‘I’m not going to talk about how the kundalini can be made to move downwards. That requires a degree of initiation that no one present here today possesses . . .’
‘Oh, Brian,’ E Hu-Li interrupted, ‘really, what are you saying. Tell them.’
‘Anthy,’ said Lord Cricket, ‘everything that can be said, will be said. And so, as a result of a certain procedure, the kundalini surges down along the shadow projection of the central channel. When this occurs, it can halt at three points, which are mirror reflections of the three lower chakras - muladhara, swadhishtana and manipura.’
He drew his finger down through the three black cogwheels. I noticed number one had four petals, which made it look like the blades in a kitchen mincer. Number two had six petals, and it looked like a martial arts weapon for throwing. And number three consisted of two stars, one superimposed on the other, each with five projections, folded over slightly - ten petals in all.
‘As I have already said, the movement of kundalini upwards along the central channel leads to unity with the godhead and likeness to god. It is logical to assume that the result of the snake force moving downwards must be the direct opposite. And at this point, I would like to draw your attention to a certain extremely interesting circumstance, of which I was reminded by our enchanting guest, when she spoke about the meaning of words in different languages . . .’
Lord Cricket bowed briefly in my direction and smiled. I smiled in reply and whispered to Alexander:
‘Learn some manners, you oaf.’
‘We heard about the Russian word “Bog” and its English equivalent “God”. If you read “God” backwards, you get “Dog”. You must understand that this coincidence is not simply an accident. It is possible to argue which came first - the language or the reality that it reflects. But that is merely the old chestnut about the chicken and the egg.’
The silhouettes of three animals appeared on the screen - a wolf, a dog and a fox.
‘The word “werewolf” means a human being who can assume the form of a wolf, or perhaps some other animal. In Chinese, however, the corresponding term is associated more closely with foxes. But there is no fundamental contradiction in this - the fox, like the wolf, is a member of the class of canines. They are still “God” spelt backwards, still the same highly charged black mass, the same downwards shift of kundalini.’
‘A highly charged black mass,’ E Hu-Li repeated in a low voice, giving her husband a respectful look.
‘The question that arises is how the kundalini travels once it leaves the body. After all, it can’t actually move through empty space. And here we reach the most interesting part. Again, it is possible to argue at length about what is the cause and what is the effect, but the emergence of kundalini from the body is accompanied by a physical mutation. Something quite incredible takes place. Do you remember those films about volcanic eruptions? Sometimes there are scenes in them where you can see lava flowing down a slope and burning out a channel that was-n’t there a moment earlier. The kundalini creates a physical channel for itself in exactly the same way. As soon as it moves below the muladhara - the lowest human chakra, located at the base of the spine - the were-creature starts to grow a tail!’
Two tails - a wolf’s and a fox’s - appeared on the screen. The fox’s tail was drawn with absurd mistakes. The next slide showed the man in the lotus position again, but now he had a shaggy tail, with three black cogwheels on it.
‘It is through the tail that the kundalini energy descends into the three lower infra-chakras. These centres do not have any Sanskrit names. They are conventionally referred to as “the position of the fox”, “the position of the wolf” and “the abyss”. The infra-chakra closest to the body is the position of the fox.’
He pointed to the black blades from the kitchen mincer, with the number ‘1’ beside them.
‘This is considered to be a point of stable equilibrium, where the energy can be located permanently, and so the were-creature can remain in the form of a fox for an unlimited period of time. However, you should not think that at this point transformation occurs into a fox that is the animal we know. The snake energy emerges only a short distance from the body, and therefore in physical terms the were-creature differs only in insignificant ways from a human being. It is simply a rather plain creature with a tail and a few changes in the shape of the ears . . .’
I almost snorted.
‘In addition to that, the shape of the pupils is transformed and the superciliary arches become slightly more pronounced, but you would probably not be surprised to meet one of these creatures on the street . . .’
‘Absolutely fantastic,’ said E Hu-Li.
Lord Cricket pointed to the cogwheel located in the centre of the tail.
‘The displacement of the kundalini to the second infra-chakra produces a far more spectacular effect. Here we are dealing with the absolutely classic case of a “werewolf”. The were-creature is not simply transformed into a wolf. He is, so to speak, a wolf writ large. He is taller than a man and incredibly strong, with huge jaws full of teeth, but he walks on his hind legs like a man - although if he wants, he can run on all four legs. The descriptions in folklore are fairly accurate, since this has always been the most widespread form of were-creature in Europe. I shall only remark upon one curious detail. It is widely believed that transformation into a werewolf is associated with a specific phase of the moon or the onset of twilight. And in the folk imagination, it comes to an end with the dawn, since evil spirits cannot bear the sunlight. In actual fact, darkness and light have nothing to do with the matter. But another, correct, observation has been made: the transformation into a werewolf is short-lived, since the infra-chakra number two is a point of unstable equilibrium, where the kundalini cannot be located for a long period of time . . .’
‘But what does that mean,’ asked E Hu-Li, ‘stable equilibrium, unstable equilibrium?’
Lord Cricket leaned down over his laptop.
‘Just a moment,’ he said, ‘I have a slide on that subject here somewhere . . .’
An image of Stonehenge appeared on the screen, followed by an advertisement in various shades of green for a trailer home with a vase of narcissi pasted lovingly, but not very professionally in its window, and finally a black sine curve.
‘There,’ said Lord Cricket, ‘please pardon the confusion.’
There was a blue ball lying in the hollow of the curve, and a red ball poised on its crest. The balls had little arrows of the same colours pointing away from them to indicate their direction of movement.
‘It’s very simple,’ said Lord Cricket. ‘Both balls are in a state of equilibrium, but if you move the blue ball, it will return to the point from which it started. That is stable equilibrium. However, if you move the red ball, it will not return to that point and will roll downwards. That is unstable equilibrium . . .’
‘I have a question,’ said Alexander. ‘May I?’
‘By all means.’
‘Why is the first ball blue, and the second one red?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘And the arrows are the same colours. Why those two colours in particular?’
‘But what difference does it make?’
‘No difference at all,’ said Alexander. ‘I’m just curious. Perhaps you haven’t heard, but in Russian the word for blue - “goluboi” - means “homosexual”. I’ve been wondering for a long time about why the arrows on all the campaign maps are always blue and red. As if history consisted primarily of a struggle between the queers and the communists. I thought perhaps you might know?’
‘No,’ Lord Cricket replied politely, ‘I don’t know why precisely those two colours are used. May I continue?’
Alexander nodded. The tail with the black infra-chakras appeared on the screen again.
‘As I have already said, the second position, at which the transformation into a wolf takes place, is unstable. If we superimpose the curve on the drawing, you can see that the n
eighbouring positions - numbers one and three - must be stable. Number one is the position of the fox, which we have already discussed. You probably have a question about position number three?’
‘Yes,’ said E Hu-Li. ‘What is it, Brian?’
‘I have already mentioned that the three infra-chakras of a were-creature are located symmetrically to the lower three chakras of a human being. The final infra-chakra, located at the very tip of the tail, is a mirror reflection of the Manipura, located between the navel and the heart. At this point the central channel is interrupted. The kundalini cannot move on to the upper chakras unless the region around the Manipura, known as the “ocean of illusions” is charged with the energy of a genuine spiritual mentor. According to the principle of Hermes Trismegistus, the same applies to the were-creature’s infra-chakras. In order to move the kundalini to its lowest possible point, an involtation of darkness is required, the spiritual influence of a superior demonic entity that fills the so-called “desert of truth” - the rupture in the shadow central channel - with its vibrations . . .’
‘And what exactly is a superior demonic entity?’ I couldn’t help asking.
Lord Cricket smiled.
‘That depends on your personal contacts,’ he said. ‘The possibilities here are different for everyone . . . And so, we have come to the end of what I am permitted to tell you. I can only add one thing: position number three, the so-called abyss, is the point at which the transformation to the super-werewolf takes place.’
‘And has anyone ever succeeded in completing that manoeuvre? ’ I asked.
‘According to certain sources, in 1925 one of your compatriots, the anthroposophist Sharikov, succeeded. He was a disciple of Dr Steiner, and a friend of Maximilian Voloshin and Andrei Bely. As far as we know, Sharikov was taken into the Cheka, and the whole business was kept top secret. And the secrecy was taken very seriously: suffice it to say that the manuscript of A Dog’s Heart - a story by the well-known writer Bulgakov that was based on rumours about the event - was confiscated. After that no one ever saw Sharikov again.’
‘But what exactly is a super-werewolf? Alexander asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Lord Cricket. ‘At least, I don’t know yet. But you have no idea how impatient I am to find out . . .’
‘What are you doing wearing an evening dress first thing in the morning?’ Alexander asked. ‘And high heels?’
‘Why, don’t they suit me?’
‘Black suits you very well,’ he said, and cautiously rubbed his cheek against mine. ‘But then, so does white.’
Instead of kissing we sometimes used to rub our cheeks together. I found this manner of his funny at first - there was something childish, puppyish about it. Then he confessed that he was sniffing my skin, which had an especially tender smell just behind my ear. After that, I used to experience a vague displeasure during this procedure - I had the feeling that I was being used.
‘Are we going to the theatre?’ he asked.
‘Something a bit more interesting than that. We’re going hunting. ’
‘Hunting. But who are we going to hunt?’
‘Chickens,’ I declared proudly.
‘Are you feeling hungry?’
‘That’s not funny.’
‘Then why do you want to go hunting chickens?’
‘It’s just that I want you to get to know me a little bit better. Get ready, we’re going out of town.’
‘Right now?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘only first read this. Someone has a commercial proposition for you.’
I handed him a print-out of an e-mail letter I’d received from E Hu-Li that morning.
Hi there, Red,
I tried to reach you on the mobile, but the voice said that the ‘number is temporarily blocked’. Looks like your sponsor in uniform isn’t very generous . . .
Pursuant to our meeting (so charming!) of yesterday’s date, it appears that when we left our boys alone after Brian’s lecture and started reminiscing about old times, they had a quarrel about art. Let me tell you what happened. Brian showed Alexander photographs of some works that he is planning to exhibit jointly with the Saatchi gallery. First and foremost among them is the installation ‘The Liberation of Babylon’, which uses a model of the Gates of Ishtar as the background for Scottish bagpipers parachuting in with their kilts hiked up. These plaster figures convey their own state of sexual excitation to the viewer, attacking his perception and transforming him into another object put on display. In this way, the observer is made aware of his own physical and emotional presence in the space distorted by the gravity of that artistic object . . . Alexander liked ‘The Liberation of Babylon’, which cannot be said for all the other pieces.
Have you seen the hit of the last Venice Biennale - the haystack in which the first Belarussian postmodernist, Mikolai Klimaksovich, hid from his local police inspector for four years? Alexander called this work plagiaristic and told Brian about the similar haystack famously used before the revolution by Vladimir Lenin. Brian observed that repetition is not necessarily plagiarism, it is the very essence of the postmodern, or - to put it in broader terms - the foundation of the modern cultural gestalt, which is manifested in everything, from the cloning of sheep to remakes of old movies, for what else can you do after the end of history? Brian said it was precisely Klimaksovich’s use of quotation that made him a postmodernist, not a plagiarizer. But Alexander objected that no quotations would ever have saved this Klimaksovich from the Russian police, and history might have come to an end in Belarus, but there was no sign of it breaking down yet in Russia.
Then Brian showed Alexander a work by Asuro Keshami, one which he regards with especial affection, not least owing to the serious investment required for its production and installation. Keshami’s work, inspired by the oeuvre of Camille Paglia, of whom you must have heard, consists of an immense tube of red plastic with projections on the inside in the form of white fangs. It is proposed to install it in the open air in one of London’s sports stadiums.
And now I’m getting to the point. One of the most serious problems in the world of modern art is the invention of original and fresh verbal interpretations of a work. Literally just a few phrases are required, which can then be reprinted in the catalogues and reviews. This apparently trivial detail can often decide the fate of a piece of art. It is very important here to be able to perceive things from an unexpected, shocking angle, and your friend, with his barbarically fresh view of the world, does this quite remarkably well. Therefore, Brian would like permission to use the ideas expressed by Alexander yesterday for the conceptual support of the installation. The accompanying text which I include below is by way of being a fusion of Brian’s and Alexander’s ideas:
Asuro Keshami’s work ’VD-42CC’ combines the languages of different areas - engineering, technology and science. At the base level the subject-matter is the overcoming of space: physical space, the space of taboo and the space of our subconscious fears. The languages of engineering and technology deal with the material from which the object is constructed, but the artist addresses the viewer in the language of emotions. When the viewer learns that certain people have given this little queer fifteen million pounds to stretch out a huge imitation-leather cunt above an abandoned soccer pitch, he remembers what he does in his own life and how much he is paid for it, then he looks at the photo of this little queer in his horn-rimmed spectacles and funny jacket, and experiences confusion and bewilderment bordering on the feeling that the German philosopher Martin Heidegger called ‘abandonment’ (Geworfenheit). The viewer is invited to concentrate on these feelings, which constitute the precise aesthetic effect that the installation attempts to achieve.
Brian would like to offer Alexander a fee of one thousand pounds. Of course, this is not a large sum, but this version of the accompanying text is not final, and it is not absolutely certain that it will be used. Have a word with Alexander, okay? You can reply directly to Brian at this address. I am a
little miffed with him just at the moment. He is in a bad mood - last night he was refused entrance to the establishment known as ‘Night Flight’. First he was stopped by the face control (they didn’t like his sports shoes), and then some Dutch pimp emerged from the depths of this den of iniquity and told Brian to dress ‘more stylish’. Brian has been repeating the same thing all day long today: ‘Stylish? Like the one who went in just ahead of me? In a green jacket and blue shirt?’ And he is taking out his bad mood on me. Ah well, never mind:-=)))
The most important thing is, don’t forget about the pass for the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour!
Heads and tails,
Your E
Alexander read the print-out carefully. After that he folded the sheet of paper in two, then folded it in two again, and then tore it in half.
‘A thousand pounds,’ he said. ‘Ha! He obviously doesn’t understand who he’s dealing with here. You know what, you write to him. Your English is better, anyway.’
‘Thanks,’ I said modestly. ‘What shall I say? He didn’t offer enough?’
He looked me up and down.
‘Fuck him out of it from every possible angle. Only make it sound aristocratic and elegant.’
‘That’s not possible,’ I said. ‘No matter how much I’d like to.’
‘Why?’
‘In aristocratic circles they don’t fuck each other out of it. It’s just not done.’
‘Then fuck him whatever way it is done,’ he said. ‘But hard enough to crack his arse open. Go on, put in that sarcasm of yours that has corroded my soul so thoroughly. Let it do some good for once.’
Something in his tone of voice prevented me from asking exactly what good he had in mind. He was touching in his childish resentment, and part of it was transmitted to me. And if we’re being entirely honest - does a fox really need to be asked twice to fuck an English aristocrat out of it?
I sat down at the computer and started thinking. My internationalist feminist component required my reply to be structured round the phrase ‘suck my dick’, in the style of the most advanced US feminists. But the rational part of my ego told me that would not be enough in a letter signed by Alexander. I wrote the following:
The Sacred Book of the Werewolf Page 19