The dark shadows of skyscrapers are
falling across New York as an elderly white-haired priest leaves the
reassuring comfort of his home and heads through the streets towards the
apartment block where the others are waiting. He walks quite slowly, carrying
a small black case filled with the essential paraphernalia of the ritual he is
about to perform. The room has been prepared to his precise instructions:
cleaned, sprinkled with holy water, and stripped of movable objects. Of those
now gathered inside, only the priest - his face drawn and solemn - has any
idea what to expect. Or rather, what to expect. After 30 years as an exorcist,
Father Malachi Martin has learnt to recognize the natures of the demons he
pursues. They may be ingenious or stupid, coarse or charming, brazen or
craven. Hell, it seems, is no place for stereotypes. "I need to know who they
are," the Irish-born priest says softly. "I need their names - and their
stories."
He speaks of the demons in a tone of polite disgust, as a
country clergyman might about village boys who have thrown a brick through his
stained glass windows.
"They are a pestilence," says Father Martin.
"They have to be countered and brought under control. People are possessed in
the way that dogs are infested."
This is New York in the hot summer of
1996. The place is pumping. Rollerbladers in Spandex suits skim through the
pathways of Central Park, the hip cafes of Soho and Chelsea are packed with
the downtown arts crowd. Can scaly-winged demons really be at large in the
city?
"Satanism is all around us," says Father Martin gently. "We
deny it at our peril. I could point out places only minutes from here where
black masses are being celebrated. I know of cases of human sacrifice - the
sacrifice of babies. I know the people who are doing these things."
In the apartment, the atmosphere is
close and sickly. Sometimes, says Father Martin, the demons can make the air
freeze or turn it hot and fetid. No one here knows how long this will take. An
exorcism can last for hours, or even days. The Bible says: "Only by prayer
and fasting shall these devils be cast out." Until it is over, the priest
and his helpers must go without food or sleep. Although Father Martin is a
slender man of 75, and in delicate health, he performs at least one of these
ceremonies a month.
"I have never been busier," sighs the man who
visited the cell of David Berkowitz - the serial killer known as Son of Sam -
to hear him confess to being a Satanist. The Catholic Church's service of
exorcism dates back hundreds of years to a time when demonic possession was
held responsible for many conditions now easily explained by psychiatry.
Although used less frequently or forcibly than in medieval times, the
procedure has remained essentially the same. The possessed man or woman - who
must have consented to the exorcism - is made to kneel in the middle of the
room. Attending the priest are at least six laymen, usually selected more for
their physical prowess than for their theological knowledge.
"Exorcism can
be extremely violent," says Father Martin. "It is often disturbing, and
always exhausting. I have seen objects hurled around rooms by the powers of
evil. I have smelt the breath of Satan and heard the demons' voices, - cold,
scratchy, dead voices carrying messages of hatred. I've watched men writhing,
screaming, vomiting, defecating, as we fought for their souls."
Like a mongoose playing a cobra, the
priest will attempt to work the demon into a position first of disadvantage,
then of vulnerability. He begins by demanding, with the authority of prayer,
to know its name. The demons, says Father Martin, are not always willing to
play this game. They lie silent, sullen and hidden. When this happens, the
exorcist must provoke them into breaking cover. "You have to tease them out,"
he says.
"The demon does not physically inhabit the body; it possesses the
person's will. We have to compel the thing to reveal itself and its purpose.
It can be slow and difficult, with the demon taunting, scorning, abusing you -
speaking through the mouth of the possessed, but not in his or her Voice. In
the end, though, it does come out - and when that happens you experience the
sensation we call 'presence'. At that moment you know you are in the company
of the purest evil. I have felt the claws of invisible animals tearing at my
face. I have been knocked off my feet, blinded and winded. But it is then,
when you've sensed the 'presence', that the real attack on the demon can
begin."
The theory of exorcism holds that once the demon has been drawn
out of the body it can be vanquished by the power of prayer. "The whole
nature of the thing changes," says Father Martin. "The demon knows it's
losing. Instead of screaming abuse, it begins to plead for mercy. It says it's
sorry, it begs to be spared. It promises to go home. But the Bible says that
only on the last day can the followers of Satan return to Hell. Where they go,
I do not know. We do not destroy them, we drive them out. Sometime I encounter
the same ones again. As the demon disappears, the person it has possessed is
'cleared', and a wondrous wave of peace comes over them."
Malachi Martin
was born in Kerry, in the west of Ireland, one of nine children of a
gynecologist. Like his three brothers, he had a vocation for the priesthood,
and at 18 joined the Jesuits. Ambitious, outgoing and scholarly, he won a
place as a professor of ancient scriptures at the Vatican's Pontifical
Biblical Institute in Rome. In 1958 Father Martin traveled to Cairo with a
Jesuit mission to study a newly-discovered collection of Hebrew writings from
the time of Abraham. The trip had profound consequences. "I was asked to
help with the exorcism of an Egyptian youth who had got involved in Satanism
to the extent of participating in the sacrifice of his own sisters. What I saw
convinced me forever of the power of evil - and of the need to fight it."
Six years later he left the Jesuits and moved to the States, aiming to follow
the gospels and pursue a private writing career. "I had the Pope's
blessing," he says. "He told me: 'America is the biggest battleground.
There is a war of the spirit going on'."
In New York, Father Martin's most
immediate battle was to keep himself clothed and fed. He drove a taxi and sold
doughnuts. Later came book contracts and the help of a well-to-do New York
family who provided him with a large apartment near Park Avenue. Anxious to
involve himself more closely in church work, he began to look once more at
exorcism. "The possessed have almost invariably been involved in Satanism,"
he says. "They are not innocents selected at random by passing demons. Most
have made a deal with the Devil. Only later do they become aware of the
Devil's asking price."
Satanism, he says, is far more
widespread than is usually imagined. "The cruelty of these practices puts
them beyond the civilized pale. I am speaking of human sacrifice, cannibalism
and the sexual abuse of children. Not in far away countries long ago, but
right here now in New York." The symptoms of possession, Father Martin
says, are often confused with mental illness. "Science spent a lot of time
trying to prove that these people were, so to speak, loonies," he says.
"Now most of my cases are referred to me by psychiatrists." Victims tend
to undergo a startling change of personality. They may become unpredictable,
violent and treacherous. They humiliate their families, plot against their
friends, lie to their colleagues. "They have become alien entities. They
have surrendered their wills. The most extreme state is 'perfect possession',
when the demon has taken complete control. The perfectly possessed person is
totally lost. There is nothing I can do," says Father Martin.
"The peculiar thing is that
these people are usually highly sophisticated, and the last thing you would
suspect is that they were in league with the Devil. But there is always
something about them. It may be a look in their
eyes, a tone of voice, a sense of coldness, of contempt. Some- thing inhuman.
When you encounter it, you know you have met the true enemy." Father Martin cites David Berkowitz, the
1970s New York serial killer, as a classic case of perfect possession. "I
met him in his cell, at his request," says Father Martin. "He confessed
that he had been, for many years, a member of a Satanic coven. This was the
source of his evil."
The encounter with Berkowitz was light relief
compared to the time when he believed he came face to face with Satan himself.
"I was standing on a stool in my apartment, reaching for a book and I saw
him. He was crouched on the floor looking at me. His body was like a muscular
pit bull terrier, but the face was recognizably human. It was the Devil's
face. I recognized the eyes They were eyes of the coldest, deadliest hatred.
When the Devil sprang at me, I fell from my stool and broke my shoulder, but I
felt fortunate. I had seen Satan and I had lived." Father Martin charges
nothing for his services. He acts only with permission from his bishop, when
all medical options have been exhausted. After two heart attacks he wonders
how long he can go on. "Every exorcism takes something out of you that
cannot be put back," he says. "The demon goes, but it carries a part of
you away with it. A little of the exorcist dies each time. It's a permanent
mental fight against a powerful, dangerous enemy."