The Sacred Book of the Werewolf by Victor Pelevin Read Free Book Online

enjoy in your life?’

    ‘No,’ I said.

    ‘You don’t mean that.’

    ‘Yes I do.’

    ‘All nothing but suffering, is it?’

    ‘Yes, and so’s yours.’

    ‘Well, now,’ the taxi-driver laughed, ‘you can’t know about that.’

    ‘Yes, I can,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise.’

    ‘Why?’

    ‘I could explain. Only I don’t know if you’d understand.’

    ‘Well, get you!’ the driver snorted. ‘Do you think I’m more stupid than you are? I reckon I ought to be able to understand, if you can.’

    ‘All right. Do you understand that suffering is the material out of which the world was created?’

    ‘Why?’

    ‘That can only be explained with an example.’

    ‘Well, give me an example then.’

    ‘Do you know the story of Baron Münchhausen, who pulled himself out of a bog by his own hair?’

    ‘I do,’ said the driver, ‘I’ve even seen the film.’

    ‘The foundations underlying the reality of this world are very similar. Only you have to imagine Münchhausen suspended in a total void, squeezing his own balls as hard as he can and screaming in unbearable pain. Look at it one way and you feel kind of sorry for him. But look at it a different way, and he only has to let go of his own balls and he’ll immediately disappear, because by his very nature he is simply a vessel of pain with a grey ponytail, and if the pain disappears, then he’ll disappear as well.’

    ‘Did you learn that at school?’ the driver asked. ‘Or at home?’

    ‘Neither,’ I said. ‘It was on the way home from school. It’s a long journey, I get to see and hear all sorts of things. Did you understand the example?’

    ‘Sure I did,’ he replied. ‘I’m not stupid. So why’s your Münchhausen afraid to let go of his balls?’

    ‘I told you, then he’ll disappear.’

    ‘Maybe it would be better if he did? Who the hell needs a life like that?’

    ‘A good point. And that’s precisely why the social contract exists.’

    ‘Social contract? What social contract?’

    ‘Every individual Münchhausen can decide to let go of his own balls, but . . .’

    I remembered the Sikh’s crayfish eyes and stopped. One of my sisters used to say that when a client slips off the tail during an unsuccessful session, for a few seconds he sees the truth. And for a man this truth is so unbearable that the first thing he wants to do is kill the fox responsible for revealing it to him, and then he wants to kill himself . . . But other foxes say that in that brief second the man realizes that physical life is a stupid and shameful mistake. And the first thing he tries to do is to thank the fox who has opened his eyes. And after that he corrects the error of his own existence. It’s all nonsense, of course. But it’s clear enough how these rumours get started.

    ‘But what?’ the driver asked.

    I remembered where I was.

    ‘But when there are six billion Münchhausens holding each others’ balls arm over arm, the world is in no danger.’

    ‘Why?’

    ‘That’s very simple. Münchhausen can let go of himself, as you so correctly observed. But the more someone else hurts him, the more he hurts the two that he’s holding on to. And so on for six billion times. Do you understand?’

    ‘Shee-it,’ he said and spat, ‘only a woman could come up something like that.’

    ‘I have to disagree with you again,’ I said. ‘It’s an extremely male picture of the universe. I’d even call it chauvinistic. There’s no place in it for a woman at all.’

    ‘Why?’

    ‘Because women don’t have any balls.’

    We drove on in silence.

    No point in denying it, sometimes it happens that you lay something heavy on someone, and your own heart feels lighter for it. Why is that? It’s a mystery. Never mind, let him think a bit, it’s never done anyone any harm.

     
     

    The next morning the business with the Sikh was in the news. It wasn’t what I went onto the net for, but some lousy