Empire V

by Victor Pelevin

  I said, ‘Are you telling me that when a gymnast subjects his body to a long period of training, he is upgrading his software rather than his hardware?’

  ‘I am not familiar with the jargon of drug culture,’ replied Loki.

  I now understood why the vampire was bound to adopt the most dishonourable combat tactics of all available options. It was not, as I had at first supposed, an ethical choice so much as a practical necessity. Eating the sweet conferred an extraordinary feeling of confidence, an enjoyable sensation of playing with one’s adversary as a cat plays with a mouse. But as soon as the effect wore off, the vampire was defenceless. It was therefore critical not to waste a second of the death span, as Loki called it.

  According to the rules, a vampire must carry a death candy on his person at all times. Loki gave me a small case and showed me how to get a sweet from it: you press a spring and a sweet ejects straight into your hand. When speed is of the essence, the sweet can be inserted into the mouth immediately without unwrapping – the wrapping is made of special paper. A vampire gets a single death candy as standard issue, which he carries in his belt and is authorised to use only in life-threatening situations.

  ‘Tell me,’ I asked Loki, ‘do vampires ever barney with one other? I mean, what happens if two of them get into a fight and each has eaten one of these sweets?’

  ‘What do you mean, “barney”?’ said Loki. ‘Vampires aren’t children. If there is a serious issue between two vampires, they resolve it by means of a duel.’

  ‘A duel?’ I asked. ‘Do such things still exist?’

  ‘In our world they do. But they are rare.’

  ‘What does such a duel look like?’

  ‘I’ll tell you next time.’

  Next time he brought a long black tube similar to those used for carrying rolled-up plans.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘what you need to know about duels … Over the long history of vampires’ existence, quarrels of a personal nature often arose. As a rule, vampires were recruited from the highest strata of society, in which it was the custom to resolve disputes by means of a duel. The practice spread to the vampire community, but following a number of fatal outcomes they were forbidden. The problem was that during a duel it was not only the vampire whose life was at stake, but that of the Tongue. You will have realised that the Tongue has not the smallest cause to be involved in a duel. It would be like two horses kicking each other, while their riders …’

  ‘I see the point,’ I interrupted. ‘You needn’t go on.’

  ‘On the other hand, to ignore the humanitarian needs of the vampire or downgrade his role purely to that of a carrier is also inadmissible. For one thing, a depressive or discontented psychic environment for the human side of the personality has a bad effect on the Tongue’s well-being. A compromise was therefore worked out which would allow vampires to clarify their relations without exposing either the Tongue, or by the same token the vampire himself, to the risk of loss of life.’

  ‘But that simply turns the duel into a farce.’

  ‘No it doesn’t,’ Loki smiled. ‘What do you imagine is the point of any duel?’

  I shrugged. The answer, I thought, was so obvious it hardly needed spelling out.

  ‘People exchange words intemperately,’ said Loki, ‘but the words in themselves have no weight. The purpose of the duel is to lend additional weight to the words – a bullet, a blade or poison. The vampires’ solution was simple: the duel falls into two parts. In the first part, agreement is reached on precisely what sort of weight is to be added to the words. In the second, it is determined to which of the duellists the relevant consequence is to be directed. A vampire duel is thus similar to a lottery. Do you understand?’

  ‘Not completely, no.’

  ‘In the first stage each participant in the duel writes down what is known as the Duel Order. It contains the details of the penalty to be applied to the defeated opponent. It can be whatever the duellist wishes: amputation of extremities, deprivation of sight or hearing, a flogging in the stables and the like. Penalties are governed purely by the depth of anger of the contesting parties. Their respective seconds are mandated to check that the prescribed penalty will in no way threaten the physical existence of the Tongue. Once they have done so, they must ratify both Duel Orders, after which the duel proper can commence.’

  ‘Do the duellists know in advance what awaits them in the event of their losing?’ I enquired.

  ‘They do not,’ answered Loki. ‘The rules forbid it. Should these rules be breached, the consequences can be most distressing. As happened in the case of the last duel to be fought.’

  ‘How did that end?’

  ‘The losing party had his nose and ears cut off. Afterwards he wore a mask until his death. As a matter of fact he did not live for long.’

  A tremor of fear seized me. ‘Wait a moment,’ I said. ‘Who was this loser? What was his name? It wasn’t by any chance …?’

  ‘Indeed it was,’ replied Loki. ‘It was Brahma. His nose and ears were removed by the best plastic surgeon in Moscow, and he suffered no discomfort whatsoever. But after the operation he fell into a depression, and the Tongue was no longer willing to reside in his body.’

  ‘Who was Brahma’s adversary?’

  ‘I am not supposed to tell you that,’ said Loki. ‘But since you ask … his duel was with Mithra.’

  ‘With Mithra?’

  ‘Yes. That is why Mithra was chosen to welcome you to our world. Such is the custom, if a duel results in the death of one of the participants. The victor assumes the responsibility of mentoring the newcomer to whose body the Tongue has transferred. But I beg you not under any circumstances to speak about this with Mithra. To do so would be considered deplorably tactless. Are you quite clear about this?’

  I nodded. The news had stunned me.

  ‘That means,’ I said, ‘that I am here because of Mithra.’

  ‘No,’ replied Loki, ‘that is not the way to think of it. Mithra will have had no influence whatever on the choice. For that matter, Brahma himself had very little to do with it. Everything is decided by the Tongue.’

  ‘What was the cause of this duel?’ I asked.

  ‘Something to do with Brahma’s filing cabinet. Brahma was a passionate collector. Mithra borrowed part of his collection for a time, some pornographic rarities I believe, I don’t know exactly. He wanted them just for private amusement, but pretended that he needed them for something important. After that there were problems with the collection, either Mithra drank them himself, or they were lost, or he passed them on to someone else – again, I don’t know the details. Whatever the case, they disappeared. Brahma was furious, challenged him to a duel, and let it be known that he would have his fingers cut off. When Mithra heard this, he also decided not to let the matter drop … And the rest you know.’

  ‘Is Mithra experienced at fighting duels, then?’

  ‘Experience counts for very little,’ said Loki. ‘Fate decides everything.’

  ‘What actually happens during a duel? Do they have death sweets?’

  ‘Yes. There is a special duel issue, prepared from the red liquid of the finest fencers or marksmen.’

  ‘What about weapons?’

  ‘Rapiers or pistols,’ explained Loki. ‘But vampires use special weapons.’

  He picked up the tube from table, opened it and took out a rapier.

  ‘Have a look.’

  At the point of the steel blade was a brass ball about a centimetre or a centimetre and a half in diameter. From it protruded a short needle.

  ‘Tranquilliser,’ said Loki. ‘If the weapons are firearms, the pistol fires a syringe with the same substance. It immediately paralyses the penetrated target. He remains conscious, but can neither speak nor move. The tranquilliser maintains its effectiveness for approximately forty hours. During this time the seco
nds are obliged to see that all the conditions of the Duel Order are carried out. It can be a heavy responsibility for them, as it was in the case of the Mithra-Brahma duel. But it must be pursued to the last particular, even if the victim perishes as a human being …’

  The discovery of Mithra’s role in my fate turned him into something of an evil genius in my life. On the other hand, it would be difficult – if not impossible – to accuse him of malice aforethought. Loki evidently sensed what was going through my mind.

  ‘Look, don’t even think of taking this up with Mithra himself,’ he repeated. ‘It would not only be mauvais ton but quite unacceptable behaviour.’

  ‘I promise,’ I replied.

  I wanted to learn more about those mysterious Taoists whose red liquid provided the ingredient for the death sweets, and decided to ask Loki about them. My question surprised him.

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Just out of interest. Is it really not possible to glimpse anything of their lives?’

  Loki shrugged.

  ‘There are some candies where the filtering was not fully effective – rejects, we don’t normally use them. But they won’t tell you much. Taoists are not ordinary people, after all.’

  ‘Couldn’t you give me one?’

  He made no reply, and I thought he must have regarded my request as silly. At the next lesson, however, he handed me one of the sweets cut into two.

  ‘This is one of the rejects,’ he said. ‘It’s still got something in it … You’re a strange boy, Rama.’

  That evening, when darkness began to fall, I lay on the bed and put both halves of the sweet into my mouth.

  Loki was right, there was not a great deal to see. But what I did experience I remembered forever.

  The name of the Taoist from whose red liquid the candy had been made was Xiu Beishan (I even understood what the words meant: something like ‘permission of northern goodness’). He was more than two hundred years old, and beginning to feel the onset of old age. By the standards of a normal man, he was in outstanding physical shape, but to himself he appeared a senile, good-for-nothing wreck.

  He and I together ascended into the Wudang Mountains. Xiu Beishan struggled up to the holy place amidst a crowd of tourists. Disguised as a labourer he was carrying on his yoke two stone blocks used for making a roadway.

  I saw red temples with roofs of brilliant green tiles, and enormous tortoises carved out of basalt standing among half-ruined pavilions. We traversed the narrow path of the ridge at the mountaintop, and saw a mountain tarn shimmering far below.

  At last the Taoist reached his destination. It was called ‘The Place of the Soaring Crags’, and it did indeed soar above a precipice. At its highest point a small square had been neatly levelled out and paved with stone. It was a place of the highest power and holiness. Xiu Beishan had come here to receive a sign from the spirits.

  Waiting until all the tourists had left to go back down the mountain, he threw down the yoke bearing the stones, and climbed the steps leading up to the exposed altar. There he bowed reverently and awaited the sign.

  When it came, the sign from the spirits was strange. From somewhere far away there flew in a huge butterfly, as big as a bird, with black and brown markings on its dark blue velvet wings. It fluttered around the Taoist before coming to rest on the edge of the altar.

  The Taoist gazed longingly at the butterfly for some time, until his attention focussed on the tips of its wings, which were so frayed and tattered as almost to have lost their shape. As soon as the Taoist recognised this, the butterfly rose from its resting place, flew up into the air and disappeared into the green labyrinth between the trees that grew on the edge of the precipice.

  For myself I would not have grasped the significance of the sign. But the Taoist understood, and through him, I too understood. As long as the butterfly could still fly, it made no difference how frayed and worn were its wings. But when it was no longer able to fly, there would be no more butterfly. That was all.

  The Taoist completed his reverences before the altar, and made his way back down the staircase. I remembered the stone balustrade beside the stairs, with its sculptured flower vases. Some of the steps were made of the same carved slabs, ancient and worn down by thousands upon thousands of feet.

  When I came back to myself, I was overcome by melancholy – and a feeling of repugnance that I had become a vampire.

  THE FIVE RULES OF LOVE

  When Loki said the time had come to study vampire techniques of making love, I imagined something along the lines of the Glamour course, only with the addition of red liquid preparations similar to ‘Rudel ZOO’. I envisaged rows of test tubes each containing a three-dimensional, stereoscopic and stereophonic porn film, all of which – so I eagerly anticipated – it would be my job to watch and assimilate …

  However, on learning that there would only be one lesson on this subject, I lowered the bar of my expectations. Even so, I thought, this single instructional session would surely prove to be as striking as it would be memorable.

  And so it was.

  On the appointed day, Loki appeared meticulously shaved and drenched in some kind of vanilla-flavoured eau de cologne. His holdall was twice as bulky as usual; I was curious to know what was in it, but felt I should not ask.

  ‘I must warn you,’ said Loki, ‘that the curriculum of love-making instruction exists in two different forms, depending on whether the student vampire is a young man or a girl. The two courses have nothing whatsoever in common with one another. Another important point is that everything you will hear is applicable solely to relations with human females and may, in no circumstances, be transferred to vampire females.’

  ‘What would happen were I to fall in love with a vampire woman?’ I asked.

  Loki shrugged.

  ‘We take no account of such an eventuality. Our concern is purely with human beings. Your relationship to other vampires is a matter for you to work out and to take responsibility for. There’s no basic training for recruits on this subject, you know. All right now, take a pen, open your notebook and start writing …’

  Loki commenced dictating:

  ‘A vampire’s relationship with a member of the female sex is diametrically opposed to the cold cynicism of an ordinary human being. It combines pragmatic rationalism with knightly chivalry … have you got that? The rationalism consists in the vampire dispensing with the false and humiliating procedure of so-called courtship in favour of proceeding straight to the core question. Knightly chivalry consists in freeing the woman from the humiliating need to imitate orgasm, and in always rewarding her for her work …’

  ‘I can’t keep up,’ I complained.

  Loki allowed me to finish writing out the sentence.

  ‘There exist five principles,’ he continued, ‘which the vampire must abide by in his private life. First, the vampire aims to ensure that the act of love follows immediately on first acquaintance. Second, once the act of love has been brought to completion, the vampire, as a rule, will terminate his acquaintance with the woman. Third, the vampire always pays the woman for her services. Fourth, the vampire does not generally bite a woman with whom he has sexual contact. Fifth and most important, the vampire must always prevent the woman from simulating orgasm …’

  ‘I’m not following this,’ I said, tearing myself away from my notebook. ‘Is the vampire acting chivalrously in removing from the woman the obligation to imitate an orgasm, or is he actively preventing her from doing so?’

  ‘They are one and the same thing.’

  ‘How so?’

  Loki favoured me with a long, searching look.

  ‘Rama,’ he said with peculiar emphasis, ‘let us speak openly, man to man.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ I agreed.

  ‘We will call things by their proper names. The concerted, synchronous genital
orgasm of a man and a woman engaged in the sexual act is a beautiful but unattainable ideal, like the communist society of the future. The vampire must always keep in mind that female lovemaking behaviour is motivated economically and socially. It has been forged over the centuries, and a few decades of formal equality will not be enough to change anything.’

  ‘You’re always talking about the theoretical aspect,’ I objected. ‘Can’t you tell me what it all means in practical terms?’

  ‘I can. If after the third frictional movement a woman starts breathing heavily, rolls her eyes and cries out unnaturally, it follows that she is behaving mendaciously and is engaged in a social enterprise while her partner is occupied with a biological one. And whenever the individual lying beside a vampire is at work on her social project, it behoves the vampire to be on his guard.’

  ‘But what possible advantage can a woman derive from simulating an orgasm?’ I enquired. ‘I really don’t understand this.’

  ‘You don’t understand because you are thinking like a human being.’

  This rebuke was like treading on my corns. I lowered my eyes in apologetic confusion.

  ‘I’ll explain,’ said Loki in his best homiletic vein. ‘We are least inclined to love those who have done good to us. The people we love are those to whom we ourselves have done good. And the more good we have done them, the more we want to do. It is a psychological rule, and Woman has been parasitically exploiting it for millennia. Her aim in imitating continuous multiple orgasms is to persuade the vampire that up to this point he has been making her happy, and to motivate him to continue making her happy. Surely you can see that? We’re talking about an investment programme. The more heavily she breathes and the more loudly she moans, the greater the return she hopes to secure. For the vampire it is vital to nip this in the bud.’

  I remembered Mithra alerting me to the veil of dissimulation that should surround the vampire’s sexual masquerades. Nevertheless, pure devilry made me raise another objection.