It was a sight to behold, so unearthly and magical, that for a moment, all weapons were silent.
Everyone’s eyes followed the Golden Biker, nobody took any notice of the small group of people, leaving the burning temple, crouched down and coughing.
Hermann, who had momentarily snapped out of a manic shooting frenzy, was watching the descending golden figure and had turned to stone, quite like everybody else around him. There he was, the man who was responsible for everything. Decades of living in exile, decades of being ridiculed by the Fuehrer, decades of self-reproach: All of this, personified in that despicable golden figure, right before his very eyes. The long awaited moment had come, to finally put an end to all of this with just one well-aimed shot. And this time he would not miss! Although there was this strange fog spreading out over the entire valley like a gossamer golden veil, he could clearly make out the Golden Biker. He became totally calm. His hand was steady, his age, the excitement, everything fell away from him and he felt as young as ever. This was the moment he had waited for almost all his life. He knew, that he would not miss. Totally calm, almost devoutly, he aimed his rifle. The Golden Biker was in the cross hairs of the telescope. It would be a nice shot right between the eyes. A master shot, fitting the occasion.
“Come on, Hermann!” Suddenly, an only too familiar voice said, “Just let it slide!”
Frightened he looked up—directly looking into the moustachioed face of his Fuehrer, who was sitting on a rock next to him.
“My... my Fuehrer?” Hermann stammered, “You... here?”
The Fuehrer tried to look as friendly as possible, pushing back an irritating strand of hair.
“Yes, well, I thought I’d say hello. Or how about: Heil Me?” He giggled inanely.
Hermann got up, swaying a little and sprang to attention.
“It... it is a great honour, mein Fuehrer!”
The Fuehrer reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. “Want one?” he asked Hermann politely.
“Mein Fuehrer!” Hermann exclaimed astounded, “You... you smoke?”
“Yes, and why not? Won’t do me any harm now, will it? My friend Golomir turned me onto it!”
With these words a little dwarf on a green-striped mini elk, came riding around the corner, pulled his cap and said, “Golomir. PUA, my pleasure!”
Stupefied, Hermann looked back and forth between the dwarf and the Fuehrer.
“Hermann,” the Fuehrer said in an amicable tone, putting his arms around his shoulder, “we both know each other for such a long time now. Its time for you, to get a little more comfortable around me. Just call me Adi... and in God’s name, relax, man!”
“But my F... Adi! I was just about to do justice to what happened back then!”
“Come on” the Fuehrer waved dismissively, “Old hats! You’re much too uptight, dear fellow.
Look at Golomir here, for instance, hès some cool dude!”
The dwarf beamed with pride.
Hermann sprang to attention again. “Discipline made our people superior! You said it yourself! We are the master race, so you said!” he insisted.
The Fuehrer took a deep drag, resulting in a rattling coughing fit. “Humbug!” he continued after he had regained his breath, “a load of rubbish... besides, a people as uptight as us, one could hardly call a master race. Honestly, in hindsight, I am quite glad it did not work out back then. Just imagine, the whole world being ruled by that rather strenuous people. We just took everything too seriously, Hermann. You know what a perfect world would be like? The perfect world is an imperfect world, as simple as that! And I shall give you my last order, to be executed without any ifs and buts!”
Hermann’s back stiffened, “I am listening, mein Fuehrer!”
“Stay foolish! Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life!” the Fuehrer answered nonchalantly, taking another drag from his cigarette.
Golomir gave a big grin. “Okidoki, now that that’s settled, I might as well go back to work.
Got to call my colleagues. There’s a shitload of work to do today!”
He pulled out a tiny whistle from under his vest and blew it hard. For a moment nothing happened. Than from all over the mountaintops, other whistles responded. Hermann squinted his eyes. Something was coming down the hills from all sides. At first he thought ‘rockslides’, but then he recognised hundreds, no thousands of dwarfs, riding down the mountains on the strangest of mounts. Golomir waved at them, trying to signal them to their respective site of operations, since by now, everywhere in the valley the PUA’s were in high demand. The soldiers were flabbergasted, when all of a sudden dwarfs on chequered lamas, dwarfs inside the pouches of polka dotted kangaroos or perched on backs of tiny pink elephants, came zipping through the valley, offering the soldiers refreshments and cigarettes, while engaging them in comforting small talk about trade union wages in the mining industry.
“What’s happening down there?” Solomon shouted, at the top of his voice into the radio. All hostilities had come to a sudden standstill, not a single shot was fired and the view out of the window revealed all of the soldiers—wallowing in some kind of shimmering mist—had left their hideouts and were heading up the mountain slopes. However, as hard as Solomon tried, he could not fathom, what had grabbed the soldier’s attention in such a way that they completely forgot to massacre each other.
“Corporal!” he was yelling into the microphone for the fifth time. “Answer me!!!”
Finally, in between atmospheric noise and crackle he heard the voice of the commanding officer.
“Oh, it’ so marvellous... so beautiful!”
“What are you talking about, man? We can expect an attack at any moment!”
“If you love me, love me true, send me a ribbon, and let it be blue!” came a giggled reply over the speakers.
In a fury, Solomon hurled the microphone across the cabin. “Go down, land that copter. I want to know what is happening!” he barked at the pilot, who immediately dropped the aircraft.
They touched down smoothly. Solomon filled with rage, jerked open the gliding door and froze. All around him soldiers of all kind of nationalities stood around and were talking to... whomever really? Solomon could not see anybody. The strange golden mist crept into the cabin undetected.
“Hmmmh!” Ephraim sniffed, savouring the smell. “Something is smelling awfully nice around here!”
“Will you shut...” the amazed Solomon fell silent. Slowly, the soldier’s interlocutors became visible. Little dwarfs on peculiar looking mystical animals were standing next to the men, handing out cigarettes.
“Three armies, a combat unit plus half of India’s underworld, completely stoned!” Sherie said satisfied, stemming her hands against her hips.
Together with Gerd, Bear and the monk, she scanned the valley. Up here on the hill they had a box seat. Below them, unforgettable scenes unfolded before their eyes, everybody seemed to be swept over by a wave of merriment. Soldiers were giggling to themselves; others took off their clothes, chasing each other buck-naked over the barren landscape. Hermann, Bábaa, Shaki and Ashok were trying out a dance routine, while Babu and Willie had found their own private spot. Solomon had climbed out of the helicopter and was befriending a delicate mountain floret. Everywhere, there was people singing, laughing or making up little poems, which in a stoned illusion of grandeur were deemed to be the epitome of mental brilliance, even if it was something ridiculous as: “‘Yakety Yak’ the Yak moaned, that’s what they do, when they get stoned!”
Eventually the fog had disappeared, but the general merry mood prevailed.
Bear gave Sherie a hug. “What a girl! That was great. Whatever made you think of that?”
Sherie blushed with pride. “Well, when Hermann burnt all my weed back then, I took a whiff, a
nd boy was I wasted. So I thought, since everyone of us has smoked the stuff before, nothing will happen to us!”
“Correct, all of us did—except...” Bear slowly turned to Gerd.
“Have you guys ever noticed, how blue the sky really is?” Gerd marvelled, with glazed over eyes. “Sooo blue, so utterly blue!” He slumped on his backside and commenced to teach a nursery rhyme to a rock, which ran into an impasse when neither of them could decide who was singing lead and who the chorus.
Bear only grinned. “He’s going to be alright. Where is our Golden Biker?”
Sherie was pointing at the golden figure coming towards them on a motorcycle. “There he comes!”
Distracted by the spectacle, nobody had noticed someone approaching amidst the sneaking smoking debris of the temple. This person was now sneaking up to the small group upon the hill, always using the bushes for cover. Should Bear or Sherie have noticed, they immediately would have been warned since first of all that person was wearing a gas mask so its sinister plans, whatever they were, would not be affected by the golden smoke and secondly, this person was shouldering one of Hermann’s anti-tank missiles. When this person had closed in on the group, stopping at several feet behind them, she carefully folded up the notch and headsighter and took aim.
However, before she was able to pull the trigger therewith spoiling Sherie’s, Gerd’s and Bear’s well-deserved happy end, a hand gently pushed the barrel down. The person turned around angrily and looked into the charming face of Apu Bindi.
“My dear lady!” he crooned, since even the mask could not keep him from recognising the shooter as being female. “A beautiful woman such as you should pay more attention playing with big guns such as this!”
Her hand felt for the gas mask and removed it. Apu was certain that he was looking into the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Likewise, the would-be killer fell in love on the spot with the undoubtedly best looking secret agent, ever having risked life, body and even his heart for his country.
“I... am Beate!” she purred as she sank into his strong arms.
“Hush... no need for words...!” he whispered back.
When Arthur had stopped the motorbike in front of them, he took off the golden mask he was wearing. The monk bowed deeply before him.
“The new Golden Biker has manifested itself on the very day of the old one. Thus says the prophecy!”
Arthur looked at the monk in surprise. “Me? Wait a minute! That was just part time. Helping out, so to speak. I am totally not qualified for this!”
“You are the Golden Biker. The Alpha and the Omega, The Sun and the Moon, Yin and Yang. You are riding on the beam of the setting sun. You are singing with the spheres. You are breaking the Circle of Life. You are growing the holy Ganja.” The monk recited solemnly.
“Finally I get to hear whole thing...” Bear grunted lackadaisically
“Yes, well, ehm...” Arthur interjected, “that’s all good and well, breaking the circle, singing with the spheres and so on. No problem! But there’s no more grass, right?”
“No need to worry” the monk answered. “For twenty years of my life, I have been studying the Vedas. I know all the scriptures of Buddha and the Tibetan Book Of the Death by heart, spent most of my time in monasteries meditating... but I have also studied botany in Amsterdam for six semesters. This can come in handy helping you guys out.”
“Oh, in that case, lets give it a try, shall we?”
Arthur put on his golden mask and it shone for miles, reflecting the last rays from the setting sun, shining into the little valley in the high Himalayas. A new Golden Biker had been born to continue the tradition, to shed some light into the hearts of the desperate and the needy.
He let his gaze wander over the valley, his new home.
“Do you think?” he asked the monk as they were walking down the hill together side-by-side, “I could get some wings attached to the helmet? The breastplate is a bit tight, as well,... actually we should also be talking about my theme song, you know, when I appear... and does everybody get up so early in the morning? Oh yes, do I get a personal day off, and who will step in when I’m on vacation or if I get sick? In this climate I’ll probably catch a cold... oh, and this is important, do you know where I can get some camomile hand wipes around here? And we do have to talk about that tea of yours, I’m sure we can improve on its taste... what do you eat around here anyway, come to think of it? I am a bit picky about food, you know, I also have a lactose allergy! And I cannot stand tomatoes, same goes for oregano, hate the stuff...
What became of them...
Let’s start with Apu and Beate: there relationship did not last very long; actually it was all over within four and a half minutes. Just when they had passionately fallen into the grass, a Rolls Royce stopped at the foot of the hill. Sunil got out of the car, asking the snugging pair about the whereabouts of Arthur. Beate caught sight of Sunil, his fanatic followers, and above all the expensive car. She did a quick checksum adding a million and since she was a businesswoman at heart, gave Apu the boot and flung herself around Sunil’s neck. Beate became sort of his manager cum lover, doing her best to develop the tuc-tuc cult surrounding Sunil into an international craze, and the sect’s success into a worldwide phenomenon. All of a sudden, all over the world meditation centres, vegetarian restaurants and discothèques were popping up like mushrooms. Everybody involved was wearing black and yellow clothes, with a picture of their ‘master’ hanging around their necks. Beate and Sunil were raking in millions; they eventually opened up an ashram near Bombay and in the end, both had to flee from India to the USA because of tax fraud. There they successfully ran charity donations, collecting money for ‘schools in underdeveloped EU countries’. The donated money however, trickled away in the bureaucratic apparatus, which already made up 91% of the whole enterprise. When they finally got thrown out of the USA, they bought Belgium, where they are still living to this day.
Apu never got over the loss of his first great love. He was rumoured to be roaming the streets of Delhi where he was scribbling incoherent oaths and vows of love on every scrap of paper he could get hold of.
OM, Apu’s boss, became Minister of Defence, just as the oracle had prophesied.
Li Xiao became more and more paranoid, his delicate problem only getting worse, leading him to his fatal end. One morning looking into the mirror while shaving, he did not recognise his own face, assuming he was being attacked by a foreign spy. He shot himself trying to escape.
Hermann followed his Fuehrer’s advice. He decided to go back to Germany after all those years. Since he did not know where to go, he chose the address he had once been given by Arthur. ‘Fancytown—in the nice Anywhere valley’.
After some diversions and entanglements he had finally come to Fancytown, he opened up an Indian restaurant, which closed shop soon after, because the employees had gone on strike. Somehow they could not get used to Hermann’s social skills. He eventually ended up in a nursing home. Out of which, nowadays, he is training his own paramilitary troop, where the minimum age for admission is 75. They have repeatedly become infamous for their hooliganism at mass rallies.
Bábaa finally retired. He donated his money to religious, cultural and social institutions and to this very day is roaming throughout India as a poor Sadhu. If you should ever meet him, throw some coins into his pot, (if you don’t, he gets bawdy).
Solomon returned to Israel, whereupon after having received his credit card statement, he was promptly suspended from duty forever. This, however, did not disappoint Solomon all too much, since at that point he already had his flight ticket to Goa in his pocket. Upon arrival he met up with Moshe and they went into business together, providing false identities to young Israeli draft dodgers and warning them about undercover agents, who came to Goa from time to time.
Ephraim married the female pilot and talked her in
to taking the helicopter to middle America where, aided by this marvel of modern flight technology, they were flying high-grade cocaine into the USA. After four years they eventually got busted. Both of them now act as the exclusive private supplier to the White House.
Babu and Willie opened up a boutique called ‘Pourqoui-Pas?’ specialising in patent leather fashion items for the male customer, located in an appropriate part of San Francisco. They got married, adopted a son and like to play water-ball in their spare time.
Rajnesh and Shaki returned to Goa and said goodbye to the gangster business. Rajnesh set up a therapy centre for people without self-esteem, whose secret of success was to permanently and continuously being shouted at and being insulted.
The courses became an insider tip within the international S&M scene and now they are fully booked for years in advance.
Shaki together with Bear rebuilt the beach shack. They invented a curry sausage called ‘Indo-German-Friendship-Wurst’, whose sauce remains Shaki’s secret. A successful business like that always attracts copycats, whose businesses, for reasons unknown, always went up in flames soon after they opened. If you go to their beach shack today, seeing those two working together, you might think they had always been the best of friends. The curry wurst, by the way, is a culinary delight that no Goa-traveller would want to miss.
Ashok and his men had to face the fact, that they were just too rotten awful to be in the show business. Their jokes were lousy, their acrobatic numbers sucked, in short their entertainment value was that of a broken bedside lamp.
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