The Fantastical Adventures of Leutenlieb of the House of Munchausen

by Shlomo Kalo

  When we were close to the gates, the sentries raised their weapons and called out to us the standard welcoming slogan of the land of the Depressives, inaugurated on the accession to power of No-Allah-No-Hallah, namely – "Depression Forever!"

  We found the ruler disporting himself in the company of a number of revelers, including some scantily clad generals. The former sergeant-major, mellowed by wine, greeted us with that suspicious-foolish-menacing smile of his, and immediately ordered the retainers serving him and his partially dressed companions to offer each of us a foaming goblet.

  Then my red-bearded friend stepped forward, to a position in the center of the oval room, turned to the bibulous potentate and in a voice of fire and brimstone, launched into his homily:

  "Give ear to me and listen, you the great Sultan of Depression Island, whose name is on the lips of all in reverence and respect, i.e. No-Allah-No-Hallah! The end of your rule is close at hand! The clouds have gathered over the future of your dynasty! So says the God that you serve, commute at once the sentence passed on the prince Allah-Yes-Peace-No! This is the will of the Lord, and do not dare to fail to fulfill it in the spirit and in the letter. Do not diverge from it by a hair’s breadth! – since otherwise your freedom will be taken from you and your kingdom ruined beneath you, and your rule will be as nothing, and Depression Island will remember you as the last of the despised ones of your generation!" My red-bearded friend gathered up the array of his thunder, still reverberating between the gilded walls of the Sultan’s palace.

  The impression was deep. It seemed inconceivable that any human heart could remain indifferent to such explicit words of prophecy.

  And then the ruler exploded and shouted at the one who had prophesied:

  "Let the whole of Depression Island burn to the ground together with all its inhabitants and the prophets who visit it!" – and with great force he hurled the solid gold goblet in his hand at the high and smooth forehead of my red-bearded friend, a forehead radiating innocent inspiration and manly heroism.

  The red prophet collapsed there and then, and the retainers came hurrying to revive him with the help of one of the physicians who happened to be present there, taking an active part in the revels. And when he regained his wits he was dragged towards me and made to sit beside me, mournful and bare-headed, getting the half-concealed scornful glances of the other party-goers and a clear and crude glare of contempt from the ruler himself.

  The game was lost. So at least it seemed at that moment.

  And then into my mind came one of those ideas with which illustrious members of my family have been blessed throughout all the generations, making them in this respect the most glorious family on earth.

  With the utmost courtesy I approached the Sultan, intoxicated as he was both with wine and with his easy victory over the red prophet, the thunderer, who had been neutralized and sat shame-faced beside his empty table.

  "I have something in my hand that may leave a deep impression on the whole of the kingdom and glorify as no name has ever been glorified before, the ruler of this island, known as Depression, since time immemorial and forever," I offered, with emphatic humility.

  "If prophecy is what it’s about – I’m tired of hearing it!" the Sultan with the tower-turban interrupted, with a brusqueness that boded ill.

  "Not prophecy!" I assured him decisively.

  My clear voice had something of a sobering effect on the ruler of the island; he turned to me and his tiny greasy eyes showed a faint flicker of curiosity.

  "What then if not prophecy?" he demanded to know.

  "A wager," I replied evenly.

  This awakened the lively interest of all those present. The business of gambling had always appealed to them and they enjoyed laying bets in secret, since, according to statute law, betting was forbidden to all the residents of Depression, with the exception of the ruler himself.

  "You know of the ban imposed on any form of gambling throughout the territory of Depression?" the Sultan No-Allah-No-Hallah asked me in a hesitant voice, trying to restrain the powerful interest I had aroused in him.

  "The ban applies to residents of the island," I reminded him and added: "I am not one of them."

  "And if I give you honorary citizenship?" the ruler taunted me.

  "Then we shall reconsider the situation," I replied "What is this wager?"

  "I shall stand in front of the man who is to be executed by firing-squad and they will shoot me before aiming their weapons at him. If I fall down and die, he will be shot too. If the shooters don’t succeed in felling and killing me – we shall both walk free!"

  Sultan No-Allah-No-Hallah scanned me with a malicious look in which coarseness of spirit and hardness of heart were superseded by amusement.

  For a long moment he weighed up my proposition. Meanwhile my friend from the table at the end of the room was starting to make conspicuous gestures in my direction, urging me to withdraw from the wager before it was too late. These gestures and their meaning did not go unnoticed by the ruler, and he wasted no time, expressing his firm agreement and thus forestalling any possibility of evasive action on my part.

  "I accept! Let it be so!" And turning to his bodyguards standing behind him with drawn pistols, he gave the order:

  "Proclaim and publicize the matter of the wager in all the towns and villages of the kingdom and especially – in the capital!"

  And sure enough, the event was publicized with due prominence, and doubled the number of those coming to see the execution.

  Meanwhile my friend the prophet approached me and cried out:

  "That ointment you’re relying on – I think its validity has expired!"

  "How is that?" I asked, surprised.

  "According to your account, it is effective for twenty-five years from the day you were anointed with it; my calculations tell me that at midday yesterday the potency of the ointment expired, bringing those twenty-five blessed years to an absolute end! Work it out and you’ll see!"

  I won’t deny that this stirred a smidgeon of confusion in my mind. Perhaps even – something resembling fear. But there was definitely no instinctive recoil, or regret, over the step I was taking. Even the temporary hope given to the young man and perhaps to the whole people and also to the princess imprisoned in the palace with her concealed poison capsule – was worth the sacrifice of my life on the earth, which had been full and fulfilled and it could be said without a shadow of exaggeration, glorious, incomparably glorious and apparently awaiting a fitting end. Could any end be devised more fitting than the one on offer?

  Taking encouragement from this thought, I pondered the issue, calculated and calculated again the number of years that had elapsed since I was immunized by the ointment. And I could only confirm the conclusion of my friend – the twenty-five years following the application of ointment to my body had come to an end the previous day at noon. In spite of this, I did not lose hope, but walked sedately with the crowd to the central square of Gotitallrong-Llah.

  The herald called out the name of the offender who was led, his hands shackled, to the shining post in the heart of the square and immediately bound to it, explained at some length the nature of the charge leveled against him and its indubitable gravity, announced the sentence and moved on hastily, with the aim of stifling the cries of derision which were starting to be heard from sections of the crowd despite the tight security surrounding the square, to expatiate upon the benevolence and generosity of the Sultan No-Allah-No-Hallah, who was trying in every possible way to soften the punishment, without showing any disrespect towards the judiciary or, obviously, the rule of law… and suddenly he had been granted a golden opportunity, an entirely legal one, to make a wager with this stranger who had expressed his willingness to protect with his body the young body of the miscreant whose name was not even worth repeating, and if the bullets of the firing-squad failed to kill him, both of them would walk free – otherwise, they would be buried together in the special cemetery beside the municip
al garbage dump, reserved for convicted criminals and trouble-makers…

  Like a rising and menacing tide, fierce and uncontrollable resentment was springing up from amid the crowd. Every one of the million heads witnessing the spectacle was sure, with unassailable confidence, that another cruel game was being staged here, a kind of entertainment which would end not only with the death of one innocent man – which was how the populace saw its prince, and quite rightly so, it is fair to say – but with the death of another victim, equally innocent.

  And at this point the herald tried to silence the deafening howls of protest and the catcalls by inviting me to the stage erected in the heart of the square. This invitation had the anticipated effect, and as I approached the herald at a brisk pace, silence fell in the square, packed as it was from side to side. The herald wasted no time and hastily presented me before the eyes of all, unchained and free of any other kind of restraint, thus furnishing conclusive proof that there was no fraud or conspiracy here, but that everything being done, or rather, everything I was doing – I was doing with my free consent.

  And finally the herald asked me to explain the situation in my own words to the excited crowd, which was suppressing its impetuous spirit for the time being, and this I did indeed, making my voice clearly heard and every ear thirstily drinking in my words.

  "Proud people of Depression Island!" I addressed them, "Be not afraid, I am not insane, every step I take and whatever I do is rationally assessed. I am the scion of an illustrious dynasty which has always been renowned for its brilliant and original ideas, its exemplary courage and most of all – its acute perception of reality and ability to handle it in the manner most appropriate. Great hope I bring to you! It is possible that in a few moments from now you will be embracing your beloved prince! And now, let the firing-squad come and try to silence my prattling tongue!"

  A spontaneous shout of "Bravo!" from a million tormented throats as people began, somehow, to draw encouragement from the confident tone of my voice, shook the air above the square and the earth beneath it – not to mention the hearts of potentates, gendarmes, generals, judges and their retinues.

  And sure enough the firing party arrived and stood about ten meters in front of me. And then the voice of the green-turbaned Sultan was heard, replete with repressed fear and swelling hatred:

  "Don’t shoot!" – and at once the explanation came – "I shall do the firing this time, I and no other!"

  The crowd was again enraged, sniffing a conspiracy here and I was obliged to calm them down once more… In fact, there was no conspiracy here, but a heavy and quite justified sense of dread on the part of the ruler, because the firing-squad could not be trusted and the bullets, even if they were not duds, could fly in any direction – for example straight up into the bright blue sky of that bitter and frantic day, and he would lose the wager and subsequently – his crown and his life.

  The Sultan approached, his stomach for some reason protruding even more than usual as he walked, drew two pistols, one in each hand, fixed his tiny, cold and intimidating eyes on me and, meeting my steady gaze, lost a little of his confidence and cool composure.

  He raised both pistols simultaneously and from a distance of about half a meter, fired and fired again, directly at my face and chest, as if inebriated, all self-control lost, and emptied two full magazines. The bullets, wondrous to relate, burned my clothes and punched holes in them, but slid off my skin – although according to my precise calculations and those of my friend, the efficacy of the ointment had lapsed and it was no longer capable of protecting me from an enemy bullet. And indeed, later it emerged that we had both made the same mistake in our calculations, counting the day of application as the first day, but this was the day of the test, and it was not until the day after that I was treated to the full dose, giving twenty-five year protection; in other words, the effects of the ointment expired on the day I was shot in the central square of Gotitallrong-Llah, capital of Depression Island, but a few hours later.

  The people of Depression Island raised a shout such as has not been heard since the wall of Jericho fell and is unlikely ever to be heard again, and for a long time it was impossible to tell which of the worlds all those present in the square felt they belonged to: the world of fantasy, where everything happens the way we please, or the world of reality, now transformed by an exceptional, incredible incident into the most radiant manifestation of the world of fantasy.

  Finally, the ruler stood up on a gilded chair and declared unequivocally: "The Prince Allah-Yes-Peace-No will not be shot, that is true – but he will be hanged!"

  The announcement was contemptible and crude and, as might be expected, it tipped the scales. There and then open revolt erupted – all those in authority were dragged out, beaten and stripped of their weapons, trussed up in ropes and thongs, and some of the rebels were intent on hanging them from a convenient tree or a post designed for this purpose. And then the young prince, released in the meantime by his youthful supporters from all his bonds and restraints, stood up to soothe the passions of the people and he addressed them in cogent terms, urging them not to lose control of themselves and not to descend to the level of the Sultan who had just ended his last day as all-powerful ruler of the Depressive land, and not to give vent to the intensity of their wrath – an understandable impulse but not one to be condoned.

  And sure enough, the unruly crowd listened to him and the former figures of authority were taken down from the trees and the gibbets, beaten and bound as they were, and thrown into the jails, while those imprisoned there were released.

  The young prince embraced me sturdily, as a son embraces his beloved father who has just saved him from certain death and invited me to rule with him over the nation of the Depressives all the days of my life – an offer which I naturally refused, with good grace. Instead of this I suggested that first and foremost the name of the island should be changed, from "Depression Island" to "Achievement Island" – a suggestion which was immediately accepted. As for the prisoners, I added, I also had a proposal which I would like to see adopted.

  "Without fail!" declared the prince – smooth of brow and handsome of features, his ancient, noble lineage clearly expressed in his aristocratic demeanor, his wisdom and equanimity, his dauntless energy of spirit and generosity of heart.

  I smiled and commented that anyone who aspires to rule cannot afford to be casual in speech and every word should be weighed before it is spoken, and that enthusiasm, while testifying to innocence and purity, is also a symptom of poor judgment, something which has no place in enlightened government.

  The prince replied to my smile with a genial smile of his own and said:

  "I shall remember your words at all times, Sir, because you are like a father to me, and in spite of that I allow myself to point out that I would not have responded to everyone with the willingness, amounting to obligation, with which I responded to you. Since I do not doubt your nobility of spirit and nothing could shake my faith in you!"

  Pungent words, spoken from the heart and touching the heart. I rejoiced at the sight of this young face, radiant with wisdom that seemed premature at his tender age.

  "If that is the case," I went on to say, my face turning serious but not losing even for a moment anything of its constant and unwavering effulgence – "my suggestion regarding the inmates of the prisons is – to set them free, to the very last of them! Set them free and raze the prisons to the foundations and expunge them from the face of the earth; no institutions could do more damage to the principle of justice which theoretically they were established to serve!"

  The prince of the Allah-Yes-Hallah-No dynasty put on a solemn expression, his bright face darkened a little and even his smooth brow furrowed.

  "All these prisoners, when they are set free – what are they going to do?"

  "A good question!" I commented, much gratified by the young man’s quick and analytical grasp. "All these prisoners," I explained, "will serve out their terms by work
ing at a nominal wage for poor farmers. Since there is nothing more educational than work, and all the more so – work on the land. And surely the intention is to train the prisoner in such a way that on his release he will not offend again, is it not so?"

  "That is very true," the prince concurred and his face cleared, "but what about those who exploit their status, as free men with no guards to watch over them – and flee from the island?"

  "They will be making a big mistake!" I replied: "If they fail to appreciate the kindness of heart and generosity of spirit that the rulers of the island have shown them – it’s better that they leave! But I assure you – they will soon be back, since they will not find in any other corner of the world the happiness that can be experienced under an enlightened ruler with a population that respects his qualities, adheres to them and tries to emulate them."

  "And when they return – what will their fate be?" the new Sultan did not tire of asking questions.

  "They will start again, working out their sentences. The time before they absconded will not be credited to them."

  "And those who escape into the interior of the island?"

  "Internal and external fugitives will be treated in the same way."

  "And what if they offend again?"

  "They will be tried again. But there is just the one penalty – working the land on a nominal wage for poor families."

  "And convicted murderers and habitual felons?" "Either they will accept the great opportunity that has been given them or – at the end of the day – they will punish themselves by returning to the life of crime. But they will be very few and the damage they do – negligible. Anyway, it’s a risk worth taking."

  "And you are proposing, Sir, that the former Sultan No-Allah-No-Hallah should also be punished in the manner recommended?"

  "All of them!" I declared, and to remove any lingering shadow of doubt I added: "All of them – without a single exception!"