by Tim Davys
A two-voiced sigh of wonder passed through the Retinue.
“He was afflicted by his faith,” Chaffinch answered his own question. “Yes, I use the word ‘afflicted.’ For that was what happened. Life was never the same again. Igor Salmon had a vision, an insight; he awoke one day and knew that the Savior would come.”
The two-voiced congregation let out a shout, a song, and Chaffinch waited until silence had again settled in the pool.
“Everything was different, although nothing had changed. In Igor Salmon’s restless teenage breast faith had taken hold, and he understood that the grace he had been granted, the divine grace that faith entails, would not let him avoid trials. Igor’s faith was such that it bordered on certainty that the Savior would come and that the Savior held his watchful hand over the city. This certainty gave him strength that not everyone possessed, and Igor realized that his duty was to use it well. The envy he encountered was unavoidable, the happiness he radiated aroused jealousy, sometimes anger, because what cannot be understood is frightening. For Salmon himself jealousy was not possible, because he knew that all of us stood under the guardianship of the Savior and that He assigned us our roles. We must dare to believe that.
“Do you dare to believe?”
The Retinue obviously felt some uncertainty about what they were expected to answer. Adam Chaffinch continued inexorably.
“We are all doubters!” he cried out. “All of us, except Igor Salmon!
“One day one of Igor’s neighbors knocked on his door. The neighbor maintained that Igor’s dog had dug up his rhododendrons. The neighbor demanded compensation. It would cost at least a month’s salary to plant new bushes. Igor let the neighbor wait at the door while he got his wallet and paid him the money. Without questioning the story. Without doubting his neighbor’s goodwill.
“To doubt your neighbor is to doubt the Savior. Behind the false is the true, behind the malicious is the good. Anyone who believes knows that is how things are. Igor was happy for the opportunity to demonstrate his faith. When the neighbor related the episode down at the neighborhood bar that same evening, he made fun of stupid Igor. The high point of the story was the fact that Igor Salmon did not even own a dog.”
This time the Retinue murmured spontaneously and not in key.
“The rumor of the wealthy ‘idiot’ quickly spread,” continued Chaffinch from up on the diving board. “Animals from near and far knocked on Igor’s door and alleged one thing more unbelievable than the other. Some of them suspected that if they had asked flat out for money, the result would have been the same. But the deception itself, and afterward telling the story about what they had pulled off at Igor’s door, was perhaps even more important than the money.
“A nurse who had worked her entire life at Lakestead House, and therefore was accustomed to lunatics, heard the story of Igor Salmon one day. She felt sorry for the poor fish who not only let himself be fooled, but was reviled so crudely besides. She decided to have mercy on him. She looked for his house, knocked on his door, and asked if he needed any help. Judging by her tone of voice, it was clear that he should say yes, and so he did. The nurse moved in, and they lived together for almost four months. After that she moved out again in a fury.
“During the time they lived together, she realized that Salmon was not mentally defective at all. He was on the contrary a sensitive, talented stuffed animal. And despite the fact that he daily and sometimes hourly let himself be fooled by idiotic, transparent lies, he was happier than the nurse was ever going to be. Angrily she left the house. Things she did not understand had always aroused her indignation.”
The Retinue let a concurring murmur be heard.
“The years passed,” continued Adam Chaffinch, “and one fine day Igor’s money ran out. The animals’ visits to his door ceased, and he was allowed to live in peace. He lived a happy life. Sometimes he grieved that he had to be so alone, but he understood that this was the trial he was forced to undergo. His faith frightened the world around him; the animals assumed that there were hidden motives behind his goodness. They could not, however, understand what they were. At regular intervals Igor Salmon sold some of the beautiful furniture that was in his parental home, and in that way he kept himself alive.
“At last came the day that comes to all of us. The Chauffeurs steered their red pickup through Amberville and parked outside Igor Salmon’s house. The believing fish’s days in Mollisan Town were at an end. The Chauffeurs got out of their truck and with heavy, determined steps went up to Salmon’s house and knocked.
“No one opened.
“They knocked again.
“Salmon did not open.
“Salmon had been ready to meet the Chauffeurs his entire life. Nothing bad awaited him; his faith was unshakable. The reason that he did not open the door was that he had gone out the back door of the house two minutes earlier.”
A sigh of confused disbelief passed through the Retinue. This was a strange sermon; it was hard to understand in what direction the chaffinch’s story would go. One of the stuffed animals in the pool fidgeted nervously, and this started a chain reaction. Suddenly there was an uneasiness in the pool that had not been there before.
“But he didn’t go alone!” cried Adam Chaffinch to his congregation. “Igor Salmon did not go alone through his orchard, he did not go alone into the forest, into which he had never dared go before even though he had lived at its edge his whole life. Igor Salmon did not go alone, because a few minutes before the Chauffeurs parked outside his house, Maximilian had knocked on Igor Salmon’s kitchen door. And together they disappeared into the forest, the believer and the believed.”
“Amen,” sang the Retinue in its two voices. “Amen, amen.”
Again and again they sang. The uneasiness that only moments before had been in all of them and was now dissolved made the song stronger, more liberating.
“Amen, amen,” they sang.
Adam Chaffinch remained standing on the diving board for a long time. The spotlight that had been aimed toward him gradually dimmed. When the preacher was finally embraced by the same warm darkness as all the others—the light from the thousands of wax candles was yellow and flattering—he slowly withdrew. The Retinue continued to sing, and when the first stuffed animals unwillingly went up the steps in the pool, they were still singing.
Reuben Walrus went along with the others. The performance was over, and he was strangely moved. But Reuben did not manage to go more than a few steps before Philip Mouse pulled on his arm.
“Slowly,” Philip whispered in his ear. “I was thinking we could exchange a few words with the preacher before we leave.”
Philip Mouse led Reuben Walrus to the right of the lobby, where the shadows were deeper and darker than anywhere else in the bathhouse. There they stood quietly and waited for the stuffed animals to disappear out into the night. When silence at last returned, it took a moment, but then they saw.
There he was, the preacher, in the farther left corner of the bathhouse. He was still wearing his long gown, but without the strong spotlight it looked almost seedy. He walked slowly from candlestick to candlestick, blowing out the candles. He held his wing behind the flame, even if the concern seemed misdirected—it was a long time since the abandoned bathhouse’s worn-out, pitted concrete floor had been worth protecting.
When Mouse was certain that they were alone, he carefully pulled Reuben Walrus with him out to the pool. Chaffinch did not raise his gaze, but he must have felt their presence nonetheless. Suddenly he said, “I understand that you have something on your mind.”
Only then did he look up and meet their surprised gazes. The mouse and the walrus halted.
Chaffinch smiled.
“I know my Retinue,” he said, observing them thoroughly. “And I noticed a couple of new animals in the pool. We all did, even if perhaps it didn’t seem like it.”
Mouse shrugged his shoulders. He had no desire to end up at a disadvantage.
“Perhaps y
ou’d like to help me?” Chaffinch asked quietly. “Blowing out all these candles takes a while.”
“Of course,” replied Reuben.
Mouse shrugged his shoulders again. He took a few steps over toward one of the swaying chandeliers that made such a powerful impression from the bottom of the pool, and started blowing. During the afternoon he had decided to maintain a certain distance. Walrus would certainly like to talk to Chaffinch in peace. Therefore Mouse selected a chandelier a little ways away.
“I’m looking for Maximilian,” said Reuben Walrus, blowing out a candle.
“So I’ve heard,” answered Adam Chaffinch amiably.
He had nothing more to say. He continued calmly blowing out the candles, and Reuben Walrus did the same. This went on for a few minutes. They worked from the left corner of the bathhouse in toward the middle, the whole time with Philip Mouse at a respectful distance.
“Maximilian needs protection,” said Adam Chaffinch when they arrived at the pool. “He doesn’t think so, of course, but that’s how it is.”
All the questions Reuben had, and the hopes he harbored, made it hard to know how he should approach this conversation. He tugged absentmindedly at his mustache.
“Protection?” he asked. “What does Maximilian need to be protected from?”
“Above all, from himself,” Chaffinch replied.
The answer came immediately.
“The external threats,” repeated Chaffinch, returning to his own train of thought, “can never frighten us. But against his own…goodness…Maximilian cannot struggle. Without protection, the surrounding world will destroy him.”
“What did you say?” asked Reuben. “Forgive me, but I didn’t hear—”
“If we aren’t there for Maximilian,” Chaffinch repeated gruffly, “his goodness is going to destroy him.”
The preacher nodded to himself, and then concentrated on the candles around the pool. A few silent minutes passed as Chaffinch took care of the right-hand long side while Reuben Walrus helpfully worked his way methodically down the left. They met at the short end of the pool. As the wax candles were successively extinguished, the moonlight gained the upper hand. The soft, warm yellow-red glow that had filled the bathhouse was replaced by a cold, white light, which made its way in through the holes in the decaying exterior walls.
“I want to meet Maximilian,” said Reuben.
“You don’t want to meet Maximilian,” replied Adam Chaffinch sternly. “You want him to grant you a miracle. For you Maximilian could be anyone at all.”
Reuben was ashamed. Chaffinch was right.
“Forgive me,” he asked. “It’s true. It’s nothing less than a miracle I ask for. I’m a composer, that’s what they call me. I’m in the process of losing my hearing, and the doctors say there’s nothing that can be done. Time passes, and…I don’t know where I should turn. I spoke with someone who said…there were several who said that my only hope was Maximilian.”
Chaffinch nodded.
“And how do you think the miracle itself comes about?” asked Chaffinch.
Reuben shook his head. He did not know; he hadn’t thought about it.
“That he would receive you in an apartment and give you a miracle? That it could be bought? Or that you could beg your way to it? Did you think this was something he stored in a desk drawer and doled out to animals that came to visit? I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m sincerely interested.”
“I don’t know,” Reuben answered quietly. “I…met a giraffe who…he had just been walking on a street and—”
“Heine,” Chaffinch nodded quietly. “Didn’t it strike you that Heine had never asked for a miracle? That he actually has a hard time believing that it happened?”
Reuben still had no answer.
“I don’t know what I thought,” he said at last.
“That honors you,” answered Chaffinch.
“What?”
“That honors you. That you didn’t worry about the matter honors you. It speaks for you.”
“Really?”
Adam Chaffinch blew out the last candle.
The moon was still whole and the gentle wind cold against the cloth when Reuben Walrus and Adam Chaffinch left the dilapidated bathhouse. Philip Mouse walked a few meters behind them. His mission was not yet complete; he had been contracted to find Maximilian, and every lead was valuable. Therefore he made sure to hear everything the finch and the walrus said, without intruding.
“You must prove yourself worthy,” said Chaffinch.
“What’d you say?”
Reuben had a harder time understanding what the chaffinch said when the treacherous breeze carried each and every word with it westward.
“You must prove yourself worthy,” repeated Chaffinch.
“Yes, yes, I understand that,” answered Reuben politely.
“Maximilian himself will certainly meet you; he wants to meet as many as possible. The problem is that…there are getting to be too many…. We must make a selection.”
“We? Meaning who?”
“It becomes unmanageable otherwise. We select which ones get to meet him, but that is not the same as having your dreams fulfilled. He is a Savior, not a spirit in a bottle.”
“What?”
“He’s not the spirit in the bottle that fulfills wishes.”
“I realize that.”
They had come halfway through the deserted landscape of ruins that surrounded the bathhouse. It was just as silent and still as it had been a little more than an hour ago, but the shadows that the moonlight produced seemed longer and sharper now.
“What should I do?” asked Reuben.
“Do?”
“To be…worthy?”
Adam Chaffinch stopped and looked intensively at the old walrus.
“You will be tested,” he said.
Philip Mouse stopped too, a few meters away. They stood at a crossroads. A narrow asphalt path led back up onto the street, another slithered away toward the outer area of the ruins. It was obvious that Adam Chaffinch intended to take leave of them here.
“I know that you are short of time. If we can, we will take that into account. I promise nothing.”
Chaffinch extended his wing, and the walrus shook it as well as he could. After that he turned for the first and only time directly to Philip Mouse. The chaffinch spoke very clearly, as if it were Mouse that was deaf.
“It’s no use searching, Mr. Mouse. Better animals than you have tried and failed.”
The words hung in the air a few moments before they fell to the ground. Chaffinch turned around and continued quickly down the long path toward the ruins. Walrus and Mouse remained standing and watched him.
“And now?” asked Reuben at last.
“I wouldn’t say no to a whiskey,” said Mouse.
The moment Philip Mouse opened the door to his office, they attacked him. The Morning Rain had just ceased, and his trench coat was still wet. He took a heavy blow to the neck, and they were over him before he realized what had happened. They dragged him through Daisy’s office, and the sight that met him inside was macabre.
With a rope that he had never seen before, they had hung one of the Windsor chairs up in the ceiling fan. In the chair sat Daisy. Her dress was torn to shreds, and they had taped her mouth shut. Her hands were secured behind her back, her legs tied to the legs of the chair. With a mechanical screech the fan still managed to turn, so that Daisy was twisting around and around.
Mouse tried to take in the situation. There were three of them. They had pulled nylon stockings over their heads. They were dressed in black from top to toe, and judging by bodies and movement patterns, he guessed that they were mammals. More than that, it was hard to say.
They pulled Philip up from the floor and pressed him down on the desk chair. Two of them remained standing behind him, holding him in place, while the third placed himself at an angle in front of the desk, screaming something that at first was impossible to hear. The voice was shrill. �
��It goes like this! It goes like this! It goes like this!”
He got a hard blow to the face. It came without warning, from the right. Two days had passed since Philip Mouse and Reuben Walrus had visited Adam Chaffinch, and this was the result of too many questions in too short a time. A reward for quickness, thought Philip, taking the next blow.
The animal that had screamed went up to Daisy and the whirling chair. This caused Mouse to stiffen. There was no reason to mix Daisy up in this.
“She knows nothing,” he protested. “She hasn’t asked any questions.”
The masked stuffed animal went over to the bookshelf and reached for a table lamp that Philip had bought many years ago from a poet who changed professions and nowadays sold spices.
Sparks came out of the wall outlet as the masked animal tore the lamp loose and used it as a weapon. He struck wildly around himself. Books and decorative objects fell to the floor. He attacked the paintings and the armchair.
“Bloody hell bloody hell bloody hell bloody hell bloody hell bloody hell bloody hell!” he screamed. “Bloody hell bloody hell bloody hell!”
He turned around and attacked the desk, tossing aside papers that whirled as if the Evening Storm was blowing right through the room. The pistol that had been concealed under a folder on the table slid down onto the floor right next to Philip’s left paw. The masked stuffed animal then began hitting the lamp against the floor, striking like a maniac, and he was not content until the desk gave way and with a crack broke in two.
Then he turned around, taking a few steps toward Daisy. He raised the lamp that he was holding in his paw, aiming a violent blow. He hit her cheek, and she screamed loudly in pain. The adrenaline was pumping in Philip’s body. The hoodlum struck Daisy a second time, and she jerked back so violently that the chair on which she was sitting fell to the floor, the fan fell down over her, and Philip tore himself out of his attackers’ grasp.
After that, everything happened very fast.