Виктор Пелевин - Buddha's Little Finger

‘Do you not think you are asking rather too many questions?’ he said. ‘You would do better to take a look around in order to fix this place in your memory - you will never see it again. That is, you could, of course, see it again, but I sincerely hope that will not happen to you.’

I followed the baron’s advice.

Far ahead of us a light had appeared which seemed larger than the others. It was not hurtling towards us with the same rapidity as the other fires, but was approaching gradually, as though we really were walking towards it in the normal fashion. I guessed that this must be the final point of our walk.

‘Are your friends by that big camp-fire?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ replied the baron. ‘But I wouldn’t call them friends exactly. They are my former regimental comrades: I was once their commanding officer.’

‘You mean that you fought together?’

‘Yes,’ said the baron, ‘that too. But that is not the most important thing here. We were all executed together by firing squad in Irkutsk. I wouldn’t exactly say it was my fault, but even so… I feel a certain special responsibility for them.’

‘I understand,’ I said. ‘If I were suddenly to find myself in such a dark and desolate place, I should probably very much want someone to come and help me.’

‘You know, you should not forget that you are still alive,’ said the baron. ‘All this darkness and emptiness that surrounds you is actually the most brilliant light in all existence. Just stop there for a moment.’

I stopped mechanically, and without giving me a moment to grasp what he was doing, the baron gave me a sudden shove from behind.

This time, however, he did not catch me completely unawares. During the moment when my body was falling to the ground, I was somehow able to retain my awareness of that imperceptibly short instant of return to the usual world - or rather, since in reality there was absolutely nothing of which to be aware, I managed to grasp the nature of this return. I do not know how to describe it; it was as though one set of scenery was moved aside and the next was not set in its place immediately, but for an entire second I stared into the gap between them. And this second was enough to perceive the de ception behind what I had always taken for reality, to perceive the simple and stupid way in which the Universe was arranged. It was an encounter which left me filled with confusion, annoyance and a certain sense of shame for myself.

The baron’s movement had been so powerful that I only managed to put my hands out in front of me at the very last moment, and I struck my forehead against the ground.

When I raised my head I saw the ordinary world in front of me once again - the steppe, the early evening sky and the line of hills close by. I could see the baron’s back swaying as he walked towards the only camp-fire on this steppe, from which a column of white smoke rose vertically into the sky.

I leapt to my feet and dusted down my trousers, which were soiled at the knees, but I thought better of following him. As the baron approached the camp-fire the group of bearded men in khaki uniforms and matted yellow astrakhan hats who were seated at it rose to greet him.

‘Now then, my lads!’ Jungern roared in a roistering commanding officer’s bass. ‘How’s it going?’

‘We do our best, your honour! We get by all right, God be praised!’ came the chorus of replies. The baron was surrounded from all sides and completely hidden from view. I could see that the soldiers loved him.

I noticed a Cossack in a yellow astrakhan hat walking towards me from the direction of the fire. His face looked so fierce that for a second I felt quite scared, but I was reassured by the sight of a bluish-green tinted tooth glass in his hand.

Well, yer honour.’ he grated as he reached me, ‘you must have had a fair old scare, I reckon.’

‘Yes.’ I said, ‘I did rather.’

‘Better put yerself right then.’ said the Cossack, holding out the glass.

I drank. It was vodka, and I really did begin feeling better almost immediately.

‘Thank you. That was just the thing.’

‘Well now,’ said the Cossack, taking back the empty glass, ‘you and the baron on friendly terms, are ye?’

‘We are acquainted.’ I said evasively.

«He’s a strict one.’ the Cossack commented. ‘Everything by the book. We’re going to chant now, and then answer questions. That is, the others is going to answer questions. I’ve already hit the target. I’m leaving today. For good.’

I looked at him - on closer inspection there no longer seemed to be anything fierce about his face, it was just that his features were coarse, weathered by the wind and scorched by the mountain sun. Despite this coarseness, his face bore a thoughtful, even dreamy expression.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked the Cossack.

‘Ignat.’ he replied. ‘And you’d be called Pyotr.’

Yes.’ I said, ‘but how do you know?’

Ignat smiled ever so slightly.

‘I’m from the Don.’ he said. ‘And you’d be from the capital, I reckon.’

‘Yes.’ I said, ‘from Petersburg.’

‘Well now, Pyotr, don’t you go over to the camp-fire for the time being. His lordship the baron don’t like anyone interfering with the chanting. Just let’s you and me sit here and listen a while. And whatever you don’t understand I can explain.’

I shrugged and sat on the ground, crossing my legs Turkish style.

Something rather strange was taking place around the camp-fire. The Cossacks in the yellow astrakhan hats had sat down in a semicircle and the baron was standing in front of them exactly like a choirmaster, with his hands raised.

‘Oh, the nights, the weary nights,’ their powerful male voices sang out. ‘And I have slept hardly at all…’

‘I am very fond of this song.’ I said.

‘How could your lordship be fond of it, if he’s never heard it before?’ asked Ignat, squatting down beside me.

‘What do you mean, of course I have. This is an old Cossack song.’

‘No.’ said Ignat. ‘You’re mixing things up. This is a song his lordship the baron wrote specially for us so that chanting it would make us think. And so it’d be easy for us to remember, the words in it are just the same as in the song you’re talking about, and the music too.’

‘Then what does his contribution consist of?’ I asked. ‘I mean, how is it possible to distinguish the song that existed earlier from the one that the baron composed, if the words and the music are both the same?’

‘Well, the song his lordship the baron wrote has a completely different meaning. Just you listen and I’ll explain, Hear them singing: «And I have slept hardly at all, but I have seen a dream.» You know what that means? Although I couldn’t sleep, I still dreamed just like as if I was sleeping, under stand? That means, it makes no difference whether you sleep or you don’t, it’s all a dream.’

‘I understand.’ I answered. ‘What comes next?’

Ignat waited for the couplet.

‘That’s it.’ he said, ‘listen: «And in my dream my black steed gambolled, danced and pranced beneath me.» There’s great wisdom hidden in them words. You’re an educated man, you must know that in India they have a book called the Oopsanyshags.’

‘Yes.’ I said, immediately recalling my conversation with Kotovsky.

‘Well, it says in that book a man’s mind is like a Cossack’s horse. Always carrying you forward. Only his lordship thl baron says as nowadays people is riding horses of quite a different colour… Nobody can manage his steed, so it’s taken the bit in its teeth, like, and now it’s not the rider as controls the horse, but the horse as carries him off wherever it fancies. So the horseman’s not even thinking any more about how he has to get any place in particular. He just goes along wherever the horse wanders. His lordship the baron even promised to bring us this special book - The Headless Horseman, it’s called - seems like it was written specially all about this. But he keeps on forgetting. He’s just too busy. We have to be grateful for-.