All these elaborations and justifications were in vain. Like most sportsmen Chesterfield was not particularly gifted at hiding his emotions, so his scepticism was all too apparent. The doctor chose to ignore it and wheeled himself over to the Gothic window, where he bustled to and fro, opening both curtains as wide as they would go. The view from the library was undeniably stunning. The cliff in question rose up against a magnificent backdrop of alpine peaks and valleys, and the two men gazed at it – one in rapt admiration, the other with cynical apprehension.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it? So, what do you say?’
Again Chesterfield did not answer, but even his eloquent silence could not deter the desperate invalid.
‘When I was a boy I used to spend hours staring out of this window at it, and the shadow it cast in the sun. I would devour it with my eyes! I imagined I was Prometheus and dreamed of standing on its summit. It’s a wonderful cliff, and I’m pretty sure it has never occurred to anyone else to climb it. I’m counting on you to help me, Chesterfield. Money is no object!’
But Helmke’s hurriedly mixed cocktail of persuasion failed to satisfy his guest. Chesterfield finally spoke. ‘Indeed,’ he murmured, still contemplating the alpine view with professional objectivity and resolve. The ill-starred cliff, just a stone’s throw from the house, had turned pink in the morning sun. ‘I can understand your enthusiasm. You’re champing at the bit, as they say. But what I don’t understand,’ he continued, ‘is why. What do you hope to gain from it? You’re a highly respected lawyer, with an illustrious reputation and a lifetime of wisdom and experience…’
‘Wisdom brings regret, young man,’ Helmke replied peevishly. ‘I have more than enough regrets in my life. So I prefer idiocy, of which I have been accused recently.’
‘I take your point,’ remarked Chesterfield. ‘But let us return to the matter at hand. Drawings and special contraptions aside, any attempt to scale an incline that steep and challenging would require the utmost preparation.’
‘But I am prepared!’ exclaimed Helmke, with the wounded indignation of a little boy. ‘I’ve spent the last three years preparing for it. My biceps are like rocks – go on, feel them. I’ve been exercising every day! And besides, my system of levers means I’ll be able to pull myself up almost vertically.’
‘In my professional opinion, that cliff is not climbable,’ declared the instructor. ‘You could probably make it up about fifty feet or so, but there’s almost no way you’ll be able to get any further than that.’
‘“Almost”?’ repeated Helmke, clutching at this straw.
Chesterfield made a gesture of resignation.
‘Stop deluding yourself. When I said “almost”, I meant for…’
‘For someone of sound mind and body?’
‘What I’m saying is that only a trained and experienced mountain climber would be in a position to tackle that peak,’ said Chesterfield. ‘And it’s not a question of money. It would be dishonourable of me to accept your proposal. The truth is that you will not climb that cliff, whatever Archimedean principle is involved. Let’s say I agree to belay for the first fifty feet. Then what?’
‘I’ve already thought of that!’ the doctor exclaimed excitedly. ‘We’ll have to throw a rope over the ledge–’
‘For goodness’ sake!’ Chesterfield interrupted him. ‘You’ve already fallen from it once and lost the use of your legs! And now you’re up all night, working on these implausible inventions. It’s insane! Forgive me, but I cannot be complicit in this delusion, especially not for the kind of crazy money that you’re offering. It’s out of the question. There’s no chance it will work, not even the slightest. You need to break this obsession!’ exclaimed Chesterfield. ‘There are some relatively easy routes up the mountains in Meer – why don’t you try one of them? What about Kamp Staufenbach, for example? I know men just like you, crazy idealists with limited physical ability, who have accomplished some pretty impressive feats there. One of them even made it up to 460 feet, without any additional safety measures. If you want to climb one of the peaks there I am at your service, and will gladly accept a fee. However, I fear that you have called me here in vain.’
He cast a coldly appraising eye over the cliff once more, before delivering his verdict. ‘It’s completely impossible, Herr Helmke.’
The doctor began breathing noisily through his nose and rapping his knuckles on the armrests of his wheelchair. The cat heard this Morse code from his cosy spot by the fireplace.
‘I can’t help wondering, though…’ blurted Chesterfield, his curiosity getting the better of him. ‘Why is that particular cliff so important to you?’
‘Agamemnon would not rest until he had captured Troy, and Odysseus yearned for Ithaca. What more can I say, young man? The pulleys are reliable, and I know they will work. I am confident in my calculations. Nothing is impossible! We just need to get a rope over the top.’
‘What nonsense!’ said Chesterfield, with his usual disarming sincerity. ‘In that case, why not try and build a rope ladder to the moon? You’d have about as much success! If the sight of that damned cliff is driving you crazy, stop looking at it. Just close the curtains. Not all dreams come true, you know… Oh, what’s the point?’
‘Mr Chesterfield,’ Helmke interrupted him. ‘I will pay you. I will pay you handsomely. You can have an advance immediately, if you like.’ The doctor rolled over to his antique writing desk and slapped the top drawer. ‘How much? Three? Four thousand? I got sixty from the dealers for just one Monet sketch. I’m prepared to sell them a Pissarro, too!’
‘You can sell whatever you like, that’s your prerogative. But my decision is final.’
After this heated exchange both men fell silent for a few moments. Then Herr Helmke tried a different approach.
‘Listen, Chesterfield,’ he said. ‘Fifty years ago, my father used to let me sleep in here on the sofa, and before dropping off I would stare out of the window at that summit and entertain all kinds of foolish fantasies. Was I wrong to let myself dream?’
‘Of course not,’ conceded the young man, shaking his head with a sigh.
‘Well, those fantasies became an obsession. I can’t really explain it – somehow I just knew that I had to get up there, to sit astride it, to press my cheek against it. Others are passionate about Monaco, Las Vegas, horse racing, Wimbledon, stamp collecting… My passion is my cliff. I know you think I’m completely off my rocker, but I do wish you would try and see it from my point of view.’
Chesterfield gave yet another weary sigh. ‘Listen, Herr Helmke,’ he began. ‘I have no doubt that you are an intelligent and decent man, in full possession of your mental faculties, but this mission you have set your heart on is a physical impossibility. As I said, there are other, more accessible cliffs and mountains, but that lump of granite out there, which has been tormenting you for the past sixty years, is simply off limits to someone in your condition! Go to Kamp Staufenbach instead, and I will be your legs, your right-handman, I will do everything I can to get you to the top – your money won’t be spent in vain! And you won’t need to pawn a Pissarro. But if you choose to ignore my advice, then you’ll be taking your life in your own hands. There’s no point even attempting it. Your best bet would be to hire a helicopter and get them to lower you down on a cable; you can touch the summit, smoke a couple of cigarettes, and that will be the end of it!’
‘Lotarini, the Italian, climbed Mont Blanc with only one arm!’ exclaimed Helmke, gesticulating excitedly. ‘Pierre Artoise dived to a depth of 111 feet without any legs. A Belgian man, Torben, travelled across all six continents despite the fact that he was blind. That cliff is right outside my house. I have spent sixty years looking at it morning, noon and night. We are inextricably linked – it’s part of my life, part of me. It’s my Troy, my El Dorado, my terra incognita… and this wheelchair is not going to stand in my way!’
‘My answer is no,’ declared Chesterfield, reaffirming his position with clinical ruthlessness.
‘So you don’t need the money, then?’ Helmke pulled the desk drawer towards him with such force that the proceeds from the sale of the Monet almost spilled out.
‘My reputation is worth more to me than any fee,’ the instructor replied with dignity. ‘And besides, I’m not exactly poor.’
‘Good,’ retorted the dishevelled doctor, slamming the drawer shut. ‘Excellent. Then I’ll just have to find myself a new instructor.’
‘You will find a charlatan,’ declared Chesterfield. ‘Someone who would sell their own mother for a pocketful of cash. If he has any sense, he’ll ask for some kind of guarantee to cover his own back in the event of your death. Because you will fall again! You will crash to the ground like Icarus, along with all your ropes and levers – of this I have no doubt. I even know exactly where it will happen. You’ll get to a height of about fifty feet, and then you will inevitably succumb to the Earth’s gravitational pull. All your nocturnal calculations are a complete waste of time – attempting something like this is like trying to pull yourself out of quicksand by the hair.’
‘So it’s definitely a no, then?’ asked Helmke.
‘You’re like a child!’ cried Chesterfield. ‘In fact, you’re more stubborn and naive than any child I’ve ever known. I understand your motivation, to a certain extent, and I do appreciate your position. I even admire your ambition… But if I were to agree to take part in your foolish scheme I would be showing a lack of respect for myself, my profession and, ultimately, you yourself! I’m an experienced climber and a pretty good instructor – I don’t mean to blow my own trumpet, I’m just stating the facts. I have worked for wealthy eccentrics before. Bored of the riches that Mother Nature had given them here on Earth, they wanted to get closer to heaven. Each of my former clients had his own idiosyncrasies, but I swear that every one of them, even the most eccentric, knew his own limits. At the end of the day they all conquered mountains considerably less challenging than Everest, but they were still satisfied with their achievements. Bear in mind that these men were affluent idlers, with time on their hands. Then you came along, and your life was full of lectures, articles, books, like-minded colleagues… Honours and awards just kept falling into your lap. You had already achieved so much! But all of a sudden you left the university, withdrew from society and began selling off your art collection to random opportunists. You gave it all up for the sake of that damned cliff! Now you have also sacrificed your health for it. Frankly, it’s a miracle that the surgeons were able to put you back together again. It’s just a pity they couldn’t change your mind while they were at it. I can’t believe you’re still designing pulleys and rope hoists! It’s ridiculous! You’re behaving like a child. Like an impulsive five-year-old, you’re prepared to give everything to the first person willing to let you kill yourself at your own expense!’
‘Is there any chance you’ll reconsider?’ Helmke began twitching in his wheelchair.
Displaying admirable self-control, Chesterfield managed to remain perfectly still.
‘If you want to give Kamp Staufenbach a try, I’m at your service! But as for that damned stone pinnacle, which no one but you has ever conceived the notion of climbing – no! That really is my last and final word on the subject. I urge you to consider my advice,’ the young man went on. ‘If you change your mind, call me – we can head to Kamp Staufenbach whenever you like. But for the time being, I’m afraid I cannot help.’
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 bookcas
es, 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 Way of Muri Page 9
