The Kingdom is going to arrive: in this world: in this country. The powers of science are an instrument. An irresistible instrument, as all of us in the NICE know. And why are they an irresistible instrument?’

      ‘Because science is based on observation,’ suggested Mark.

      ‘They are an irresistible instrument,’ shouted Straik, ‘because they are an instrument in His hand. An instrument of judgment as well as of healing. That is what I couldn’t get any of the Churches to see. They are blinded. Blinded by their filthy rags of humanism, their culture and humanitarianism and liberalism, as well as by their sins, or what they think their sins, though they are really the least sinful thing about them. That is why I have come to stand alone: a poor, weak, unworthy man, but the only prophet left. I knew that He was coming in power. And therefore, where we see power, we see the sign of His coming. And that is why I find myself joining with communists and materialists and anyone else who is really ready to expedite the coming. The feeblest of these people here has the tragic sense of life, the ruthlessness, the total commitment, the readiness to sacrifice all merely human values, which I could not find amid all the nauseating cant of the organised religions.’

      ‘You mean, do you,’ said Mark, ‘that as far as immediate practice is concerned, there are no limits to your co-operation with the programme?’

      ‘Sweep away all idea of co-operation!’ said the other. ‘Does clay co-operate with the potter? Did Cyrus cooperate with the Lord? These people will be used. I shall be used too. Instruments. Vehicles. But here comes the point that concerns you, young man. You have no choice whether you will be used or not. There is no turning back once you have set your hand to the plough. No one goes out of the NICE. Those who try to turn back will perish in the wilderness. But the question is, whether you are content to be one of the instruments which is thrown aside when it has served His turn–one which having executed judgment on others, is reserved for judgment itself–or will you be among those who enter on the inheritance? For it’s all true, you know. It is the Saints who are going to inherit the Earth–here in England, perhaps within the next twelve months–the Saints and no one else. Know you not that we shall judge angels?’ Then, suddenly lowering his voice, Straik added: ‘The real resurrection is even now taking place. The real life everlasting. Here in this world. You will see it.’

      ‘I say,’ said Mark, ‘it’s nearly twenty past. Oughtn’t we to be going to the Committee?’

      Straik turned with him in silence. Partly to avoid further conversation along the same lines, and partly because he really wanted to know the answer, Mark said presently, ‘A rather annoying thing has happened. I’ve lost my wallet. There wasn’t much money in it–only about three pounds. But there were letters and things, and it’s a nuisance. Ought I to tell someone about it?’

      ‘You could tell the Steward,’ said Straik.

      The Committee sat for about two hours and the Deputy Director was in the chair. His method of conducting business was slow and involved and to Mark, with his Bracton experience to guide him, it soon became obvious that the real work of the NICE must go on somewhere else. This, indeed, was what he had expected, and he was too reasonable to suppose that he should find himself, at this early stage, in the Inner Ring or whatever at Belbury corresponded to the Progressive Element at Bracton. But he hoped he would not be kept marking time on phantom committees for too long. This morning the business mainly concerned the details of the work which had already begun at Edgestow. The NICE had apparently won some sort of victory which gave it the right to pull down the little Norman church at the corner. ‘The usual objections were, of course, tabled,’ said Wither. Mark, who was not interested in architecture and who did not know the other side of the Wynd nearly so well as his wife, allowed his attention to wander. It was only at the end of the meeting that Wither opened a much more sensational subject. He believed that most of those present had already heard (‘Why do chairmen always begin that way?’ thought Mark) the very distressing piece of news which it was, nevertheless, his duty now to communicate to them in a semi-official manner. He was referring, of course, to the murder of William Hingest. As far as Mark could discover from the chairman’s tortuous and allusive narrative, Bill the Blizzard had been discovered with his head beaten in by some blunt instrument, lying near his car in Potter’s Lane at about four o’clock that morning. He had been dead for several hours. Mr Wither ventured to suppose that it would be a melancholy pleasure to the committee to know that the NICE police had been on the scene of the crime before five and that neither the local authorities nor Scotland Yard were making any objections to the fullest collaboration. He felt that if the occasion were more appropriate СКАЧАТЬ