Victor Pelevin - The Sacred Book of the Werewolf

‘Because portfolio investors need prophets who will explain the world in terms they can understand. And who will prove yet again that nothing threatens the objective reality in which they have invested so much money.’

E Hu-Li gave me a rather mocking look.

‘But what do you think?’ she asked. ‘Is the tendency to deny objective reality really based on sexual deprivation?’

‘Eh?’ I was flummoxed.

‘To put it more simply, do you agree that the world is regarded as an illusion by those who have problems with sex?’ she said, in the tone of a genial TV presenter.

This was a view of the world that I’d often come across in the National. Supposedly only sexually hung-up losers took refuge from the invigorating clamour of the market in mysticism and obscurantism. It was especially amusing to hear this from a client squirming all over the bed in splendid isolation: if you thought about it, it was the same thing that happened to the poor guy all the rest of the time, only instead of a fox’s tail it was the Financial Times that was bamboozling him, and his loneliness was not relative, as it was in my company, but absolute. But to hear such things from my own sister . . . That’s what the consumer society does to us.

‘It’s all the other way round,’ I said. ‘In actual fact the tendency to associate the spiritual search with sexual problems is based on the frustration of the anal vector of the libido.’

‘How do you mean?’ asked sister E, raising her eyebrows.

‘It’s obvious . . . Those who say that should do what they’ve always secretly wanted to do - screw themselves.’

‘What for?’

‘When they start doing something they understand, they’ll stop discussing things that they don’t understand. The way a pig’s neck is made means it can’t look at the sky. But it certainly doesn’t follow that the sky is a sexual neurosis.’

‘I get it . . . Did you pick all this stuff up from the wolf?’

I didn’t answer.

‘Well, well, well,’ said my sister E. ‘And can I get a look at him?’

‘Why the sudden interest?’ I asked suspiciously.

‘No need to be jealous,’ she laughed. ‘I’d just like to see who it is your heart took such a shine to. And apart from that, I’ve never seen any werewolves, I’ve only heard that they can be found somewhere in the north. By the way, the super-werewolf that you’re always lecturing me about is actually more likely to be a wolf than a fox. At least, that’s what my husband thinks. And so does his occult lodge the Pink Sunset.’

I sighed. It was simply incomprehensible to me how E Hu-Li, so astute in some matters, could be so absolutely ignorant in others. How many times did I have to explain the same thing to her? I decided not to get involved in an argument. Instead I asked:

‘Do you think the super-werewolf could turn out to be my Alexander?’

‘As far as I understand it, the super-werewolf is not simply a wolf. He’s something as far removed from a wolf as a wolf is from a fox. But a super-werewolf is not an intermediate stage between a fox and a wolf. He is far beyond a wolf.’

‘I don’t understand a thing,’ I said. ‘Where beyond a wolf?’

‘You know, I can’t really explain that coherently. Poor Brian has collected all the available material on the subject. Would you like him to give a brief lecture while he’s still alive to do it? We just happen to have some free time tomorrow afternoon. And you bring Alexander along - I think he’ll find it interesting too. And you can show him to me at the same time.’

‘That would be great,’ I said. ‘Only Alexander’s English isn’t so good.’

‘Never mind. Brian’s a polyglot and he speaks five languages fluently. Including Russian.’

‘All right,’ I said, ‘let’s give it a try.’

E Hu-Li raised her finger.

‘And your lieutenant general will do us one favour in return.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Brian and I have to get into the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour at night. And it has to be the night from Friday to Saturday, around the time of the full moon. Will he be able to arrange that?’

‘I think he will,’ I said. ‘He’s certain to have contacts in the Orthodox Patriarchate. I’ll try having a word with him.’

‘Then I’ll remind you,’ said E Hu-Li.

That’s always the way with her. She solves her problems at your expense and at the same time makes you feel that she’s done you a favour. Although on the other hand, I was terribly curious to get a look at Lord Cricket - the occultist, patron of the fine arts and lover of fox-hunting.

‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘does your husband have any idea? You know, about you?’

‘No. Are you crazy, or what? This is a hunt. The rules say he must only learn the whole truth at the very last moment.’

‘How do you manage to keep it all secret for so long?’

‘The formalities of English life are helpful. Separate bedrooms, the Victorian horror of nakedness, the demure ritual of preparing for bed. In aristocratic circles it’s easy - all you have to do is establish a definite routine, and then stick to it. The really difficult thing isn’t that, it’s constantly postponing the finale. That really does strain all your emotional faculties.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘your stamina is really amazing.’

‘Brian is my Moby Dick,’ E Hu-Li said and laughed. ‘Although the poor soul’s dick really isn’t all that moby . . .’

‘How long have you been herding him now? Five years? Or six?’

‘Six.’

‘And when are you planning?’

‘Some day soon,’ said E Hu-Li.

I shuddered in surprise. She put her arm round my shoulders and whispered.

‘That’s the reason we’re here.’

‘Why did you decide to do it all here?’

‘It’s less dangerous here. And then, it’s such an incredibly convenient situation. Brian doesn’t merely know the prophecy - according to which the super-werewolf is supposed to appear in this very city - he intends to become the super-werewolf himself. For some reason he’s certain that in order to do that, you have to hold something like a black mass in the church that was destroyed and restored, following the methodology of his idiotic sect. It all has to happen without any witnesses. I’ll be his only helper, since I’ve been initiated into the mystery.’

‘How?’

‘He initiated me.’

I was struck by a sudden conjecture.

‘Hang on now . . . Do you believe in the super-werewolf?’

‘In what sense?’

‘That he will come, and we shall see him clearly, and all the rest of it - you know, what you said in your e-mail?’

‘I didn’t say I believed it. I said that was what Brian said. I’m not interested in all that mysticism. The super-werewolf can come or not come, I couldn’t care less about him. But I could never find a better opportunity for . . .’ - she snapped her fingers to make sure I understood what she meant.

‘Why, you cunning beast!’

E Hu-Li smiled enchantingly.

It was only now that I understood her plan. A novice chess-player probably feels something of the kind when a brilliant strategy unfolds before his eyes. The denouement promised to be dazzlingly dramatic, just as the rules of the hunt required: it was hard to imagine a better setting for the final blow than a church at night. And apart from that, from the very beginning there had been a ready-made, bizarre but plausible cover-story to explain the event. In fact, it wasn’t really a cover-story, it was the absolute truth, which the star of the festivities himself believed - and so had I, only a minute ago. How could the investigating authorities suspect anything?

Elegant and natural, without even a hint of falsehood. A masterly plan. Of course, I didn’t approve of this sport, but I had to give my sister her due. E Hu-Li was undoubtedly the finest hunter in the world, the only sportsfox at such a high level. I cleared my throat respectfully.