The Fantastical Adventures of Leutenlieb of the House of Munchausen

by Shlomo Kalo

  "I noticed that too!"

  "So why the doubts?" I demanded to know with contrived vehemence.

  "There are no doubts!" he declared in a magisterial tone.

  "Then why are you trying to besmirch my reputation and the reputation of my illustrious ancestors, may they rest in peace, as if my words are vain and empty, pure childish fantasy with no grain of truth in them?"

  "The deed itself – was indeed done!" my friend began, in that parched and dignified tone that is characteristic of prophets of repute and substance – "But not through the power of a ridiculous whistle – but by the grace of our father in Heaven and our all-powerful God and by His spirit, and of His great goodness He informed me of this act of His some hours before to warn those liable to be hurt, but they refused to listen!"

  "But I was the one who whispered in your ear and told you what was going to happen!" I declared triumphantly.

  "More imaginings of a deluded mind!" my red-bearded friend asserted with unassailable certainty and at once added: "It was God who was speaking through your mouth!"

  He refused to hear any more and there was nothing more to be said anyway, since at the end of the day, it was quite possible he was right.

  On the initiative of the inventor of the deadly radiation weapon, its production process now utterly ruined, a sumptuous reception was laid on for us on the island of Coconut Delights.

  "It was on the radio news!" the inventor hastened to inform us and added: "The factory has been rebuilt – they reported it yesterday along with solemn anthems, marching songs and folk-tunes, and hackneyed interviews with the new managers. But, if you succeeded in exchanging the module…" He didn’t finish the sentence, choked as he was by intensity of emotion.

  Instead of answering him, I drew the delicate steel instrument from the deep pocket of my trousers and silently deposited it in the palm of his trembling hand.

  For a long moment he looked at it as if he wanted to hypnotize it or perhaps, he didn’t believe what he was seeing, and then he smiled a smile that grew broader, and suddenly broke into a confused cacophony of songs, corrupting every note and castrating every word, and danced some of the tempestuous dances of the island which he had learned by watching the others, dances with colorful names like "crocodile squirm", "monkey jump", "coconut wedding" and others in similar vein. He danced and sang and kept up the dancing and singing until his strength was exhausted and he passed out. We carried him to his hut in the small hours of the morning.

  The islanders went on celebrating without knowing, then or at any time up to the present day, precisely what these celebrations were for. The great chief Go-On-Give contented himself with a broad and tolerant smile on witnessing the inventor’s paralytic state.

  The next morning the inventor was in a hurry to come to us, and the three of us, he and I and my friend the red-bearded prophet, set about destroying that shiny piece of metal: we melted whatever could be melted with the help of the local blacksmith and the rest we bent and twisted beyond use. And in what could accurately be called a formal ceremony, we boarded one of the long pirogues, traveled out into the open sea and threw the shapeless lump of metal into the deep, to the accompaniment of appropriate verses from the Psalms.

  "And now we shall wait and see what use the wise make of their wisdom!" the genius-inventor rubbed his hands together with emphatic pleasure and deep satisfaction, stood upright in the boat in a joyful and triumphant pose and looked heavenwards with an expression of boundless gratitude.

  And sure enough, the killings stopped.

  Some ten years later I heard the factory had been dismantled and a new factory built in its place, by a company planning to make brushes from hog-bristles, another unique procedure.

  Anyway, the world seemed a sunnier and less gloomy place after our little escapade. Hope for the good and for the positive potential of the world was given a real boost.

  A NEW LAND

  One radiant evening in late summer, when the two of us – the red-bearded prophet and I, your obedient servant – were sitting on a small coral island, taking deep breaths of the balmy air of the wide blue ocean, cups of steaming tea in our hands, brewed from the fresh leaves of mint, a cottage industry of the island where we had previously anchored, and beside us jugs of the mango concoction which was the specialty of the current island and which, having not yet become world-famous, still retained its ambrosial taste and delicate aroma – our eyes detected a mournful melody, a kind of ghostly chant rising from the depths, not at all in keeping with the atmosphere of grace and contentment enwrapping us on every side.

  "Where is that coming from?" my friend asked, taken aback and somewhat alarmed, carefully putting the big cup down on the table of natural coral, with its riot of effulgent colors.

  "Our living ship is yearning for the wide expanses of the ocean" – I answered him thoughtfully and added – "and perhaps also for the partner he has been dreaming about since time immemorial, a mate to share his experiences with and to learn from. It seems that the loyal service he has given us so far will soon be coming to an end… We shall need to give this issue some serious thought…"

  "What do you mean, giving it serious thought?" – my friend’s high forehead showed a thousand question-marks between the deep grooves.

  "We must look for and find a stretch of land where it will suit us to settle, and set at liberty this wonderful creature who for more than a generation has been laboring submissively in the service of the human race, transporting you wherever you wanted to go to preach your sermons…"

  "This is a divine mission!" my red-bearded friend exclaimed indignantly.

  "It was…" I corrected him and at once added: "Look around and you’ll see that everything that could be done with the aid of this marvelous whale, has been done, pursued to the utmost… It is time to bid him farewell, set him free and complete whatever can be completed without him…"

  "And what is that?"

  "Settle in the place destined for us, and preach the word of God there in the most appropriate manner…"

  My friend did not respond, but intentionally or otherwise he let the innumerable question marks etched into his forehead grow deeper still.

  Anyway, we carried on steadily sipping the bitter tea, sweetening it with the mango juice and said not another word, each of us alone with his thoughts.

  A purple night came down quietly on the wide open spaces. A deep sky was strewn with young, pale stars, like the shining faces of fairy-tale princesses.

  When we had finished drinking the tea and there was none of the mango-juice left, my friend stood his ground, placed hands on hips, straightened his back, pricked up his flaming beard and declared:

  "You’re right! We shall go down into the belly of this wonder whale of ours, and this for the last time…" My friend had barely finished speaking when the air was throbbing with loud but rhythmic sounds, expressing joy and elation, like the elation of wild horses when they have succeeded in escaping the lassoes of their pursuers and may gallop to their hearts’ content over the great plains.

  "Listen! Please listen!" my friend cried in delighted amazement – "I hadn’t finished speaking and he already grasped my meaning and responded to it with a fanfare of joy! Indeed – it is time to part from him and set him free!"

  We hurried down to the fine beach of the tiny coral island. The whale rose up to meet us, opening his mouth wide – wide as the Arc De Triomphe in Paris – and his little eyes flashing with such infectious enjoyment that even the sea joined in the celebration, sending a series of white-crested waves to embrace and encourage him, and the stars above tried to smile at him with a warm and sympathetic smile, something quite at odds with their natural reserve.

  "Do you know of such a place?" I asked the red-bearded prophet in all innocence.

  "No!" he declared grimly, lowering his head, like a man mostly if not entirely wrapped up in his thoughts, but then he raised it again and with a sudden and totally unexpected surge of exuberance, he
proclaimed:

  "We shall go to the place that the good Lord shows us! Let us pray and thank Him for the abundance of grace that He has granted to us thus far through His many mercies, undeserving though we are! And let us ask Him to guide us by His holy will and take us to the place allotted to us since the beginning of time. And we should also pray that He will watch over this creature, our wondrous whale, so loyal and so faithful, doing so much for His holy name’s sake, doing His will and serving Him. Let us pray that his last days on the seas and the oceans will be filled with joy, pleasure and relaxation, and light, and freedom, and love!"

  There and then we knelt on the smooth lining of the gut, which the whale was adept at keeping well sluiced and remarkably clean, and said two short prayers: the first applying to us and our ways for the future, and the second – to the steadfast whale and his future.

  As we were still praying we felt the absence of movement about us, meaning: the whale had found himself a convenient bay, a suitable place for heaving-to.

  We exchanged glances, in bemusement which rapidly changed to pleasurable confidence in the grace of the God of light, who had answered our prayers with such astonishing speed.

  We took such of our possessions as could be carried by hand and piled up the rest on the "vomit-point". The moment we set foot on the beach – the whale spewed up all our remaining impedimenta, heartily relieved no doubt to be rid of them.

  The evening was a shade of blue over the new land, soft and balmy, enticing the senses with its delicate beauty, its deep, unruffled serenity; an evening for poets and thinkers and a statement of regal grandeur in its own right.

  And then we heard the high-pitched, tuneful cry of the whale, a sound devoid of any pretension, a fanfare of farewell.

  We turned to him and bowed to him, a deep bow of gratitude, acknowledgment of a debt that would never be repaid in full, then straightened up and waved him goodbye.

  The whale moved this way and that in the narrow inlet and began slowly, somewhat uncertainly at first, moving away from the shore. And on reaching the open sea he turned and reared up to salute us, uttering another cry, gentle and bashful, shot through with sweet pain and a kind of nostalgia that he suppressed with some effort.

  We waved to him again, in a spirit of encouragement, gratitude and brotherhood.

  For a long moment he held his position, without moving, and then he again uttered a fanfare, quite different in tone from the previous – being all gratitude, expression of friendship and good wishes. Suddenly, the giant whale made a sharp turn, through 180o, and surged forward. Within a few seconds he was no longer to be seen, even with the help of powerful binoculars.

  My red-bearded friend persisted in pointing to some kind of distant flicker, hovering above the horizon line, declaring with his characteristic certitude that this was the whale, sending up plumes of water to draw our attention and show us his location.

  Try as I might to catch sight of the "flicker" I was unable to do so, although my eyesight is no less powerful than that of the eagle. All the same, I carried on scouring the empty, infinite wastes, giving my friend time to wipe away the tears that were streaming down over his regal red beard. When I heard his soft humming and loud nose-blowing, I stopped scanning the far horizons and turned to him: his face looked calm, more calm perhaps than at any time in his life before.

  "To tell you the truth," my friend began, his voice level and remarkably clear, "I rejoice in his happiness! This whale is blessed and wherever he goes God will guard him against all evil! And now," he smiled a warm and uncharacteristic smile, "let us see what kind of a blessed land the hand of God has led us to!"

  We barely had time to inspect the terrain, before a tall figure moved out of the shadow of the grove nearby and advanced towards us.

  This was a remarkably handsome man, with fair hair the color of molten gold, sparkling in the light of the first stars, his eyes blue, deep and serene. He wore a kind of robe made of simple cotton, in pure white reminiscent of the virgin snows on the peak of Everest.

  He spoke a human language in a clear and deep voice, and exposing his shining white teeth in a radiant, gentle and innocent smile, he informed us:

  "You have arrived on the island of Paradise on Earth, my name is Always-Giving and you are very welcome here!"

  It soon became clear to us that the island was aptly named, a true Paradise on Earth. Anyone who wanted to could come and settle here, chose for himself a piece of land to suit his taste, work it and cultivate it, plant fruit-trees or a vegetable garden if preferred, eat the fruits rejoicing, drink his fill of the refreshing water from the pure springs rising in the blue rocky outcrops, listen to the pleasant song of the birds or the conversation of the tall trees, or pay heed for a long moment to the vibrant musings of his own heart – and always bless the destiny that had been so kind to him – allowing him to be numbered among the wondrous inhabitants of the island of Paradise on Earth.

  We spent our first night on the enchanted territory of the island, finding the climate pleasantly warm without any sudden gusts of gale-force winds of the kind liable to disconcert any living creature. Gentle, temperate breezes caressed us and whispered in our ears tales of long ago and sweet lullabies.

  With the dawn we rose refreshed and alert as we had never been since our first emergence into the light of day. We bathed in the sea, then looked around until we found a strip of land and with the simple tools distributed by Always-Giving to anyone who needed them, free of charge, we set about working our plot with enthusiasm and gusto.

  Everything planted in the soil of the island grew with astonishing speed. Not three months had passed since we planted our tender saplings and already they were sturdy trees, producing succulent fruits in abundance, without equal anywhere in the world for size, taste, color and fragrance. The vegetables flourished in the garden that we planted, cropping every other day. So the vegetables were always fresh, ripe, and life-enhancing.

  There was a market on the island and we made haste to go there with our abundant produce, using small carts that we harnessed ourselves to. It’s an irrevocable rule on the island that no animals are to be exploited in any way; they cannot be compelled to do any work for which they don’t explicitly volunteer. The residents of the island take pleasure in the various species of animals, enjoy watching them and observing their behavior, helping them and cherishing them. Animals for their part are always happy to encounter the human residents of the island and willingly offer their services, in the pulling of ploughs and other agricultural tasks, all performed with cheerful alacrity. There are no predatory animals on the island. I saw lions playing with young children and toddlers, giving them rides on their backs, and tucking into hearty meals of sugar-beet.

  The market teemed with people bearing a striking resemblance to Always-Giving. Some of them, like us, brought vegetables and fruits, some brought wheat and barley, rice and golden cobs of maize, and others – wicker baskets, useful implements, white robes and flower pictures. And you may imagine our surprise when we heard that all the merchandise on offer here was available free of charge! There is no money to be found on the island; it has not circulated here since this society came into existence, and everyone brings his produce and distributes it free – and not only does he distribute it, he pleads most earnestly and humbly that the one needing his merchandise will be kind enough to take as much as he wants, to bring joy to the producer… Every such "deal", involving response to the plea and the taking of the merchandise on offer, infuses a kind of radiant music in the heart of the giver and the heart of the receiver alike. On the island they call this "love", from which you may deduce that every resident of the island, without exception, loves and is loved.

  This special atmosphere of song, purity, happiness, light, freedom and love, quickly penetrated into our hearts and infected us, and we began acting in ways that in the eyes of our former acquaintances would have seemed very strange, to say the least. How happy we were when we persuaded a la
dy who was offering wicker-baskets to accept some of the mangoes that we had grown, plus juicy apples, a ripe gourd and a batch of tomatoes as rosy as our own cheeks and those of the people around us. And on completion of this transaction, we were the object of pleas and persuasions, restrained and polite and yet sincere and insistent, and we could not leave until we had accepted bags of nuts, gowns of startling whiteness and a selection of dairy products.

  So we took what we needed and returned in cheerful mood to the patch of land that we were working, around which there were no symbols of ownership such as fences or hedges. When we stood on the thresholds of our cottages which were close together, and found ourselves facing each other, we realized that our faces were shining like the faces of the other residents of the island, with a kind of radiant delight and satisfaction, a deep inner unworldly contentment, and our hearts were filled to overflowing with light and great joy, with music of a kind that had never been heard since music came into existence.

  And then without any prior intention, all of a sudden, we were dancing face to face and singing songs with lyrics that sprang to our lips of their own accord, and these were words of praise and worship and thanksgiving, for the light and the joy, for the freedom and the truth, and for the boundless love of the everlasting God.

  As the days passed, despite my systematic and committed labors in our orchard and in our flourishing vegetable-garden, I found myself blessed with more and more leisure time. I felt a powerful impulse to devote this leisure time to the interests of the island and the interests of the islanders, and I soon found a way to do this: the young people of the island recognize two obligations, one being regular bathing in the sea, and the other – listening to stories, skillfully crafted and tastefully told. It is no idle boast on my part to say that – as is a well known and well publicized fact – since time immemorial there has been no storyteller more talented than I, and no one with a richer stock of fascinating tales to tell.