The Way of Muri (11 page)

Chesterfield politely bade his host farewell and retreated, leaving Helmke alone in the library. He walked through a couple of galleries, and then bumped into the tiresome old housekeeper.

‘Frau Hosspield,’ he began abruptly, taking his scarf and cap and completely ignoring her belated offer of a cup of coffee. ‘Make sure you keep an eye on him. Most importantly, don’t let him out of the house – given the state he’s in, he’ll be up to no good the minute your back’s turned. I’m no doctor, but Herr Helmke is clearly not in his right mind. My advice would be to confiscate his keys. If he stays indoors for a bit, hopefully he’ll come to his senses.’

‘There’s no chance of that,’ Frau Hosspield declared decisively. She unbolted the front doors, which had acquired a rich patina over the last two hundred years, and they swung open to release Chesterfield. ‘But I will do as you suggest. I’ll hide his keys, and I’ll make up a bed for myself downstairs.’

‘Someone must stay with him at all times!’ called Chesterfield, getting into his Alfa Romeo, which was ample evidence of his material well-being.

‘It’s a disaster!’ exclaimed the housekeeper. ‘He won’t listen to anyone!’

That night Muri had a visit from the house spirit, who had been loitering in the loft all day.

‘I think I might go and see your master,’ said the cat.

‘Herbert isn’t the slightest bit interested in you,’ the house spirit answered disdainfully. Spiritual inhabitants of libraries and picture galleries are prone to certain airs and graces. ‘So I should stick with the housekeeper, if I were you.’

‘I don’t care whether he’s interested in me or not!’ exclaimed Muri. ‘I just want to cheer him up a bit before I leave.’

‘So you’re leaving us then, you vagabond?’

‘Yes, and I’d like to raise his spirits before I go.’

The house spirit merely sighed in response. The moonlight shone right through this incorporeal grey ball with his sad, see-through eyes.

‘I suppose I just miss the way life used to be,’ he admitted. ‘About five years ago, before the master went mad, the house was nice and calm. I used to spend hours reclining on the bookshelves! Things were completely different back then. Aristotle was in charge, and the only arguments that ever took place were about Plato’s Dialogues. These walls have heard it all. Herbert’s father and his grandfather were educated men. They could name every single one of the patriarchs of Zen, right up to Bodhidharma, who travelled to China… Personally, I’m something of an expert on Schiller and Goethe,’ he boasted. ‘And I know the
Book of Changes
off by heart… But why am I wasting my time explaining it to you, a mere mortal… How can you possibly understand the significance a book like that has for the world?’

‘Listen, you over-inflated windbag,’ Muri interrupted him. ‘You decrepit sack of book dust – you’ve never even ventured outside these sorry walls! You timid little mouse… What do you know about the world? Tell me, what’s the point of hiding away in the dust and darkness, full to bursting with all your Bodhidharmas and other useless and irrelevant knowledge? The average spider has seen more of the world than you! You shouldn’t worry about your master, by the way – at least he can see beyond the bookshelves.’

‘He hates cats,’ pouted the house spirit.

‘So what? I’m going to go and see him anyway. I’ve decided to cheer him up, and I shall begin by rubbing my back against his wheelchair.’

‘Before Herbert had his accident he was so learned, so erudite,’ continued the house spirit. ‘He even knew Napoleon’s civil code by heart! You can’t imagine how difficult it is to memorize an entire legal code.’

‘No, and I don’t want to either!’ declared Muri.

Pushed to his limit, the house spirit began to curse.

‘You’ve got so much to learn! You were only born yesterday, but already you’re dishing out advice left, right and centre. You’re just an arrogant little upstart! The more you live, the more you learn.’

‘As I said, scholarly erudition counts for nothing in the real world,’ the cat repeated calmly. ‘But I think I heard your master moving about, so I’m going to go and show him my gratitude.’

The house spirit flew into a rage.

‘How very gracious of you!’

‘There are plenty of creatures I couldn’t give two whiskers about, like you, for example,’ said Muri coldly. ‘But I am intrigued by your master.’

Having put the disgruntled bookworm in his place, the cat headed directly for the library. He padded past the bookcases, glancing indifferently at the collected works of Tolstoy and Meyerinck. The doctor was sitting motionless in the circle of light cast by the standard lamp, but when Muri began rubbing against his wheelchair he bent down to get a closer look at his feline visitor.

‘Stupid old wives’ tale,’ he muttered. ‘You can’t be hungry, surely…  Are you still waiting to be served sausages and soured cream? That’s impossible. Frau Hosspield loves looking after waifs and strays like you.’

Muri continued his rubbing and purring but Herr Helmke grew irritated and snapped, ‘Leave me alone!’ Nevertheless, the appearance of the cat had shaken him out of his lengthy reverie. The doctor rolled over to the desk, which was covered in papers and had surrendered its surfaces to the pale light of the full moon. The buttons on the telephone suddenly flared up, like little glow-worms. The thwarted alpinist picked up the receiver and gave full vent to his impatience.

‘Herr Mollitt! He said no. Yes, yes… That arrogant Chesterfield. He even had the audacity to start lecturing me! You’re my
last hope… Yes, as soon as possible. Please accept my proposal, like we agreed. The housekeeper’s hiding my keys, but I’ve got a spare set. Meet me near the second exit, at five o’clock sharp – it will take me a little while to get everything ready.’

‘He’s leaving!’ the house spirit cried in despair, as Herr Helmke manoeuvred his wheelchair through the drawing room. He pushed the wheels with his hands so as to avoid waking Frau Hosspield, who was asleep on the sofa, having maintained her vigil until the early hours of the morning.

Already dressed in his outside clothes, which included a rather fetching bobble hat, Herr Helmke stole silently past the housekeeper with the stealth of a professional burglar. He proceeded into the kitchen, where he circled the enormous table and rolled smoothly to the darkened entrance hall. The sound of a car could be heard approaching the house. Without even glancing back in the direction of the drawing room, Helmke unbolted the doors. A draught ran through the house, but neither the wind nor the cold roused the doctor’s guardian from her morning dreams.

The house spirit continued to wail inaudibly. ‘Herbert is abandoning the portraits of his ancestors! He’s abandoning his library! What would his father and his grandfather say? Heaven help him!’ The house spirit was rocking from side to side and jumping up and down, frightened and trembling, about to burst from the stress. ‘My master will fall from that terrible cliff again!’

The house spirit began rushing about the library ceiling in despair – bumping into the bookshelves, flying over Aristotle, Plato and Nietzsche, colliding with Descartes, Hegel and Xenophon. The books mutely endured this emotional outburst, but Muri did not.

‘Why are you jumping about like that and behaving so hysterically? At least your master is doing
something
. Most humans that I’ve met on my travels haven’t a clue what they should be doing with their lives. They stick their heads in the sand, become slaves to their routines and put their faith in superstitious
nonsense like “lucky” cats, doing their best to ruin my life in the process… I admire your master, you know, even if he is prepared to make the same mistake three times. That housekeeper, on the other hand, is just a silly old fool!’

‘Wash your mouth out!’ cried the house spirit, incensed by such slander. ‘How dare you scorn the woman who got you out of that noose? The same woman who brought you into the house, fed you and warmed you up!’

‘Of course she’s a fool,’ repeated the shameless cat. ‘She spends her whole life bustling about in that kitchen like a brainless chicken, quaking at the sight of every red-blooded male. The extent of her path in life is to the market and back!’

‘You ungrateful wretch!’ exclaimed the house spirit, trembling with anger.

‘You are too accustomed to your little world,’ Muri said condescendingly. ‘What if your house and your precious library were smashed to smithereens, and all your books were thrown in different directions? Houses do explode! I’ve seen it happen. It will happen to this house too, sooner or later – take my word for it. What will you do then? Will you end your days ignominiously on a heap of scattered junk?’

At that moment the housekeeper woke up, and her reproachful cry echoed throughout the house. She continued to sit there for a while, beating her hands against her unattractive thighs. Muri walked up to her and started purring and rubbing against her legs, which rose from her slippers like a couple of spindly twigs. Less than a minute later he was polishing off a plate of liver, ignoring the admonishments of the house spirit who was pacing about nearby, choking with indignation.

Meanwhile Frau Hosspield threw on her coat and went outside to investigate. She saw that the ropes had disappeared. She also noticed the wheelchair tracks leading away from the house, the footprints and the imprint of car tyres on the snow. The housekeeper finally realized what had happened. Without a thought for the wide-open doors, she ran into the night.

After eating his fill, the cat screwed up his eyes and stretched with indescribable elegance. Satisfaction was written all over his face. The house spirit continued to scold him, accusing him of base ingratitude.

‘I’m afraid that’s the way things are and always will be!’ answered Muri. ‘I never turn down food and a blanket, but when the time is right I’m on my way.’

When the cat left this time he made his way to the town of Sadelen, then on to Jonenraug, before eventually reaching the border town of Salzburg.

Sheikh Abdullah Nadari Ak-Saïd ibn Khalim, owner of thirty wives and fifteen oil fields, climbed into the pilot’s seat again. This time his aircraft bore the name
Success
(wingspan 111 feet) and featured four engines custom built by the firm Pratt & Whitney (each worth a million dollars). On 10 February 1994 at 10 a.m. local time, to the accompaniment of the cheers of journalists and the weeping of his inconsolable wives, the sheikh’s aeroplane faded to a dot against the background of an otherwise unblemished Arabian sky.

Abdullah Nadari Ak-Saïd ibn Khalim had successfully flown 25,000 miles when he was inadvertently and unavoidably caught up in a hurricane of unprecedented force over the Atlantic. After seven hours of turbulence, Abdullah Nadari Ak-Saïd ibn Khalim managed to reach the coast of Africa and flew a further 100 miles searching for a suitable landing site in the jungle. His tattered pterodactyl eventually came to rest on a tiny strip of land in the Congo. The pygmies who poured out of the forest stared in horror at the heap of valuable scrap metal.

‘Oh, Great and Merciful Allah, finally I understand the sign You have given me!’ whispered Abdullah Nadari Ak-Saïd ibn Khalim, after he had regained consciousness thanks to the ministrations of the local witch-doctor (and a drug extracted from the leaves of the yagomba plant). ‘Oh, Creator of all that
exists, I have been guilty of vanity and hubris! I was an arrogant egotist, naming my worthless creations
Victoria
and
Success
and daring to put my faith in mechanical engineering instead of relying in everything only on You, Father of all that exists in the world! Indeed, my reason was clouded with pride, but twice now this pride has come before a fall! I humbly pledge to name my next invention
Hope
. Though I am the most abject of slaves, unworthy of brushing the dust from the feet of the lowliest servant, I vow to dedicate my only dream to You, my All-Powerful and Munificent Lord and Master, and I swear on my beloved children that I shall begin to prepare for the realization of this dream at once.’

Thus, his pride humbled, Sheikh Abdullah Nadari Ak-Saïd ibn Khalim returned to his palace and entered the mosque, where he stayed for three days and three nights, spending his time in vigilant prayer. When he eventually appeared, to a barrage of photo and video cameras, he shocked his family and loyal aircraft designers once more by informing them of his steadfast decision.

The goose from Uryupinsk continued to astound experts in a different field. Just six months after Timosha had been placed in a specially prepared room – featuring oxygen-enriched air, natural sunlight and a ready supply of top-quality modified wheat supplemented with vitamins A, B and C – he was able to carry out sums involving ten-digit figures without any particular difficulty. Further progress was hampered by the simple fact that it took officials days to verify each answer. Despite the abundant supply of food, the talented goose himself became so exhausted that he lost his voice.

‘There exists another, no less significant path, known to all yogis and gurus since time immemorial. It has been exalted by, amongst others, Buddha and Krishna, Goethe and Tolstoy. This Path is a spiritual ascent, which must also lead to a specific goal,’
proclaimed Pete Stout, at a conference of ufologists and parapsychologists held in Oslo in February 1993. ‘And what is the goal at the end of the longest road? The merging of man with God! We might also ask ourselves, is any species other than
Homo sapiens
capable of following this ‘internal path of knowledge’? The answer is yes. Timosha the goose, Toni the dolphin – they are our answer, and very soon it will be scientifically proven. To tell you the truth, it would have been proven some time ago if those damned Russians weren’t so stubborn and suspicious… Gentlemen, my hands were tied by politics! But I am confident that the Chicago dolphinarium will not let us down.
Meliora spero!
9
’

A blizzard was raging on a mountain road in Bavaria. An old VW had stalled in the middle of it, and its occupant – a young student – was growing increasingly anxious. Her handbag contained an assortment of random items accumulated over time – fluffy toy squirrels and mice, a tube of energy tablets, some make-up and a spare condom that she’d been carrying round with her for two years, just in case. But the thing she needed most in the given circumstances, the thing she was looking for, was missing. She must have left it back at the hostel. The girl emptied her bag out onto the front passenger seat, but her mobile phone would not materialize out of thin air. Her only consolation was the unexpected discovery of a piece of chewing gum.