SALVE ROMA! A Felidae Novel - U.S. Edition

by Akif Pirincci

  »Impossibile! Incredibile! Non lo è assolutamente certo! Dio c'assiste!« the young priest next to the Holy Father suddenly shouted out and immediately roused me from cozy rapture. I opened my half-shut eyelids again.

  »Impossible! Unbelievable! I can’t believe it! The Lord help us!« the cleric had said. And truly, I saw how the water inside the baptismal font, which was clasped by the priest who had prepared everything, suddenly turned red. The obvious thought was that it must be a magic trick. The holy water kept changing its color, and the intense color soon didn’t leave any doubt that it must be blood. Miracolo, who had watched the unbelievable act at my side, was so amazed that he almost buckled down the church pew.

  »What’s happening?« he croaked out.

  »Good heavens, ever since I live here, nothing comparable has ever happened. A miracle is going on.«

  The pontiff subscribed to this opinion.

  »Questo è un miracolo che c'è stato rivelato! Il sangue di Gesù Cristo ritorna da noi! Chi è responsabile?«

  The pope, Miracolo, the young priests, they all believed it to be a miracle. It was the blood of Jesus Christ that revealed itself to them. A crackling silence filled the chapel, while different kinds of interpretations of this sign and its reason were discussed. Had maybe something else here changed too? Was there something different tonight from other nights? The clerics let their eyes wander the room and tried to find deviants of the usual picture. As there wasn’t anything to find but the water that had become blood, their eyes finally came to rest at us, well to be more accurate, my humble self. Yes, something was different. There was a stranger sitting next to Miracolo.

  The old pope’s face, which reminded of rugged cliff scenery, darkened and the watery blue eyes were afflicted by a kind of tension that scared me. He maintained this expression for quite a while. The gem-bearing cross around his neck blinded me with reflections of the candlelight. I felt like I was taken for a test.

  »Portatemi a lui!« he eventually ordered in a steady voice, which sounded like a pistol shot to my ears.

  The two assistants did like they were told and pushed the wheelchair very close to us. Only the priest, who had prepared the dedication ritual, stayed at the baptismal font with his back turned on us. I felt that Miracolo was close to fainting, or maybe I imagined him to be because I myself expected to faint any minute. Standing face to face with the representative of Christ surely was no bed of roses. Meanwhile I actually got the feeling that his already hardened face had gotten a few levels harder.

  Suddenly – as if there had been a hole ripped into a foggy blanket of clouds and a blazing ray of light had been guided to the earth with unbelievable power – all rigor disappeared from his face. The bushy snow-white eyebrows raised, the mouth corners twitched, and a nice smile appeared in the old man’s face. Muttering at first, but in a steadily growing voice the primate began to consecrate me! My whole body shivered from happiness and emotion and I tried to wait a little before I actually passed out. As when I had started my journey to Rome one day ago, I had expected everything but getting consecrated by the pope himself. Had I known the real reason of the miracle at this hour or even suspected what immense horror was still waiting for me, for the first time in my life I would have opened my mouth towards a human and for safety’s sake I would have asked him for the last rites!

  13.

  The following incidents I witnessed through a mist of rapture while I carried a continuous smirk, which seemed to be engraved in stone, the whole time. Still totally enraptured by the Holy Father’s blessing, I noticed only vaguely, how he was pushed out of the chapel by the young clerics after the unctuous words. Eventually all of them left the room. Proud on his new protégé, Miracolo now also gave the impression of being under the influence of happiness suppositories.

  »You’re a very special person, my son«, he said when we were alone again. »One doesn’t like to utter word »career« in this state, but let’s suppose one did, you certainly would have launched the most glorious career one can imagine. You brought us the miracle. Your steps were guided, so that it would be performed at this place. Maybe it is a sign that by this means the ordeals of the murder victims are honored by heaven. Or else ...«

  He pontificated about this topic at large and presented one religiously inspired theory after another. But eventually even he noticed that the recent day had completely ate up my strength as well as my absorption capacity. As he felt the approaching rain as well as I, he suggested I’d spend the night inside the chapel. The warmth of the burning candles would create a cozy blanket for me, he said, and he made me promise to visit him at the pope’s domicile the next morning. Then he said goodbye and disappeared through the door crack.

  Only moments later the twilight began to turn into a gold-glistering fog in front of my eyes, which gradually filled every corner of the chapel. The altar cross on the communion table, the holy water with the blood in it, the old pews, everything around me sank into a sea of blazing brightness. In the end the gold fog also covered me, and I hovered through the gleaming mist directly into the land of the dreams.

  I walked through the catacombs again. But although no torches were burning this time, I didn’t miss light. Everything lay clear and visible in front of me, even the smallest details were spared from shadows. I started to realize, that the walk, which my paws did like due to a hypnotic order, couldn’t actually be happening inside a catacomb. It was a cave which had ups and downs and mysterious narrowings and then again sections, which felt strangely greasy. I felt a slowly rising tension inside of me, which how I believed was supposed to prepare me for something real special. This numb feeling mixed with fear, but nothing stopped me from going on like a fanatic search dog, without the slightest clue of what or whom I was hunting. Eventually my route ended at a sandy-yellow membrane, which embraced the passage without a gap. It looked like someone had built a wall with one of these modern super synthetic materials. Without further thought, I bared the sharpest claw on my right paw and cut a clean hole in the elastic material. Then I slipped through and found myself in a very bizarre, snow-white room. The inventory in it remembered of the installation of a hypermodern artist. A gigantic construct in the shape of a snail, from whose shell grew some kind of crown with semicircular arches, hovered from the ceiling. A long connecting cable branched off the mysterious thing and petered out to the range of the room. In the upper range the membrane more and more took the shape of a beak, whereat the material fluently transformed into cartilage, and then from cartilage into bone. Finally the beak docked on the snail with the help of fine little bones. Some of the objects shimmered in the color of very tender meat, and underneath their surface I could see thousands of little blood vessels in which blood pulsated.

  Then something wonderful happened. As if blinds, which had been closed for centuries, had just pushed open and finally offered a clear sight on the bright day, I suddenly realized that I was neither in hell nor in an art gallery. I was standing in the insight of an ear, in fact in one of these brands, which are at my kind’s disposal. In my dream, I had shrunken to the size of a flea and had taken a walk through a felidae-ear. The route, that I had taken, was the auditory canal, and the membrane was the eardrum. The snail with its ossicles and the resonator actually looks like a snail in real life and is called cochlea. And the crown was the balance system and vestibular organ ...

  I slowed down instinctively. Why hadn’t I noticed this earlier? I, Francis, who knew our kind’s anatomy so well that I could have easily habilitated in it. The inner ear wasn’t just responsible for the hearing. In humans as well as in animals it hosts the most precious sense of all, namely the sense of balance. Just that the sense of balance of the felidae is in the same proportion to that of humans as a Formula One car to a Trabant. In other words: If a human had a vestibular organ like us, he could perform far more reckless maneuvers than a trapeze artist ...

  I wanted to go further into this question, when I slowed down another tim
e. The reason was a barely hearable lapping behind my back, which made my fur stay on end. Although it was an ordinary noise, it sounded inexpressibly ugly, yes almost filthy. I turned around and choked in horror.

  Like in my last dream, the leading role was again played by Antonio’s coldhearted master. He wore a pastel-colored disco suit from the Seventies with wide lapel and flared pants, and he was sitting in the pope’s wheelchair. The partially unbuttoned shirt again exposed his hairy chest with a dangling silver-cross. Through the big dark sunglasses he smiled at me maliciously. This time, the flawlessly tanned, a thick cigar sucking macho didn’t really come into question as an affable guest in a retro show. Because dark bullet holes gaped at the right sleeve of his jacket and at the left pant leg, from which real streams of blood had poured across the pretty suit. Maybe for once he had been too cheeky in his macho world and had gotten his comeuppance. Nevertheless, he kept his composure and acted as if nothing had happened. If anything, he was still in the mood for macabre actions. The old baptismal font from the chapel was directly in front of him, and the silver bowl was filled with almost black blood. The Roman dipped his free hand, including the Rolex and the golden cufflinks, into the dark soup and stirred. His fingers carried out a naughty lapping, and now and then blood drops dripped off the tips.

  »The evil has many faces, Francis«, he repeated my own words from the afternoon. In this strange chamber they resonated as if we were in a dripstone cave. »And it has the power to change its appearance. It can invade even the best soul and exploit it for its noxious purposes.«

  Although the dream machine had borrowed shreds of recent experiences, the wounded guy reminded me of another. Why did the macho have the gunshot wounds of the hooded guy, whose wounds must be in exactly the same spots?

  »In order to conquer the evil, the balance of the world must be restored, Francis«, the wounded went on. »Unfortunately, the world’s balance is connected to the balance in your heads like the coating of water-repellent plant leaves is connected to modern car paint.«

  »I know it’s about the hearing aid«, I said and congratulated myself to finding the key to a case in a dream for the first time.

  Across the blood-covered man’s dark sunglasses flew starlike light reflexions. His smile broadened, and he quietly whistled out of the corner of his mouth.

  »Smart little guy!« he approved. »One should always know what’s up and what’s down, what’s wrong and what’s right. In short: You give us your unique balance, and we the miracle to balance out the world again.«

  »You will fail«, I said. »Something, someone, me, the decent humans, maybe even the Almighty himself will wipe you and your sinful deeds from the face of the earth! And the only miracle that you will experience will be your hot performance in hell!«

  The smile abruptly disappeared from the tanned face, and the whole coldness of this man, who was hidden only by ridiculous accessories, turned up unconcealed. He grimaced as if he found my words disgusting, his lips turned into a small line.

  »Got it, you also are only a friend of this noncommittal peace, the peace of soapbox oratory and phony televised debates. It’s always the same. Barely one is willing to make sacrifices for the good cause. The good ones though, the heroes, the true Christians will bring definite peace to this world like a miracle. Look here!«

  He sent the cigar flying through the air and reached into the blood soup with both hands, causing the fluid to move. Heavy waves, which made the blood slop over the edges of the baptismal font, took turned with fountains, which dashed up into the air, and the loud bubbling of blebs. It looked like the dream-butcher tried to catch a big fish, which flailed around in panic. Eventually, he fished a little truss out of the blood and presented it to me with an angry face. Although it was totally soaked in blood, I instantly realized what it was. The bloody thing, that started to stretch itself cozily as if it awoke from a blissful nap, was a fellow. I knew this fellow very well. After the Oriental Shorthair had finished the stretching exercise in his master’s hands, he turned his head to me and opened his turquoise eyes.

  »Samantha is dead!« Antonio said.

  I also opened my eyes and faced Antonio’s wedge-shaped head that was bend over me.

  »Francis, Samantha is dead!« he said.

  His front paws still pressed against my flank. Obviously, it had taken him a lot of juggling to arouse me from my deep sleep. Without having done the usual stretching, I jumped up and on all four paws. I was instantly awake.

  By now almost all of the candles had burned down. So I must have been in the arms of Morpheus for quite a while, which by the way agreed with me very well – aside from the nasty dream. In the concentrated twilight the chapel had appeared cozy, now in the light of only a few candles it reminded of a creepshow. The altar and the cross upon it resembled a morbid scenery, left alone the baptismal font, which was still filled with the miraculous blood. Real spooky though, if not to say excruciating, had been Antonio’s wake-up call.

  »This is simply not possible, il mio amico«, I disagreed. »This monster should barely have any interest in doing her a mischief.«

  »Why not?«

  In this somber light the pitch black-furred, brawny stripling almost seemed to be invisible. Only the green eyes beamed with the brightness of burning magnesium and pierced the darkness. Now that he had stepped back into my life, I felt more intense than ever before how much I had missed him the whole time. He was more than a loyal companion, in his elegant way he reminded me of the former, the younger Francis. I faced my younger self. The otherness of his sexuality resembled a mirroring effect in this case. One can see himself mirror-inverted, but is still the same person. God enjoys some diversion within his zoo. To hell with prejudices: I wanted to kiss him here and now!

  »Because they’re in cahoots together«, I went on. »Although I must admit that I don’t have a clue how such a relationship of evil between a human and an animal might come about. I mean we are not dogs who can be trained. Anyway, your fine lady has led me astray purposely. Did you know that there exists a secret society of so-called theosophists in this city?«

  Infrequently at first, then in quick succession we heard the dashing of first raindrops on the chapel roof.

  »Not only that. By now I’m able to mechanically recite the events, which you went through, in chronological order and almost dead on time. Maybe I will submit a screenplay of this whole thing at Cinecittà. Believe me, by now you’re even more famous in Rome than Berlusconi, Francis! The bums from Largo Argentina, with Giovanni leading the way, this strange Sancta, these priest imitators here and last but not least this ridiculous wanna-be-pope Miracolo have spread he news of your heroic deeds around town in no time at all. You’re even said to have performed a miracle. Everyone talks about you in deep respect. They call you detective di artiglio, detective with claws.«

  The rain won on strength, and what had began as dripping, had turned into a steady rushing in no time.

  »Wonderful«, I said. »As soon as my job is done, I will deliver myself up to the press and have autograph cards printed. To get back to Samantha: She made me believe that the theosophists are behind the murders. These brothers are creepy for sure, and what’s more extremely bizarre. In my opinion this theosophical society is a harmless grandpa-club, whose members prepare themselves for the afterworld with much hocus-pocus and bad singing. This doesn’t apply for their chief priest though. He seems to be heavily involved in the murders, if he isn’t the beast himself! His motive isn’t clear to me yet, but it is only a matter of hours before I see through his game. I actually have a theory on what this ear-cutting is about. Samantha wanted to take me for a ride, when she put the idea in my mind that there would be our kind sacrificed at those ceremonies. She reckoned I would take to my heels at the sight of this scary hassle before anything would even have happened. So I would have declared the case as being solved, and the detective di artiglio had embarrassed himself pretty much. Because everyone knew that the weekly
theosophists’ circus in truth is the best source of food in town. The great detective would quickly have turned into a clown. But things turned out differently as you know now.«

  »Samantha is still dead«, Antonio said and nervously drummed his thin, long tail on the pew. »How did she die? And where is her body now?«

  The black Oriental made a face as if he had to explain to a coo-coo which letter comes after A.

  »What do you think how she died? Her ear was cut off. She bled to death. She lies in Prince Savoyen’s cellar, and I can tell you, it’s not a pretty sight.«

  »Damn it, now I do feel bad for her! Something doesn’t make sense. I just had a crazy dream, which seemed to reveal the motive for the murders. You were also in it by the way. Do you know about bionics, Antonio?«

  »Now you’re asking me one ...«

  »It is an artificial word and consists of a combination of the words biology and technology. This research area deals with the transmission of ›nature’s inventions‹, which have been developed and improved for millions of years, into technology. The humans try to wangle its secrets out of nature and use them for revolutionary new products and technologies. But now and then it didn’t adhere to learning by watching. In certain fields we animals totally outperform the beautiful new technologies – and we’re not copyable. It would safe a lot of expensive research if one just installed the eligible organ of the animal on the sluggish technology.«

  »You mean, the killer removes our ears to convert them into highly sensitive directional microphone or something like that? Don’t get mad at me, but I thought of that myself.«

  His glorious image of the detective di artiglio seemed to crack.

  »I know that, my friend. But the thing with the uber-ear would just have been too simple. No, it is about what’s inside the ear, or else inside the inner ear. The answer to our problem is the vestibular organ, which is located upon the cochlea and keeps our sense of balance happy. It is some kind of measuring instrument, which collects data on space and acceleration. The sensor works – in extremely simplified terms – according to a water level’s principle. It consists of several water-filled chambers, the inside walls settled with sensory cilia. At the change of positions the fluid begins to move and stimulates the cilia, which instantly report to the brain. Similarly, it works with humans. But in us, this thing has been intensively propagated. We are able to saunter on a garden fence with such somnambulistic grace as if there was no gravity, we are able to perform such acrobatic stunts as if we had the rare gift of flying, and we can ease us through expensive china so elegantly as if it was pure magic. According to observations of Giovanni and a female fellow called Blixa, the killer prefers young victims with a marvelous sense of balance, even among our kind. The connection needs no comment.«