The rite

From inside the smaller room came the distinctive sound of a person’s head thumping against the wall (Father Gary said he saw this behavior often in extreme cases). As I edged toward the door I heard a gruff, guttural voice begin to shout and curse the exorcist followed by an ear-piercing "Basta!"

After the exorcism ended I was allowed to enter the priest's office, where I saw a young woman lying on a small couch, her hair matted with sweat. An older woman companion sat nearby comforting her. The exorcist — assisted by two priests — had performed the rite in the tiny room, with the young woman then moved to the office to recover.

The priest instructed me to sit down on the couch beside the woman as he ushered two men into the smaller room (many exorcists in Rome perform the ministry like an outpatient clinic).

Sitting next to the woman was awkward. Moments before I had heard her guttural curses. I turned and mumbled a ciao, to which she smiled. Meanwhile, the smaller room had again turned into a den of strange sounds, with noises that sounded like wolverines on the prowl. Furniture was being overturned.

Afterwards, all those involved sat around for five minutes talking about my book project and the differences in the way exorcism is perceived and how it actually works. It's a process, not a one-step, one-time healing practice — a "drive-through," as one priest called it. There is no quick fix.

One of the priests who had assisted the exorcist mocked my Roman-accent and everyone laughed, including the young woman who had emerged from the session. The scene was very different from what I'd expected.

In the three years I spent writing the book, I would see more than 20 exorcisms, each one different from the one before it. Whether the bizarre events I heard and witnessed were the work of demons has no rational answer.

I talked to many psychiatrists and medical doctors, many of whom claimed to have seen inexplicable events in sessions with patients (such as instances of levitation and mind-reading). Some — including those familiar with epilepsy, schizophrenia and paranoid disorders — were convinced that what they'd witnessed defied conventional medical analysis. They were convinced, as Christopher Marlowe once wrote, that "Hell hath no limit..."

Most of the priests I spoke to were as level-headed as the afflicted were troubled. They did not proselytize. "People don't understand what we do," Father Giancarlo Gramolazzo, the president of the International Association of Exorcists told me. "People come to us and expecting to be healed right away. They think, 'I have a headache because of the demon.' 'My job isn't going well because of the demon.' People are not properly informed."

The official ritual of exorcism, I learned, specifically barred the exorcist from "talking" to the demon, aside from learning his name. The rite was not a cinematic "conversation" between a holy man and Satan. Instead, it was a process of attempted liberation.

Over time, the three-year process of researching and writing the book evolved into an edifying personal journey. The watching and writing process helped me to appreciate basic human interaction. Meeting Father Gary gave me new insight into selflessness and humility.

In many cases, the exorcisms I saw were performed in churches located in the heart of Rome. I always looked forward to the prospect of emerging from the dark and dreary interiors into the bustle of city life. It was a very visceral reminder that we're all on this planet together, struggling to find answers, and hope.

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