― Ursula K. Le Guin
Adelaide
It’s a terrible thing to be naked and without shelter. All of us long to be clothed.
Driven men confuse their obsessions with having a demon—that’s so shallow. That’s not what a demon is.
A demon is an entity with a personality. He was once clothed with light, but now is naked
If necessary, he will wrap himself in desert dust, or enter an animal—he will do anything to be clothed.
Most of all, he prefers to be clothed with a human body he can call his house.
As I said, it’s a terrible thing to be naked and without shelter. And it’s a far more terrible thing to be a host to a fiend.
“He wanted to drown in that woman—possess her so thoroughly they’d merge.”
Tia Myers was one of my most faithful parishioners—she trusted me, so here she was, sitting in my office, for counselling.
“Did your uncle actually say that—did he use those words?”
She sobbed and pressed a wad of Kleenex to her eyes. “He’s obsessed with her. He’s confessed that to me.”
“Tell me what you know of their relationship.”
She sniffled and then held her head up, making a visible effort to control her feelings.
“Uncle Jacob lectures in Psychology at Columbia University—that’s where he met Adelaide Fenton, a lecturer in Contemporary Women’s Literature. He’s forty-five and she’s thirty five and very opposite from him—quite bohemian, as he describes her.”
“Did they see each other socially?”
“Not at first. They’d meet for drinks with other faculty at Sweetwater’s—Well that, and they’d more or less see each other daily in the faculty lounge at Columbia.”
“I see.”
I didn’t, of course—being a priest, my experience with romantic trysts was limited to what I read or viewed—and I was beginning to feel out of my element—until she got to the main reason why she sought me out.
“It all started with their Spring Break trip to New Orleans. Adelaide wanted to see real Louisianan Voodoo and so they went into the French Quarter and she consulted a Vodouist. This man told her my uncle was obsessed with her and was using astral projection to come into her room at night.”
“Was your uncle involved with the occult?”
She hesitated before answering. “He was years ago, but as far as I know, he abandoned it.”
“So, what happened when Adelaide told your uncle about the Vodouist?”
“He denied the whole thing—laughed it off. They came back to New York and my uncle figured the episode was forgotten—but it wasn’t. Adelaide began experiencing night terrors and confided to other faculty members that she was being mentally stalked by my uncle.”
I took a deep breath. “That’s a little bizarre.”
“Adelaide broke off relations with my uncle—refused even to talk to him. It got very uncomfortable, especially at social engagements when their colleagues gathered.”
“I can imagine that would be awkward.”
“Uncle Jacob tried on several occasions to talk with Adelaide, but she refused. My uncle is not used to being rebuffed by women, and I think it spurred him on to try to reconcile with her—but all to no avail.”
“So, you’re here because your uncle’s depressed?”
She shook her head. “No, Father Delaney—I’m here because my uncle’s possessed.”
I’ve dealt with cases of demonization before—I’ve more often dealt with the skepticism in the Diocesan Office regarding appointing an official exorcist.
Many large cities don’t actually have one—and other urban centres are forming spiritual study committees to look into the possibility of appointing one.
It all depends on what you do when you don’t know what to do—which is the closest I can get to describing the perplexity of casting out evil you don’t believe exists.
I was standing in Jacob Lint’s condo looking down at a half-naked man. He was sitting bare-chested on a sofa chair with his head down and the word HELL, carved with a steak knife into his chest.
“Uncle Jacob,” Tia called out to him, “I’ve brought Father Tom Delaney. He can help you.”
The man didn’t look up, but a strange voice thundered, “He belongs to us—Get out!”
Tia looked desperately at me. I touched her arm to reassure her and handed her a copy of The Roman Rite of Exorcism.
“You answer the responses,” I told her.
I began with The Litany of the Saints and began invoking each saint by name with Tia whispering, ‘pray for us’, after each one.
We recited the Ritual until I reached the part commanding the demon:
I command you, unclean spirit, whoever you are, along with all your minions now attacking this servant of God, by the mysteries of the incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the descent of the Holy Ghost, by the coming of our Lord for judgment, that you tell me by some sign your name, and the day and hour of your departure. I command you, moreover, to obey me to the letter, I who am a minister of God despite my unworthiness; nor shall you be emboldened to harm in any way this creature of God, or the bystanders, or any of their possessions.
I lay my hand upon Jacob's head and said:
They shall lay their hands upon the sick and all will be well with them. May Jesus, Son of Mary, Lord and Saviour of the world, through the merits and intercession of His holy apostles Peter and Paul and all His saints, show you favour and mercy.
Tia whispered, Amen.
Her uncle seemed to revert to his normal composure and began speaking softly in his own voice.
Tia made coffee and we sat sipping it and talking until finally, Jacob asked to speak with me alone.
Tia complied and went out and sat on the balcony and I took a seat on the couch, closer to her uncle’s sofa chair.
“It’s all my fault,” he moaned. “I began using occultish means when Adelaide wouldn’t respond to my overtures.”
“What did you do?”
“She was on vacation in Britain and I was missing her terribly—seeing her every day became something of an obsession for me—just looking at her and hearing her voice. Anyway, as I lay in bed, I began mentally calling out to her and projecting my thoughts.”
“So, you’re saying, you didn’t do this before—as the Vodouist claimed—only afterwards when she refused to respond to you?”
“Exactly. He actually gave me the idea.”
I frowned. “Ironic and diabolical too, I think.”
“That’s not all. I sent away for these Voodoo dolls I saw on line—love dolls—and I began sticking blue pins in them and speaking my requests to them.”
“So, what happened?”
He began shaking. “It backfired. It turns out she’s the one oppressed by the Devil—I didn’t see it before. When I opened myself up to her, I was the one who became demonized.”
I whistled softly in astonishment “That’s an interesting conjecture,” I said.
“It’s more than that. Adelaide taught Women’s Literature—it turns out she was into female spirituality—Wicca, earth religions, goddess worship, Satanism—the whole nine yards. A colleague at work told me all about it—said the Dean reprimanded her for proselytizing in class.”
I simply shook my head in disbelief that an educated person could be so reckless and naive.
“You know the real irony here, Father? I’m still obsessed with her. The most damnable thing about this is, if she wanted me back—I’d jump—wouldn’t hesitate a second.”
I saw the light in his face and the blackness in his eyes. I didn’t doubt he meant each word.
People want to depersonalize evil—see it as part of our flawed social structure, a mental disease, or a rogue factor in our genetics.
But evil isn’t a mere quality, or the absence of good—ultimately it’s an entity whose essence gives it its name.
It's very easy to fall for the beautiful side of evil, but once entrapped, it's extremely difficult to extricate yourself from its grasp.