He lay naked on the cold, dank limestone floor of the cave, bones of the town's dead scattered about; the smell of death pungent and foul. His companion, also naked, lay on the other side of the cave. Their flesh trembled, muscles cramped, festering sores from overlong exposure to uneven, brittle rock, cold pain buried deep in their sinews and marrow. They shifted, turning their bodies as often as they could, trying to find a position for a moment's comfort.

Useless.

Pain intensified with each movement. To be sure, the trembling found its source in the cold, but there was something else to be added to their frigid existence: cold fear. They were helpless before it, or more accurately, before them. They had long since given up the fight. They had long since surrendered to the hideous, foul things in their bodies that also had the power to capture and control their minds at will.

Their bodies, bruised with blue welts and running open sores; the pounding of incalculable pain, the cutting of themselves and each other with shards of glass and broken clay pots, engendered relentless screaming. It lasted several seconds, starting as a low growl and escalating into a howl and then high-pitched shrieks.

It didn't fully wake him, but it did disturb him from his own foggy nightmare of existence. He felt the pain in his stomach and then his chest; he opened his eyes to see his companion arched on the floor. Only the back of his head and his heels touched the pavement of cold rock. The rest of his body arched upward like a bow about to loose an arrow. His bloated stomach protruded in the air. His mouth opened wide revealing yellowed, brown teeth, most of which were missing. Open lips issued forth an evil howl and then guttural words, "He comes! He comes! He comes!" Lips remained stretched and stationary, tongue stilled in the cavity that was his mouth, yet words came forth inexplicably, visceral, guttural, from his bowels.

"NO! No, it cannot be! It is not the appointed time." The voice had leapt from his companion to his own mouth. He felt his body stiffen, muscles turning to concrete, lips and jaws immobile. He could not move them yet this horrible sound, these frightened words issued from them. Spittle drooled from his mouth; his bladder and bowels released themselves, filling the cave with noxious odor. He picked up his excrement and flung it at his companion. "Stop it!" he cried, "It is them . ." His voice arrested in mid-sentence, "Hiagggheeeee!" None of this made sense. Clarity of thought ceased to exist.

He stood, every muscle in his body rigid and quivering at the same time. He leaped and fell forward. As his head neared the ground, he tucked it just enough so that his shoulders took the force of striking the ground in a rolling somersault. In a second, his companion was on top of him, pummeling him about the body and face. Blood spurted from his nose and lip. He caught his tormentor's head and bit hard. The man's ear came off in his mouth. Screaming, his companion grabbed his wounded head. This gave the other the opportunity to place his hands on his companion's chest and shove. The man's body literally flew through the air slamming into the ceiling of the cave and falling to the floor, dazed and confused, but conscious. His voice continued to scream expletive after expletive. He stood and stumbled out of the cave. When he saw the moon, he wailed.

I heard his scream come from the shadows of the bluff. Jesus lifted his head and looked in the direction of this terrible, mournful sound. The expression on his face became fierce. "Come!" he commanded and strode away in the direction of the sound. We all followed, even the ones who were in the other boats. There were more than seventy of us. He walked directly toward the sound. The dog whined and followed.

"Master, wait," said one of the men from the other boats. "I know what that sound is."

"So do I."

"Master!" the man insisted, "there are two men who live in the tombs up there. They are monsters. Filthy monsters. They cannot be bound . . . much too strong. They will kill . . ."

"Stay if you are afraid," responded Jesus. "They are captured in horrible, unholy pain. I intend to release them."

I don't know what made us follow. The danger, clear and evident; curiosity for spectacle, perhaps. I suppose it could have been the storm, or what he did to the storm. We were all apprehensive. All had heard of these two desperate demoniacs. None ventured too close to them. They were insane, obviously. They were more than insane. They were maniacal, homicidal, fierce and dangerous.

It was only a short walk to the south of Gergasa, where the steep bluff descended abruptly to a narrow ledge of beach which quickly dropped into deep water. The whole surrounding country was burrowed with caverns and rock chambers for the dead.

After a few minutes of walking in the direction of the howling, we saw two men stumble out of the shadows to meet us. They looked like beasts. Their naked bodies were caked with filth, their beards matted, their skin broken and scarred from wounds that had healed badly. The stench exceeded that of the pigs. In these unclean places for the dead, these unclean incorrigibles had found congenial homes. There was a Jewish superstition that demons dwelt in deserted, lonely places and would come out at night to haunt. These two were no superstition.

In the wilderness, the person of evil had appeared suave, sophisticated, cultured, even academic. Here, foul and repulsive. Night and day among the tombs and in the hills these men uttered cries and cut themselves with shards. When at last they saw Jesus, it appeared as though they would run away. Jesus stopped, his jaw set, his countenance determined. Suddenly, they stopped retreating, hesitated for a moment, and then, incredibly, aggressively, came toward him! When almost ready to fall on Jesus, suddenly they, themselves fell at his feet in total submission. It was a despicable thing to watch. Two grown men, naked, dirty, one of them his mouth bloody, the other with half an ear, the stench of human waste. A foul, foul, thing. A foul thing!

One of them opened his mouth. It formed a misshapen hole in his head. His chest and stomach muscles contracted and heaved as if he were about to vomit. Instead, he screamed loud and long. Again, the lips and tongue did not move except to undulate uncontrollably, yet clear, growling words issued forth, "Jesus! Son of the Most High God! What do you want with me?" The sound reverberated from wall to wall, from rock to rock. He paused, bony ribs and chest heaving, "Why have you come to torment me before the time? Swear to God that you won't torture me! Aaagggh! Aaagggh! Aaagggh!" Each scream louder and more reprehensible than the one preceding it. "No torture! No agony! No unbearable pain! Have mercy!" He collapsed in heaving sobs.