The Magus - John Fowles [216]
I have to say to you is that when I get out of here I am going to create such bloody fucking hell for all of you that you'll wish to Christ you --" He raised his hand, calmingly, forgivingly. "Your mind is not well. We have given you many drugs these last days." I took a breath. "How many days?" "It is Sunday." Three totally missing days: I remembered the wretched exam papers. The boys, the other masters... the whole school could not be in league with Conchis. It was the enormity of the abuse that bewildered me, far more than the aftermath of the drug; that they could crash through law, through my job, through respect for the dead, through everything that made the world customary and habitable and orientated. And it was not only a denial of my world; it was a denial of what I had come to understand was Conchis's world. I stared at Anton. "Of course, this is all good homely fun to you Germans." "I am Swiss. And my mother is Jewish. By the way." His eyebrows were very heavy, charcoal tufts, his eyes amused. I swilled the last of the coffee in my cup, then threw it in his face. It stained his white coat. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face, and said something to the man beside him. He did not look angry; merely shrugged, then glanced at his watch. "The time is ten thirty... eight. Today we have the trial and you must be awoke. So good." He touched his coat. "You are awoke." He stood up. "Trial?" "Very soon we shall go and you will judge us." "Judge you!" "Yes. You think this is like a prison. Not at all. It is like... how call you the room where the judge lives?" "Chambers." "Chambers. So perhaps you would like to... shave?" "Christ!" "There will be many people there." I stared incredulously at him. "It will look better." He gave up. "Very well. Adam --" he nodded at the blondhead, stressing the name on the second syllable--"he will return in twenty minutes to prepare you." "Prepare me?" "It is nothing. We have a small ritual. It is nothing for you. For us." "'Us'?" "Very soon--you will understand all." I wished I had saved the coffee to throw till then. He smiled, bowed, and went out. The other two closed the door, and a bolt was shot. I stared at the skeleton at the wall. And in his necromantic way he seemed to say the same: very soon, you will understand. All.
61
I rewound my watch; and in precisely twenty minutes the same three Germans in their "uniforms" came back into the cell. The black clothes made them look more aggressive, more fascist, than they were; there was nothing particularly brutal about their faces. Adam stood in front of me; in his hand he carried an incongruous small grip. "Please... not fight." He set the grip on the table and fished inside it; came up with two pairs of handcuffs. I held out my wrists contemptuously and allowed myself to be linked to the other two beside me. Now he produced a curious black rubber mouthmask; concave, with a thick projection that one had to bite. "Please... I put this on. No hurt." We both hesitated a moment. I had determined that I wouldn't fight, that it would be better to keep cool and wait until a time when I could hurt someone I really wanted to hurt. He cautiously held out the rubber gag, and I shrugged. I took its black tongue between my teeth; a taste of disinfectant. Adam expertly fastened the straps behind. Then he went back to the case for some wide black adhesive, and taped the edges of the gag against my skin. I began to wish I had shaved. The next move took me by surprise. They made me sit on the bed. Adam pushed my right trouser leg up to above the knee, and fastened it there with an elastic garter. Then I was made to stand again. With a warning gesture that I was not to be alarmed, he pulled my sweater back over my head and forced it down till it hung from my wrists behind me. Then he unbuttoned my shirt to the bottom and forced the left side back until the shoulder was bare. Next he produced two inch-wide white ribbons, each with a bloodred rosette attached, from the grip. He tied one round the top of my right calf, another under my armpit