Empire V

by Victor Pelevin

  Mithra left and I went down to look in my postbox. He was right: in it lay a yellow envelope, with no stamp or address. I wondered how Mithra knew about it, and concluded he must have put it there himself.

  Back in the apartment I sat down at the desk, took a bone paperknife, slit open the envelope and upended it over the table. Out fell a large colour photo and sheet of paper covered with large, neat handwriting.

  The photograph showed a girl of about my age with her hair weirdly dyed in ginger, white, red and brown strands. The hair had been stiffened with gel into a construction resembling a haystack that had served as target practice for artillery bombardment. It looked picturesque, but was probably rather impractical for public transport.

  I do not know quite how to describe her face. It was beautiful, but not with the obvious kind of beauty that is commonly accepted as such, and engenders a response that is commercial rather than personal. This beauty was different. This girl’s face was the kind that makes you believe only you are capable of perceiving its fascination while others would not understand or even notice it. For this reason it immediately lodges in your consciousness as private property belonging uniquely to you. Later, when it emerges that the exclusivity of the deal is in fact illusory and others are concerned in it too, you feel betrayed …

  Also, I thought I had seen her face in a LiveJournal user pic.

  I took up the handwritten sheet and read the following:

  Hello, Rama,

  You have probably already guessed who I am.

  I’m now called Hera. I became a vampire (vampiress? I’m not sure what the right word is) at almost the same time as you, perhaps a week later. I’m just about to start my lessons on Glamour and Discourse with Baldur and Jehovah – they’ve been telling me one or two amusing stories about you. So far, I’m enjoying it all. To be honest I am a simple sort of girl, but I’ve been told that my Discourse studies will make me a lot smarter. Isn’t it amazing what a huge amount of stuff they can cram into your head?

  I was also told that you and I are to meet during the Great Fall. They said you are very worried about it. Well, I’m pretty scared too, but you must agree that it is silly to be afraid of something when you have no idea what it is.

  I should like very much to see you, to find out what you are like. For some reason I think you and I are going to be friends. Please send me your photograph. You could get someone to bring it to me, or send it electronically.

  Till we meet,

  Hera

  Below she had added her email address and a weblink ending with an .mp3 extension. She had sent me some music.

  I found it very attractive that she had written out the long URL by hand, in neat, sloping letters. For some reason this was rather touching. Nevertheless, it may be that the reason I found these details so enchanting was because I had seen her photograph beforehand.

  I downloaded the song. It was ‘Not Alone Anymore!’ by The Traveling Wilburys. I liked the song, especially the end, where the line ‘You’re not alone any more’ was repeated three times with such lyrical power that it almost persuaded me I was no longer alone myself.

  I assumed that as Hera was only just at the start of her studies of Glamour and Discourse, I would be significantly more experienced and advanced. My photograph should reflect this. I decided a good setting would be in front of the filing cabinet: its smooth, polished surface would photograph well.

  I put on my best jacket, sat in an armchair brought in from the other room, and took a couple of experimental pictures. Something was lacking in the composition. I placed a bottle of expensive whisky and a heavy crystal tumbler on the table, and tried a few more shots. Still needed something, I felt. I slipped a platinum signet ring with a jet stone over my finger (I found the ring in the escritoire.) Now I supported my chin on the finger, to make the ring more visible, and tried again. From what had grown to be a sizeable collection of selfies I chose the one which I thought gave the clearest impression of a bored demon – to achieve this effect I had to put two volumes of a medical encyclopaedia under my backside.

  This done, I sat down at the computer and wrote my reply:

  Hello Babe,

  I was happy to get a letter from you. You’re very nice. I’m glad I am no longer alone. We’re alone together, aren’t we? Work hard at your studies of Discourse and Glamour, they will seriously broaden your horizons. I’ll be very glad to meet you.

  Mwah mwah,

  Rama

  P.S. There is some serious music for you in the attachment.

  I made a deliberate attempt to come across as dry, taciturn and ironic, since I believed this to have an irresistible effect on women.

  For my musical offering I attached a 10MB recording of an evening service from a Taoist monastery: a single-note recitative piercingly chanted in Chinese to the accompaniment of a collection of exotic percussion instruments. It had been gathering dust for some time on my hard drive, and now I had found a home for it to go to. Casting a final critical eye over my photograph and finding it presentable, I sent the email.

  LOKI

  The last segment of the vampire foundation course was, like its predecessors, in two parts. It was entitled ‘The Art of Combat and of Love’. The teacher was Loki, a tall, cadaverous old man with long yellow hair and a vague resemblance to an impoverished nineteenth-century Russian nobleman. He always showed up wearing huge glasses with coke-bottle lenses and a long five-button black jacket reminiscent of frock coats from the time of the Crimean War.

  There was no second teacher; Loki taught both subjects. The course began with the art of combat, which was to be followed by a cours de perfectionnement in the art of love.

  Loki was older than either Baldur or Jehovah, and initially I found it strange to have such an antique specimen as an instructor in hand-to-hand combat. But then I remembered the grey-bearded masters I had seen in some Hong Kong films, and decided it would be better not to draw too hasty a conclusion.

  His manner of instruction was highly idiosyncratic: he did not so much speak as dictate, and insisted that I take down what he said word for word. Not only that, but I had to make notes by hand, using a pen filled with violet ink. All these necessities he brought with him to the first lesson, in a black holdall similar to those of Baldur and Jehovah. When I asked why everything had to be done exactly so, his curt answer was:

  ‘Tradition.’

  The first lesson commenced with Loki going over to the blackboard and chalking on it:

  The secret of the longevity of the

  hardiest man alive consists exclusively in

  the fact that no one has yet killed him. –

  Loki IX

  I understood that the source of the quotation was none other than the teacher himself.

  ‘That sentence is not to be erased until the course is finished,’ said Loki. ‘I need the principle to be firmly embedded in your consciousness.’

  He then sat me down at the desk with a notebook, placed his hands behind his back and proceeded to pace up and down the room, dictating at a measured pace:

  ‘A vampire’s fight technique … is practically identical to that of a human being … insofar as it concerns the actual practise of hand-to-hand combat … The vampire employs the same blows, throws and holds as are met with in classical single combat … Have you written that down? The difference lies in the vampire’s use of these movements … The art of combat for a vampire is characterised by the complete elimination of any ethical principles, resulting in maximum efficacy … Its distinguishing quality is the vampire’s deliberate choice of the most vile and ignominious techniques available to him …’

  I lifted my head from the notebook.

  ‘How does one determine which fight technique is the most vile and ignominious?’

  Loki raised a finger.

  ‘Excellent point!’ he said. ‘Well done
. Bull’s-eye! The most common cause of a vampire being defeated in a duel is precisely taking too long to decide on that. Therefore, there can be no pause for reflection in a combat situation; one must rely on instinct. To be guided by instinct entails forgetting altogether about ignominy for the time being. That will automatically lead to the most ignominious fight strategy. That is the paradox. Got that?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But, ordinary people also trust their instincts when they get into a fight. And they’re not usually overburdened with scruples. In what way do we differ from them?’

  ‘Umm … ah,’ said Loki with a chuckle. ‘Stand up. I’ll demonstrate.’

  I stood up, or rather tried to, because before I had managed to straighten my legs I received a sudden punch to the solar plexus. It was not an especially hard blow, but it was unquestionably despicable since Loki chose the precise moment to deliver it when I was most off balance. I toppled over, taking the chair with me, and struck the floor painfully with my elbow.

  ‘See?’ enquired Loki, as if nothing untoward had occurred.

  I leapt to my feet, and he immediately spread his hands out in front of him in a placatory gesture.

  ‘All right, all right, that’s enough. Pax.’

  My rage subsided. I was about to tell Loki exactly what I thought of him, when without warning he kicked my shin painfully with his boot. This was one dirty trick too far: after all, he had only just himself called a truce. I doubled over with the pain.

  Loki walked over to the window, took from his pocket a sweet in a red wrapping, unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth.

  ‘Suppose I were to give you a good sock in the jaw right now?’ I enquired.

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ Loki scowled. ‘I’m your teacher. When you ask me a question I am under obligation to answer it, and in a way you’re not likely to forget. Understand?’

  ‘I understand,’ I muttered, rubbing my bruised shin. ‘But don’t do anything like that again. Otherwise I won’t be answerable for myself.’

  ‘I promise,’ said Loki and turned away.

  Assuming he was ashamed of his scurrilous behaviour, I also turned round in order to return to my seat at the table, and at that moment he hurled himself at me from behind and kicked the inside of my calf. My leg involuntarily crumpled and I sank to my knees. He followed up his assault by slapping me about the ears with his open hands. I jumped up again and without saying a word advanced on him with my fists.

  I should mention that when I was in tenth grade, I studied karate for a time. Needless to say, this did not instantly transform me into Jackie Chan. I could crack a tile on the wall of the school toilets with a kick, and break a wooden board which was already cracked by punching it, but that was the extent of my achievements. I did, however, acquire enough knowledge to appreciate what Jackie Chan could do on screen.

  All the more astounding, therefore, was what I now witnessed. Loki leapt up the wall and climbed several steps, using only his feet. When he reached the point where gravity brought his body parallel with the floor, he somersaulted through the air to land lightly behind my back. There was nothing supernatural about this: nothing that did not conform to the laws of physics, but it was a manoeuvre demanding the utmost agility, not to mention courage.

  A second later his leg swooshed round in front of my face, making me rock back on my heels. Then he grabbed hold of my arm and twisted my wrist behind my back in a grip of such rock-like impregnability that I instantly abandoned all thoughts of resistance.

  ‘I give in, I give in!’ I shrieked.

  Loki released my hand. I was so astonished I forgot all my resentment. ‘How on earth did you do that?’

  ‘Sit down and write.’

  I sat.

  ‘In order to ensure invincibility in a combat situation, vampires have developed the death candy … Got that?’

  The penny dropped. ‘Aha! That’s what you were eating, isn’t it? In the red wrapper?’

  ‘Exactly so.’

  He thrust his hand into his frock coat and extracted another candy, small, round and encased in shiny red paper. It looked like one of those toffees they hand out free on aeroplanes.

  ‘May I try one?’

  Loki thought for a moment.

  ‘Not today,’ he said. ‘You’re … not calm enough.’

  ‘Are you afraid I might … you know … smash you?’

  Loki laughed contemptuously.

  ‘My dear boy! You think the secret’s in the sweetie?’

  ‘Well, where is it, then?’

  ‘The death candy can do nothing without the warrior spirit. You know what that is?’

  To this I could find no answer.

  ‘Well then,’ said Loki, ‘write this down.’

  I bent over my notebook once again.

  ‘In Hubei Province in China,’ Loki commenced dictation, ‘are to be found the picturesque Wudang Mountains. The name means “The Warrior’s Shield”. From ancient times they have been home to Taoists engaged in the practice of martial arts. The most celebrated was Zhang Sanfeng, who had the ability to fly …’

  At this point Loki paused, evidently expecting me to ask whether it was true or not that this Zhang Sanfeng could really fly. But I forbore to ask.

  ‘… to this day in the Wudang Mountains you will find many so-called Wushu academies, where gullible tourists come to receive instruction in pretty but ineffectual dances involving swords and staves …’

  Here Loki perpetrated a few caricatured movements imitating this style of dance. They did indeed look rather comic.

  ‘Before the Second World War, the true practitioners of Taoist martial arts withdrew further up into the hills, well away from roads, hotels and – ha ha – massage parlours. Not many true masters are left, but there are some. Living far from people as they do, the Tao masters need to acquire the means of survival, and the means in question are extremely important … got that so far? The means are supplied to them by vampires, and as a quid pro quo once a year the greatest Taoist masters donate samples of their red liquid to the vampires … From the resulting preparations vampires distil several varieties of death candy … However, the warrior spirit is also required, because without it the sweets are ineffectual … Have you written all that down? That is all for today.’

  All night I tossed and turned in my huge four-poster bed beneath the baldaquin, trying to work out what the ‘warrior spirit’ could be. I came up with several propositions. The first was that it was, as its name suggested, some form of spirit with which one must make contact. Secondly, it might be some kind of heroic state of consciousness, which needed to be fostered and honed internally over a long period, without recourse to any specifically vampire expedients. This possibility appeared the least attractive to me. Thirdly, the ‘warrior spirit’ might be linked to a special procedure that altered the physical properties of the body. Without this it was hard to explain how the aging and manifestly unathletic Loki could move his legs with the agility of an amphetamine-fuelled acrobat.

  None of the three theories was correct.

  The ‘warrior spirit’, it turned out, was instilled by taking a special sequence of five breaths – alternating long and short. A species of code to activate the candy, it bore some relation to Taoist practices of fine-tuning the body’s respiratory centres. Loki did not go deeply into the mechanics of the process – in fact I suspect he did not himself fully understand them. Merely to remember the sequence was enough.

  Once I had learned it, Loki allowed me to eat a piece of the fatal confectionery. He warned me that I would not experience any revelatory visions, since the information in the sweet was purified – it was derived not from the Taoist’s life but purely from his knowledge of martial arts. I dived into the experiment.

  The sweet tasted like a boiled liquorice-flavoured candy. Completing the required seque
nce of breaths, I felt light-headed and as if my head was spinning round. But that was all. Just as when I had imbibed ‘Pasternak + ½ Nabokov’, I could not detect any personal information. All memory of the donor had been effaced.

  The only discernible effect was that I now had virtuoso control over my body. This new-found ability was, however, undoubtedly most impressive. When I attempted something I had never succeeded in accomplishing as a schoolboy studying karate – the splits – I found, to my amazement, I could now do them with no effort at all. First, I did the splits cross-wise, then length-wise.

  Next, I effortlessly repeated the trick that I had found so astonishing when Loki did it: I ran up the wall, did a backwards somersault, and landed on my feet. Loki urged me to attack him, and within a second I unleashed on him such a flurry of blows as I had previously seen only in the cinema (true, none of them reached their target). Once the effect of the sweet had worn off, I could not repeat any of these feats.

  The secret of this gutta-percha-like plasticity, Loki explained, was not in the elasticity of the muscles but in their ability instantly to relax. That was what enabled me to do the splits and deliver high kicks with my feet.

  ‘Physiologically speaking,’ he said, ‘the key is in the nervous impulses sent by the brain to the muscle cells. Even lengthy training has minimal effect on the physical properties of muscles, ligaments and bones. What it can affect is the sequence of nervous signals by which the mechanism is controlled. The death candy acts on this code. An averagely constituted man is, of course, far weaker than a trained fighter, but his physique is, nevertheless, sufficiently developed to be capable of performing the same actions. It is his nervous system that remains inadequate. The same applies to the power of the blow. This depends not only on the specific properties of the fibres in his muscles, but on his ability to concentrate his vital energy. The preparation affords the vampire temporary access to all these skills. However, the technology naturally has its limitations. Even if you were to absorb all a world champion weightlifter’s red liquid you would still not be able to lift a 200 kilogram weight.’