Victor Pelevin - The Sacred Book of the Werewolf

We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the tops of the prolific umbrella plants swaying in the wind.

‘And have you been . . . a believer for long?’ I asked.

‘It’s five years now.’

‘To be honest, I thought you were more into the Nordic gods. You know, Fafnir, Nagelfahr, Fenrir, Loki, Baldur’s dreams . . .’

‘That too,’ he said with a selfconscious smile. ‘Only that’s external, a shell. A sort of frame, aesthetic decoration. You know, like the sphinxes on the banks of the Neva in Petersburg.’

‘And how did you end up in this state?’

‘In my younger days I used to be keen on Castaneda. And I read in one of his books that awareness is the food of the Eagle. The way I understood it, the Eagle’s some obscure thing they have instead of God. I’m no coward, far from it. But that made me feel afraid . . . Anyway, I turned to Orthodoxy. Even though the situation was rather ambivalent. I was already a wolf then, it was three years since I’d been accepted into the pack. We still had a pack in those days. Colonel Lebedenko was still alive . . .’

He gestured helplessly.

‘Awareness is the food of the Eagle?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ said Alexander. ‘That’s what the magicians of ancient Yucatán believed.’

What a little boy he still is, really, I thought tenderly.

‘Silly boy. It’s not awareness that’s the food of the Eagle. It’s the Eagle that’s the food of awareness.’

‘Which Eagle exactly?’

‘Any. And the magicians of ancient Yucatán too, with all their business seminars, workshops, videodiscs and ageing Naguals. Every last one of them is the food of awareness. Including you.’

‘How’s that?’ he asked.

I took his cigar and blew out a cloud of smoke.

‘You see that?’

He watched as it swirled and evolved.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Are you aware of it?’

‘Yes.’

‘A werewolf is like that cloud of smoke. He lives, changes his form, his colour and volume. Then he disappears. But when the smoke dissipates, nothing happens to awareness. Something else just appears in it instead.’

‘But where does awareness go after death?’

‘It doesn’t have to go anywhere,’ I said. ‘You’re not going anywhere, are you? You’re sitting there, you’re smoking. And it’s the same.’

‘But what about heaven and hell?’

‘They’re smoke rings. Awareness doesn’t go anywhere. On the contrary, anything that does go anywhere immediately becomes its food. Like that smoke there. Or like your thoughts.’

‘But whose awareness is it?’ he asked.

‘That’s the food of awareness as well.’

‘No, you don’t understand the question. Whose is it?’

‘And that too,’ I said patiently.

‘But there has to be -’

‘And that,’ I interrupted.

‘Then who . . .’

At this point he suddenly seemed to get it - he took his chin in his hand and stopped talking.

It’s really difficult trying to explain these things in abstract terms. You can get tangled up in the words: ‘In perception there is neither subject nor object, but only the pure experience of the transcendent nature, and this experience is everything - both physical objects and mental constructs, which include the ideas of a perceived object and a perceiving subject . . .’ After the first three words you can’t tell what it’s all about any more. But with an example it’s easy - one good puff of smoke and that’s it. So now he understood. Or almost understood.

‘Then what do you reckon this is, all around us?’ he asked, taking back his cigar. ‘Is it like The Matrix ?’

‘Almost, but not quite.’

‘So what’s the difference?’

‘In The Matrix there’s an objective reality - a warehouse outside town with the bodies of the people stacked in it. Otherwise the portfolio investors wouldn’t have put up the money for the film, they’re very strict about that sort of thing. But in fact everything’s like in The Matrix , only without that warehouse.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘There’s a dream, but there isn’t anybody dreaming it. That is, they’re part of the dream too. Some say the dream dreams itself. But strictly speaking there isn’t any “itself”.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘In The Matrix everybody was connected by wires to something real. But in actual fact everybody’s connected to the same kind of pipedream as they are themselves. And since all the dreamers see more or less the same, this pipedream is also a joint dream, and that’s why people call it real. The dream only lasts for as long as the connection continues. But once it stops, there’s no hardware left behind for the court bailiffs to inventorize. Or any body for them to bury.’

‘Now that’s where you’re wrong,’ he said with a grin. ‘More often than not, that’s exactly what does happen.’

‘You know what they say - leave the virtuals to bury their virtuals. The buriers and the buried are only real in relation to each other.’

‘How can that be possible?’

‘Take a look around.’

He thought for a while without saying anything. Then he nodded sullenly.

‘A pity you weren’t around to explain that. And what good is it now . . . It’s too late to change my life now.’

‘Yes, you’re really stuck, you poor sod,’ I sighed. ‘Why don’t you try moving your assemblage point in the position of holy life?’

‘Are you laughing at me?’ he asked. ‘Well laugh, Ginger, go on. It’s stupid, I don’t deny it. Do you believe in God yourself?’

I was really taken aback by that.

‘Do you believe?’ he repeated.

‘Foxes respect the religion of Adonai,’ I replied diplomatically.

‘Respect isn’t where it’s at. Can you tell me if you believe or not?’

‘Foxes have their own faith.’

‘And what do they believe in?’

‘The super-werewolf.’

‘The one Lord Cricket talked about?’

‘Lord Cricket was way off beam. He didn’t have a clue about the super-werewolf.’

‘But who is the super-werewolf?’

‘There are several levels of understanding. At the most primitive one, he is the messiah who will come and tell all the were-creatures what the score is. This interpretation has been influenced by human religion, and the central profane symbol corresponding to it was also taken from people.’

‘And what is this central profane symbol?’

‘An inverted five-pointed star. The humans don’t understand it correctly. They draw a goat’s head into it with the horns at the top. They like to see the devil everywhere, except in the mirror and on TV.’

‘So what does this star really mean?’

‘It’s the vulpine crucifix. Something like the St Andrew’s Cross with a crossbar for the tail. Of course, we have no intention of crucifying anyone, we’re not people. All this signifies a symbolic atonement for the sins of foxes, of which the most important is ignorance.’

‘And how is the super-werewolf going to atone for the sins of foxes?’

‘He will give foxes the Sacred Book of Werewolf .’

‘What kind of book is that?’

‘The general belief is that it will reveal the central mystery of all were-creatures. Every were-creature who reads it will be able to comprehend this mystery five times.’

‘And what’s this book going to be called?’

‘I don’t know. Nobody does. They say its title will be a magical pentagrammaton, a spell that annihilates all obstacles. But all this is no more than legend. The concept of the super-werewolf has a true meaning that has nothing to do with all these fairy tales.’

I was expecting him to ask about this true meaning, but instead he asked about something else.