The 2 12 Pillars of Wisdom

by Alexander McCall Smith

These perplexing questions in his mind, von Igelfeld heard the applause that followed his introduction and rose to his feet. As he spoke, he tried not to look at the table at which Mr Majipondi was sitting, but he felt the eyes of the prison governor upon him, weighing him up, imagining him in a prison suit, or peeling potatoes perhaps?

  There was prolonged applause when von Igelfeld finished his talk. Several of the members, who were clearly moved by what had been said, banged their spoons on the table, until quietened by a gesture from the President. Then the President stood up, thanked von Igelfeld profusely, and invited questions from the members.

  There was complete silence. The candle flames guttered in the breeze; a waiter, standing against a wall, coughed slightly. Then a member from the top table stood up and said:

  ‘That was most interesting, Professor von Igelfeld. It is always enlightening to hear of the work of others, and you have told us all about this philology of yours. Now, tell me please: is that all you do?’

  The silence returned. All the members looked expectantly at von Igelfeld, who, completely taken aback by the question, merely nodded his head.

  ‘He says: yes,’ said the President. ‘Now, if there are no more questions, members may adjourn to the saloon.’

  As he accompanied the President into the rather dowdy, high-ceilinged room which served as the saloon, von Igelfeld turned over in his mind the events of the past hour. He had been surprised that there were no further questions, but he thought that perhaps the merchants would wish to ask him these in the relative informality of the saloon. He was sure that there must have been something which he had said which would have given rise to doubts that would need to be resolved. Had his point about pronouns been entirely understood?

  The President steered von Igelfeld to a place near the large, discoloured fireplace and placed a glass of port in his hand. Then, beckoning to a small group of members standing nearby, he drew them over and introduced them one by one to von Igelfeld.

  ‘And this,’ said the President, ‘is Mr Majipondi.’

  Von Igelfeld, who had been bowing slightly to each member, looked up. He had taken the proffered hand in mid-bow and only now did he see the beaming face of the prison governor before him.

  ‘I am most honoured to meet you,’ said Mr Majipondi in a low, unctuous voice. ‘Your talk was most informative. Indeed,’ and here he turned to the President for confirmation, ‘it was the most learned talk we have ever enjoyed in this Chamber.’

  The President nodded his ready agreement.

  Von Igelfeld tried to shrug off the compliment. He felt distinctly uneasy in the presence of Mr Majipondi, and his only wish was to get away. But the prison governor had moved closer and had reached out to touch the lapel of his suit with a heavy, ring-encrusted hand. He held the material between his fingers, as if assessing its quality, and then, reluctantly letting go, he returned his gaze to von Igelfeld’s face.

  ‘I am the governor of our little prison here,’ he said. ‘We are very concerned about rehabilitation. We are making silk purses out of sows’ ears – that is my business!’

  He laughed, challenging von Igelfeld to do the same. But von Igelfeld felt only repulsion, and he pointedly ignored the invitation.

  ‘And what about murderers?’ he suddenly found himself asking. ‘Do you make them better too?’

  Mr Majipondi gave a slight start (or did he? von Igelfeld asked himself). He was looking closely at von Igelfeld, his eyes tiny points of cunning in his fleshy face.

  ‘We do not have many of those,’ he said. ‘In fact, if you listen to what people say, you’d think I’m the only one around.’

  Von Igelfeld battled to conceal his utter astonishment. Was this Mr Majipondi confessing, or was he suggesting that the rumours were just that – rumours?

  It was a situation quite beyond von Igelfeld’s experience. Nobody in Germany would make such a remark – even an incorrigible murderer. Von Igelfeld believed that such people tended to look for excuses, and that they usually blamed their crimes on somebody else or on some abnormal mental state. Nobody accepted blame these days, and yet here in Goa, it was perhaps different, and a murderer could cheerfully confess to his crime with no sense of shame. Was it something to do with Eastern attitudes of acceptance? Could it be that if you were a murderer, then that was your lot in life, and it should be borne uncomplainingly? Was it something to do with karma? He looked at Mr Majipondi again, who returned his gaze with undisturbed equanimity.

  ‘Do you mean that people accuse you, the prison governor, of being a murderer?’ asked von Igelfeld at last, trying to sound astonished at the suggestion.

  Mr Majipondi laughed. ‘What people say about others is of no consequence,’ he answered. ‘The important thing is how you feel inside.’

  It was the sort of answer which the Holy Man would have given, and it rather took von Igelfeld by surprise. As he pondered its significance, the President exchanged a glance with Mr Majipondi, who suddenly bowed and withdrew from the group. It was now the chance of Mr Verenyai Butterchayra to speak to von Igelfeld, and while this successful cutlery manufacturer engaged the visiting scholar in conversation, von Igelfeld was able from time to time to get a glimpse of Mr Majipondi again, holding forth else-where to the evident pleasure of his fellow guests.

  The following day was the first day of the conference. Von Igelfeld listened courteously to every paper, skilfully concealing the intense boredom he felt as speaker after speaker made his trite or eccentric contribution to the debate. One paper stood out as excellent, though, and this, in von Igelfeld’s mind, made the whole thing worthwhile. This was Professor Richimantry Gupta’s report on Urdu subjunctives – a masterpiece which von Igelfeld resolved to attempt to secure for publication in the Zeitschrift – if it had not already been published.

  Then, at four o’clock, the day’s proceedings came to an end. Von Igelfeld slipped out of the hall as quickly as he could, hoping to be able to get some fresh air before the sun went down. He was not quick enough, though, to avoid the attention of the day’s chairman, who seized his elbow and asked him his view of the day’s proceedings.

  Von Igelfeld was tactful. ‘It’s such a pity that Professor J. G. K. L. Singh has been delayed,’ he said. ‘How he would have enjoyed Professor Gupta’s contribution.’

  The chairman nodded his agreement. ‘So sad,’ he said. ‘I do hope that he makes a quick recovery.’

  ‘A recovery?’ asked von Igelfeld. ‘I was under the impression that he was merely delayed, not ill.’

  The chairman shook his head. ‘Oh my dear Professor von Igelfeld,’ he said, his voice lowered. ‘I thought that you knew. Professor J. G. K. L. Singh’s train fell off a railway bridge and into a river. Our dear colleague was spared drowning, but was seriously inconvenienced by a crocodile.’

  Von Igelfeld’s dismay greatly impressed the chairman.

  ‘I can see that you were fond of him,’ he said. ‘I am sorry to be the bearer of such ill tidings.’

  Von Igelfeld nodded distractedly. The words of the Holy Man’s prophecy were coming back to him quite clearly. There is one thing which is close and one thing which is far. The close thing is a man who is coming here to meet you, in this place. I see water, and I see the water all about the man. He is from the North.

  Could it be that at the very moment that the prophecy was being delivered, the girders of the bridge had given way and the ill-fated train had plunged down into the river? It was very sad for Professor J. G. K. L. Singh, of course, but what about the second part of the prophecy? The first part had been shown to be true, and this meant that somebody, somewhere, was plotting against von Igelfeld. Who could this be, and where? Were the plotters in Germany? If they were, then it would be night-time there and they would be asleep in their shameless beds. But as the day began, then the plotters would presumably resume their nefarious activities. The thought chilled von Igelfeld, and a feeling of foreboding remained with him throughout the rest of the night and was still t
here in the morning.

  The second day of the conference was worse than the first. Von Igelfeld delivered his own paper, and was immediately thereafter assaulted by a barrage of irrelevant and unhelpful questions. He was in a bad mood at lunch, and spoke to nobody, and in the afternoon his mind was too exercised with the prophecy and its implications to pay any attention to the proceedings. At the end of the afternoon, when the conference came to its end, he avoided the final reception and slipped off to the hotel to pack his bags. Then, settling his account and bidding farewell to the manager of the hotel, he drove out to the airport in an old, cream-coloured taxi and waited for the first available seat on a plane to Europe.

  India, with all its colours, confusions and heartbreak, slipped below him in a smudge of brown. Von Igelfeld sat at his window seat and looked out over the silver wing of steel. It had been a mistake to visit Goa, he concluded. It might be that some achieved spiritual solace in India, but this had been denied him. His one encounter with a Holy Man – perhaps the only such encounter he would be vouchsafed in his life – had turned into a nightmare. There was no peace in that – only horrible, gnawing doubt. And at the back of his mind, too, was the image of Professor J. G. K. L. Singh in the muddy waters of the river and of the great jaws of the crocodile poised to close upon the helpless philologist. It was an awful, haunting image, and it brought home to von Igelfeld his great lack of charity in relation to Professor J. G. K. L. Singh. He would make up for it, he determined. He would send a letter to Chandighar with an invitation to the Institute in Regensburg, which could be taken up once Professor J. G.

  K. L. Singh got better. He would make it clear, though, that the invitation was only for one week; that was very important.

  Dear, friendly, safe, comfortable Germany! Von Igelfeld could have kissed the ground on his arrival, but wasted no time in rushing home. His house was in order, and Frau Gunter, who housekept for him, assured him that nothing untoward had happened. For a moment von Igelfeld wondered whether she was a plotter, but he rapidly dismissed the unworthy thought from his mind.

  He took a bath, dressed in an appropriate suit, and made his way hurriedly to the Institute. There he attended to his mail, none of which was in the slightest bit threatening, and then sat at his desk and looked out of the window. Perhaps there was nothing in it after all. Certainly the clear, rational light of Germany made it all seem less threatening: a Holy Man made no sense here.

  Von Igelfeld decided to visit the Institute library to glance at the latest journals. He put away his letters, picked up his briefcase, and sauntered down the corridor to the library.

  ‘Professor Dr von Igelfeld!’ said the Librarian in hushed tones. ‘We thought you would be away for another three days.’

  ‘I have come back early,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘The conference was not very successful.’

  He looked about him. Something was happening in the library. Two of the junior librarians were taking books out of the shelves in the entrance hall and placing them on a trolley.

  ‘What’s happening here?’ asked von Igelfeld. Librarians were always busy rearranging and recataloguing; von Igelfeld thought that it was all that stood between them and complete boredom.

  The Librarian looked at his assistants.

  ‘Oh, a little reorganisation. A few books in here are being taken into the back room.’

  Von Igelfeld said nothing for a moment. His eye had fallen on the trolley and on one book in particular placed there and destined for the obscurity of the back room. Portuguese Irregular Verbs!

  Slowly he recovered his speech. ‘Who suggested this reorganisation?’ he asked, his voice steady in spite of the turbulent emotions within him.

  The Librarian smiled. ‘It wasn’t my idea,’ he said brightly. ‘Professor Dr Unterholzer and one of our visiting professors suggested it. I was happy to comply.’

  Von Igelfeld’s breathing was regular, but deep. It was all clear now, oh so clear!

  ‘And who was this visiting professor?’ he asked icily.

  ‘Professor Dr Dr Prinzel,’ answered the Librarian. He looked curiously at von Igelfeld. ‘If you disapprove, of course . . .’

  Von Igelfeld stepped forward and retrieved the copy of Portuguese Irregular Verbs from the trolley. The Librarian gasped.

  ‘Of course . . .’ he stuttered. ‘I had no idea that that work was involved.’ He snatched the tome from von Igelfeld and replaced it on the shelf. ‘It will, of course, remain exactly where it was. I should never have agreed to its being put in the back room, had I known.’

  Von Igelfeld walked home. He was tired now, as the journey had begun to catch up on him. But he knew that he would be able to sleep well, now that he had identified the terrible plot which had been made against him. He would take no action against Prinzel and Unterholzer, who would just see that Portuguese Irregular Verbs remained in its accustomed place of prominence. He would not even say anything to them about it – he would rise quite above the whole matter.

  It was a course of action of which the Holy Man would undoubtedly have approved.

  sieben

  Dental Pain

  Professor Dr Moritz-Maria Von Igelfeld had excellent teeth. As a boy, he had been taken to the dentist every year, but treatment had rarely been necessary and the dentist had dismissed him.

  ‘Only come if you have toothache,’ he said to von Igelfeld. ‘These teeth of yours will last you your life.’

  Von Igelfeld followed this questionable advice, and never thought thereafter of consulting a dentist. Then, shortly after his return from the French Philological Forum in Lyons, he felt a sudden, gnawing pain at the back of his lower jaw. He looked at his mouth in a mirror, but saw nothing other than a gleaming row of apparently healthy teeth. There were no mouth ulcers and there was no swelling, but the pain made him feel as if a long, heated needle was being driven into his bone.

  He put up with it for a full morning, and then, after lunch, when it seemed as if his mouth would explode in searing agony, he walked to a dental studio which he had noticed round the corner from the Institute. A receptionist met him and took his history with compassion.

  ‘You’re obviously in great pain,’ she said. ‘Dr von Brautheim will take you next. She will finish with her patient in a few minutes.’

  Von Igelfeld sat down in the reception room and picked up the first magazine he saw on the table before him. He paged through it, noticing the pictures of food and clothes. How strange, he thought – what sort of Zeitschrift is this? Do people really read about these matters? He turned a page and began to read something called the Timely Help column. Readers wrote in and asked advice over their problems. Von Igelfeld’s eyes opened wide. Did people discuss such things in open print? How could anybody talk about things like that? He read a letter from a woman in Hamburg which quite took his breath away. Why did she marry him in the first place, if she knew that was what he was like? Such men should be in prison, thought von Igelfeld, although that was not what the readers’ adviser suggested. She said that the woman should try to talk to her husband and persuade him to change his ways. Well! thought von Igelfeld. If I wrote that column I would give very different advice. In fact, I should pass such letters over to the police without delay.

  The door of the surgery opened and a miserable-looking man walked out. He put on his coat, massaged his jaw, and nodded to the receptionist. Then von Igelfeld was invited in, and found himself sitting in the dental chair of Dr Lisbetta von Brautheim. It was a new experience for him; the only dentist he had ever consulted had been a man. But there was nothing wrong with a woman dentist, he thought; in fact, she was likely to be much more sympathetic and gentle than a man.

  Dr von Brautheim was a petite woman in her mid-thirties. She had a gentle, attractive face, and von Igelfeld found it very easy to look at her as she peered into his mouth. Her hands were careful as she prodded about in the angry area of his mouth, and even when her pick touched the very source of the pain, von Igelfeld found that he
could bear the agony.

  ‘An impacted supernumerary,’ said Dr von Brautheim. ‘I’m afraid the only thing I can do is remove it. That should give you the relief you need.’

  Von Igelfeld nodded his agreement. He was utterly won over by Dr von Brautheim and would have consented to any suggestion she made. He opened his mouth again, felt the prick of the anaesthetic needle, and then a marvellous feeling of relief flooded over him. Dr von Brautheim worked quickly and efficiently, and within minutes the offending tooth was laid on a tray and the gap had been plugged with dressing.

  ‘That is all, Professor Dr von Igelfeld,’ she said quietly, as her instruments were whisked away into the steriliser. ‘You should come back and see me the day after tomorrow and we shall see how things have settled down.’

  Von Igelfeld arose from the couch and smiled at his saviour.

  ‘The pain has gone,’ he said. ‘I thought it would kill me, but now it has gone.’

  ‘Those teeth can be quite nasty when they impact,’ said Dr von Brautheim. ‘But otherwise your mouth looks very healthy.’

  Von Igelfeld beamed with pleasure. To receive such a compliment from the attractive Dr von Brautheim gave him a considerable thrill, and as he walked down the stairs he reflected on his good fortune in being able to see her again so soon. He would bring her a present to thank her for her help – a bunch of flowers perhaps. Was she married, he wondered? What a marvellous wife she would make for somebody.

  There was no more pain that night, nor the next morning. Von Igelfeld dutifully swallowed the pills which Dr von Brautheim had given him and at the Institute that day he regaled everybody with the story of the remarkable cure which had been effected. The others then told their own dental stories: the Librarian related how his elderly aunt had lost several teeth some years before but was now, happily, fully recovered; the Deputy Librarian had an entire row of fillings, following upon a childhood indulged with sweets; and the Administrative Director revealed that he had in fact no teeth at all but found his false teeth very comfortable indeed.