Golden Biker

by Alexander Von Eisenhart Rothe

  They were quite unaware of the fact that at this very moment on a high plateau at the edge of the valley the Chinese Li Xiao and Wu on their side and the Indian commander in his encampment on theirs, plus the Jewish-orthodox agent from Mossad, Solomon were doing precisely the same.

  Slowly the Golden Biker turned away from the fires flickering in the darkness.

  “So many people in our valley!” the Golden Biker said and there was a great fatigue in his voice. “Just look at all those armies!”

  The old monk nodded sadly. “Even though we knew, this day would eventually come, I have been praying it would not happen. Even now I am hoping this night would never end and tomorrow will never come!”

  The Golden Biker pulled his homespun robe tighter around his shoulder. “Let us pray, some common sense will prevail in our valley tomorrow. Even if...”

  “... tomorrow it will get higgledy-piggledy around here”, Li Xiao said to Wu at that very moment. “The fact, that the Indians are conducting a manoeuvre at the very same time just proves, that something is foul. So we were right! I tell you one thing though, if...”

  “... the Chinese over there dare to make the slightest move” the Indian commander snarled at his adjutant, lowering his binoculars, “then we will respond in kind! Like in a Western movie, you stalk each other until one gives a twitch and then...”

  “... our special combat unit comes into play!” Solomon was explaining to his two agents, “If Hermann blinks but an eyelid, he’s done for. No army of his will do him any good neither will his demented mind set or anything else for that matter. All we have to do, is...”

  ”... first relieve the Golden Biker from his dope and then kill him!” Bábaa explained to Hermann in the valley below, “The order of events being crucial here. I hope we understand each other. It is very important...”

  “... we finally bury these godforsaken foreigners!” Shaki nagged, “I’m sick and tired of driving all over the country just because of those jerks. Tomorrow I want their heads on a platter! I am counting on you, that by tomorrow everything...”

  “... will work out as planned!” Arthur sighed pleased as he edged closer to the campfire. Their dinner had consisted of a can of ravioli, which they had opened and placed into the embers. This was neither opulent nor delicious, but they were all in a good mood. Tomorrow they were going to meet the Golden Biker! After such a long and perilous journey they finally seemed to have reached their destination. They had made it against all odds. All exertion was behind them now and their well-deserved reward lay just ahead.

  A faint beeping sound interrupted the silence. Apu Bindi looked at his watch, apparently reading some message. He then got up meticulously folding his neat white handkerchief, which he had sat upon and said: “Gentlemen, I am afraid I have to leave you now. An important appointment!”

  “Oh, what a pity...” Arthur mumbled, and both of his friends expressed their regrets.

  “I am sorry as well. But as you probably know yourselves... appointment after appointment, can’t escape...! I do hope we will meet again soon!” He bowed slightly and vanished into the darkness.

  Gerd looked after him with a thoughtful expression. “Extraordinary fellow... appointments?

  Now? Here? Never thought steel wool was such a hot item!”

  Bear, who lost in thought, was poking the campfire, looked up. “That was the most elegant salesman I’ve ever met, to be sure...”

  “You should have seen, how he saved me from those two killers in Delhi. Unbelievable!”

  Arthur sat up. “Gerd, remember, in Delhi when we thought we would get shot... I was serious, you know. I mean I really would like to know what your Ice Capade is all about...”

  Bear nodded approvingly. “That’s right! Me too!”

  All looked expectantly at Gerd, who was visibly embarrassed by this. “Oh come on, it’s not that important...” he tried to worm himself out of it, but both his friends insisted.

  “Oh well” he sighed, “but you promise me, you won’t...” He stopped. “Ah, shucks, you’ll laugh anyway” he said warily.

  At Shaki’s campfire the mood was not as quite as merry. Rajnesh was sitting a little to the side, staring silently into the flames, the two freelancers Babu and Willie were busy cleaning their weapons, Number Two was changing the dressing of his wounded hand, and Shaki was combing through his oily hair. Suddenly a noise in the bushes made them jump. Babu and Willie immediately held their weapons at gunpoint.

  But it was only Number One, coming back from his reconnaissance trip. He seemed to be very excited.

  “What happened to you?” Shaki inquired, “Why are you grinning like that?”

  Number One slumped down next to him. “You are not going to believe whom I just saw!”

  Babu rolled his eyes. “How about, you just tell us, then we’ll see if we believe you!”

  Number One only smiled at him contemptuously. Then he sputtered out the news: “Bábaa, Hermann and his troups are here—even Sherie. They’re all sitting at the river in a camp, not five minutes from here! Isn’t that a surprise?”

  A surprise it was! Shaki and the others stared him for a while mouths agape.

  “I was wondering about all those campfires down in the valley, so I looked around a bit. I sneaked up to one of them, and whom did I see? The whole gang! Sitting on the riverside.

  Just like on a camping trip!”

  Rajnesh had suddenly sprung to life again. “Sherie?” he stuttered, “But she is, she was...”

  Shaki jumped up and started to run around with excitement.

  “Someone wants to put the wool over our heads, obviously. I don’t know how or why but in any case, dear Bábaa did not seem to have told us the whole truth, somehow!”

  Rajnesh, who also had jumped to his feet, was following at the heels of his uncle like a tiger.

  “So he hasn’t shot Sherie. Why did we hear the shot then?”

  “Rajnesh, now that you have decided to talk again” Shaki growled at him, “... shut up!”

  Babu tucked his freshly cleaned pistol into its shoulder strap, picked himself up and started to march directly into the direction from which Number One had just come.

  “Hey!” Shaki called after him, “And where do you think, you’re going?”

  “I want to see for myself!” Bapu hastily answered back over his shoulder.

  “Wait! I’ll come with you!”

  Shaki ran after Bapu and soon both of them had disappeared into the night.

  “Are you quite sure?” Hermann, who was just about to give his commandant’s tent a homely touch, put the portrait of the Fuehrer down to the ground, leaning it against the wall. One of his soldiers, sent out for reconnoitring, was making his report.

  “Yes Sir! Not five minutes away, downriver from here!”

  “What is the matter?” Bábaa, followed by the fake Jain had just entered the tent realising the surprised look on Hermann’s face.

  “Shaki and his men are here! Only five minutes away!” Hermann answered dispatching the soldier with a brisk gesture.

  Bábaa eyebrows shot up. “The Goans? Plus those two freelancers? What the devil...?”

  “Shall I kill them?”, the Jain offered, holding up his duster. “A couple of well aimed darts from the dark...”

  But Bábaa declined. “No, let me think... either, they’re planning to do the same as us … in which case you might as well kill them—or, they have botched it up again, which means, the foreigners are still around, looking for the Golden Biker... which again would mean, they could become a nuisance!”

  Brooding over this, Bábaa ran up and down inside the tent. At last he stood still. “We got to be sure. Come on, let’s find out!”

  “I’m coming with you!” Hermann said, “I don’t approve of anybody axing my p
lans!”

  They stepped outside and marched off.

  “If we’re done with finding out, may I kill them afterwards?” the Jain asked.

  But Bábaa, who had taken the lead, denied him the favour. “Nobody, neither the foreigners, nor those two-bit gangsters from Goa or Bombay for that matter must get in touch with the Golden Biker. He is mine... I mean ours! If the Goans are only here to finish off the foreigners, let them do the dirty work… and we kill them afterwards! Is that clear? Same goes for Sherie, if we don’t need her any more. I must be the only one who knows where the Golden Biker has stashed his grass!”

  In the moonlight the Jain’s eyes glistened with blood lust. “Oh boy, oh boy, hope I brought enough darts with me!”

  Arthur and Bear were rolling in the dust, crying with laughter. Gerd sat in the middle, a sour smile on his face, deeply regretting, ever having told them about his dream. And that, after they had sworn to their grandmother’s graves that they would not start laughing. Nice friends, actually...

  At first they had tried real hard, pulling themselves together. Gerd was telling them about the gracefulness of dancing on ice, dreamlike pictures and scenes, one could script for such a show. He had always been put off by how far removed from real life those kinds of Ice Capades had been. They were mostly about the ‘enchanted world’ of love or music or something of the kind, but all of which had nothing to do with the everyday life of its spectators. Nor had it any other educating value or effect. That is why Gerd wanted to direct an Ice Capade with a certain standard, raise the bar so to speak, with a meaningful and political content.

  Bear gave a broad grin. “And what would that be?”

  “The events around 9/11 leading to the war in Afghanistan—on ice!” Gerd exclaimed proudly.

  Bear and Arthur just goggled at him. Arthur was the first to regain his speech: “You... you gotta be kidding?”

  “I’m serious!” Gerd nodded with excitement getting into the details of his script, he would give his show the title: “The Rise and Fall of Osama-Bin-Laden!” relying for the most part on historical facts. Naturally the songs have to be written, catchy musical-tunes, performed by Osama and his Taliban crew. Brian Joubert could play George.W. Bush and Patrick Chan could play Osama with the ensuing dramatic finale. Osama would have magic skates on which he would always escape his pursuers—but only on his dreams, since in the end he gets caught and killed.

  At the end of this eloquent description, Arthur and Bear were about to burst like two balloons.

  “You...” Arthur sniggered “you are really... mpfrrr!... dead serious, aren’t you?”

  Gerd jumped to his feet wild with excitement: “Of course I am dead serious. I’ve got one song already. Listen!” Gerd took a deep breath of air and sang:

  “I hate your system so full of vice,

  Carefully treading on thin ice,

  On my magic skates I’m always ahead.

  Allah is great—tomorrow I might be dead.

  The muezzins are calling from their minarets

  While the suicide bombers perform pirouettes.

  With every circle every turn

  The unbelievers they shall burn.

  Cutting my skates into the ice

  One step closer to paradise

  72 virgins, all waiting to please,

  In heaven there will be only Love & Peace!”

  Expectantly, Gerd looked at his two friends.

  This had simply been too much. Bending over with hysterical laughter they rolled onto the floor holding their bellies, gasping for air.

  With a deep sigh Gerd slumped down. “Yes alright, I saw that coming!”

  Bear, hands on his stomach crawled closer. “No, mpfrrr, really... hua-hihi, its hilarious! Muihihi!”

  Arthur lay flat on his back gasping: “This will become a world wide hit, to be sure... hohohahahahi!”

  “Assholes...” Gerd mumbled and rolled himself into his jacket.

  In the moonlight the river glistened like a broad silver band, winding itself through the landscape. Shaki and Babu were following it upstream. Cursing aloud, Shaki repeatedly fell over tree roots and boulders that had been cleared by the flowing waters whereas Babu seemed to have no problems at all negotiating the darkness, that with his sunglasses still on.

  “Ouch!” Shaki yelled, after he had hit his toe against a rock for the tenth time. “How the devil can you manage? Its darker here than the inside of a black monkey’s arse in a tunnel! Why do I constantly hit something on the ground and you don’t?”

  Babu tipped his spectacles. “Integrated night vision. I can see like an owl!”

  “With that you can see at night?” Shaki was honestly impressed.

  “Yup!”

  “You might re-consider working for me. Just can’t get trained staff down in Goa, you know!”

  “Tsk, tsk, my dear Shaki!” suddenly a voice came out of the darkness: “They are freelancers, I thought you knew that!” Saki and Babu turned around. A beam of light hit them. Crying out, Babu jerked off his spectacles; the night vision had turned the torchlight into a laser beam! Bábaa, Hermann and the Jain stepped closer.

  “Oh, I am sorry!” Bábaa continued, “I did not know you were that well equipped. To be honest, I am surprised to find you here.”

  “Bábaa?” Shaki was feigning surprise, “What are you doing in these parts? What a coincidence!”

  Even in the faint light, Hermann’s judicious grin was clearly visible. “Jawoll, vat a surprise indeed... and vat is your business here?”

  “Well” Shaki answered, “You’re not going to believe this, but we are still chasing those foreigners. We followed them up to here.”

  Bábaa shook his head, pretending to be astonished. “And right to this very spot... some coincidence, no?”

  “Exactly right, seems crazy, doesn’t it? And why are you here, if I may ask.”

  “Ah, mainly because of the fresh air! Hermann and I, we get along swimmingly, so he invited us to a trip into the mountains. Geriatrics-on-tour, ha-ha-ha! And well, now we’re here!”

  Shaki shook his head. “What a coincidence...”

  Bábaa nodded. “Yes indeed, what a coincidence...”

  “And what about that girl?” Babu looked as Bábaa suspiciously, “Why is this Sherie still alive?”

  Báaba’s faked friendliness froze instantly. “Why? Who told you that?”

  “We have our sources...” Babu answered, savouring his little moment of triumph.

  Within seconds Bábaa had regained his composure smiling sweetly. “Well, you know how much effort and money I have invested into that girl. You just don’t shoot someone like that like an old mare! You may call me sentimental...”

  “Of course, aren’t we all in a way!” Shaki responded nodding his head. “Anyway, I think we can get to the foreigners by tomorrow. May I invite you for a hunting party? So befitting for such a geriatrics-on-tour in the mountains, don’t you think?”

  “Certainly! We’ll see each other tomorrow morning then!”

  “The pleasure will be ours!” Shaki pulled Babu on his arm, “Good night then, until tomorrow!”

  “Til tomorrow!” Bábaa called after them and they disappeared in the opposite direction.

  “Why did you do that?” Babu asked Shaki, when they had distanced themselves a few yards away.

  “I always want them within my sight, before we finish them off!” Bábaa answered the same question, a couple of yards upriver.

  In the Indian encampment for Ashok and his men work had started at this late hour. After the soldiers had put up the tents and after they had their dinner, they were eagerly awaiting the merry entertainment of the gypsies they had tagged along.

  Unfortunately Ashok’s foul mood had, by now begun to affect the mood
of his entourage. Ever since they had left Delhi, they had been insulted and shouted at by their leader. Most of them, after years of Ashok’s pampering, were not used to that anymore. It was not surprising then, that they were lacking in enthusiasm a bit, which of course was necessary to put on a good show for the soldiers.

  Right at the beginning of their performance it had already started with a catastrophe. The young man in women’s clothing, who was supposed to do the tricky knee dance, whirled right into the campfire, which immediately ignited his wide dress. With cries of panic he ran through the camp like a living torch, only to be doused with a couple of buckets of water. Although the young man had come away uninjured, his already frazzled nerves were shot and uncontrollable fits of whimpering kept him from continuing with his performance.

  Next came the fakir. He had gotten into a row with Ashok who had criticised his outfit as ‘looking like a camel in heat with diarrhoea’ and had consequently killed his sorrow by getting completely pissed. Swaying from side to side mumbling, he stood upon the improvised stage, staring at the soldiers with glazed over eyes. No wonder his fire-eating act got completely out of hand. Having taken a big gulp from the fire-eater petroleum, and swallowing it by mistake, he now was coughing and spitting, puking all over the front row of soldiers, who jumped up screaming. The angry soldiers wanted to chase him off the stage, but by now with the stubbornness of the drunk, he had taken another gulp from the petrol flask, to finish up his number, come what may. When the soldiers, quite fed up by now, tried to grab him, he took a small torch and blew a scorching flame in their direction, resulting in rekindling the knee dancer who had been sitting at the side weeping. Finally one of the soldiers succeeded in grabbing the fakir from behind and against his vociferous protests could drag him off the stage.

  The next number—called the ‘human pyramid’—was stumped from the onset, because all members of said pyramid had been fighting one another and the top acrobats did not dare to climb onto the shoulders off the ones at the bottom.