Salve Roma! A Felidae Novel Part 5

Giovanni was irrigated.

"Believe it or not, uber wise guy, but he was about to do the same as you!"

"Excuse me? He had already raised his saber ..."

"... to unravel the knots!"

Our mazed route mirrored the abruptly starting chaos in my mind. Meanwhile we had reached a big junction and had to decide on one out of several tunnels. This fact though caused neither me nor my mysteriously talking fellow to panic as we didn't have a freaking clue of the complex interlacing, so it didn't matter which road we took anyway. But even for such wonder eyes as we had, it was always a good recommendation to stay away from the darkness. So in the end we preferred a catacomb which was illuminated by torches, just like the last one.

All of this happened without thinking, and as for Giovanni, I doubt that he took notice of this junction issue at all. At least he kept talking as if nothing had happened. "Signore Francis, I had gotten the impression that in regard to education you slept on some ivy University's foot mat, a least for a couple of months. These theosophist guys belief in reincarnation. If you were half the genius you act like, you might have figured out that fans of this reincarnation stuff would either cut their own ears off than to hurt, let alone kill an animal. Because after their own death their precious soul mind accidentally be reborn in some Giovanni, with what it would appreciate in value enormously, at least in my humble opinion."

"On the other hand the ear in these circles is considered to be the door to the soul", I tossed in. "The soul is supposed to leave the body through the ear. At least this is what Samantha told me. And didn't the hooded bloke declare that you are about to experience the ritual inside the cage? He talked about the opening of hearts so that all souls could have a cozy chat. To me that sounded like Let's do some exploratory ear drilling and let's see what we can find."

"I don't know your Samantha. But her theory creates the impression that she might get along perfectly with the pack of theosophists. The ritual the guy talked about is sheer acting. An, how do you call it, emblematic exoneration ceromy. Once a month, the penguins in tuxes collect us at the Largo Argentina, bring us to their bunker and build their cage around us, which can barely called a cage. We could easily escape from it without your air show, but instead we make tortured faces to increase the pity. Well, at first there's some proper singing, a little abracadabra, some reincarnation and a lot of bloviating of otherworldly nonsense. Then comes the stunt with the saber. These idiots actually think of their race as equal to ours. Sheer megalomania, but whatever, Adriano Celentato also thought of himself as a great actor for a while! On the zenith of the fuss, the saber gets swung, the knots loosened and the poor, poor animals get released from the cage. Then there's a right royal meal every time, in order to propitiate us for some exchange of souls later, and afterwards the travel back to misery. A little boring if you've been through the procedure for about thirty times, but still more sublime than stealing salami from an old woman's sandwich."

I started to wonder. Could Samantha, who had studied the theosophical subject so hard, have been wrong in such a volatile matter? It didn't seem very likely to me because she had identified the killing method of "deseeding ears" as a specialty within their theory. How could she have fixated on the exact opposite of what Giovanni had experienced? I took another try in showing the inconsistencies of the theosophists' kind-hearted image.

"Giovanni, during his preach hoody talked about a miracle that was soon to be revealed", said while we still running like the devil himself was chasing our ears. "The whole thing didn't really sound like an international understanding of souls. More like world politics. Can you maybe tell me what that was about?"

"I don't know about world politics, I have a full plate with the politics of b.u.mming. And I don't know much about miracles either. And like I said, these guys are nuts all and sundry. Maybe the master thinks of it being a great miracle when he puts a lighter to his b.u.t.t as he farts and it makes Bang!"

"I don't understand it. It doesn't make sense. Why would the smart Samantha start a rumor like that if pretty much everyone in Rome knows that it can't be true."

"I have a theory: She lied to you, Francis!"

Without wanting to admit it to myself, I had already thought of that. The reason for this feisty lie was hidden from me though, but it suggested the a.s.sumption that these strange murders were connected to something more complex and more than that far more outrageous than this silly chapeau-claque-club's necromancy. And so I had to go back to zero with my sleuthing, given that the characteristic wound also applied to the victims that bitten the dust before my arrival.

"Okay, one last question, Sicilian", I said, slowly realizing that the previous events had sapped my energy quite a lot. "If these batmen don't celebrate happy ear studding, and in contrary just want to cuddle our fellows esoterically, if there lies no danger within them, can you then please tell me why and whom we are fleeing from?"

Giovanni decreased his pace like a pendulum that lost momentum, until eventually he stood still. I also stopped and stared at him. The glowing, reddish eyes, the zigzaggy graying whiskers, the half-bald chin, the whole face that was covered in scratches now was an absolute astonishment.

"Uh, hasn't this been your idea?" he said after a while.

I wanted to fly in the face of him until I suddenly realized that he was absolutely right. I didn't want to bet on how my face looked now, but "stupid" might have been a better description than "astonished".

We now were in the middle of the corridor, which spanned a broad curve behind us. The torches indicated an arched chain of lights, containing of single and shrinking dabs of brightness. The way ahead of us led straight line, whereas there seemed to be a crossing corridor on its right end. While Giovanni and I were still busy helplessly staring at each other, in the following three events took place almost simultaneously. After the previous confusion they literally took the cake, and I want to go to the trouble of describe them, numerating in the local language.

Numero uno. "Do you maybe have a useful idea how we get out of his d.a.m.n maze?" I wanted to know from Giovanni whose visible composure began to bother me.

"Why don't we simply go back and see if the theosophists have calmed down? Maybe they will fork out some five-course meal, relieved coz the end of the world hasn't come yet. My empty stomach actually has been sending SOS for the last couple of hours ..."

This very moment, a shadow appeared at the end of the tunnel. Coming from a cross connection, he blew up to a scary silhouette on the wall. Giovanni and I stopped talking immediately, and although we both knew that the now dancing light of the torch was able to convulse a figure to an unrecognizable silhouette, we both shuddered. Now we could also hear footsteps which left no doubt that the figure would show up in short. My neighbor swallowed audibly, which obviously wasn't caused by hunger. And as for me, I probably produced a whole symphony of sounds, which were owed to sheer terror. The relentlessly approaching black ghost got smaller, but this didn't calm our nerves, which were tense like piano strings at all.

Eventually the shadow guy turned the corner and hey, it was an old buddy! But not really one who made the strings ease. Without really noticing us the hooded man rushed towards us. I could only guess why he was still on the site. Probably he hadn't dared to leave his hideout before the chaos calmed down to some degree. In his dark dress and with the chrome saber in his hand he looked even more terrifying at close quarters than he had on the platform in the vault. His flowing dress made nightmarish dragging sounds when he walked, and in the red-rimmed observation slits nervously swaying, azure blue eyes were glowing. When he finally did notice us, it only took him a moment of shock from which he recovered very quickly, just like he was annoyed en pa.s.sant of trash at the roadside. Then he just kept resolutely walking towards us.

"I changed my mind in the matter of these exorcists' placidity", Giovanni whispered at me. "Let's buzz off this guy doesn't look kosher to me!"

I couldn't agree more. As if someone had turned our dash key, we doubled back simultaneously and beat it.

Numero due. A repeating, m.u.f.fled hammering sound reached our ears, from afar and yet oddly close, in short intervals, yeah, almost sounding like a m.u.f.fled up kettledrum. Of course we weren't in the mood to stand still and look for the source of this strange sound. Bam! ... Bam! ... Bam! ... it resounded from somewhere again and again, while we ran over the boasted pavers with the hooded guy upon our heels. My current condition must have busted all panic scales. Yet I tried to use the rest of my ratio to find the cause of the sound. I felt a barely noticeable vibration underneath my paws and thought that the ongoing hammering was moving upwards from downstairs. Giovanni probably felt the same. As if there was another catacomb underneath us from where the drumbeat was issuing from. I would have loved to follow this hint some more, if there hadn't been a weird guy with a saber chasing me and also hadn't something even more incredible come amiss ...

Numero tre. We had just reached the end of the corridor when suddenly two men turned around the corner. Nothing unusual one might think, as somewhere the batmen from the catacomb must have found a hideout in their confusion. Way off the mark though! No tailcoats, no capes, no tippers and no canes with golden k.n.o.bs. When Giovanni and I stood on the brakes due to this changed situation on the roads, suddenly there were some pretty normally dressed human beings standing in front of us. Well, maybe they weren't the kind you meet at the grocery store or at some BBQ at the park. They wore flawlessly ironed, dark single-breasted suits, ordinary ties and pitch-black sungla.s.ses despite the local dizzy lighting conditions. Their scalps were decorated with flattop haircuts, and their edgy faces seemed as if their had been an iron foundry involved in their shaping. In short, those were two well-trained guys, which apparently didn't rely on their muscles only. Each of them held a silver pistol with a ma.s.sive suppressor in his hand.

We were about to put our hands up, and stiffened on the spot. I risked a cautious glimpse behind. The hooded guy who about 50 feet away from us had also applied the handbrake by now. Blinking he stood in the middle of the corridor, motionless like a window mannequin in a Halloween costume. I would have loved to know what was going on his mind. This memorable meeting was accompanied by continuing hammering, and the even more intense vibration underneath my paws told me that the hammer had been inserted right here beneath the stony soil. It sounded like the soundtrack to the dramatic situation we found ourselves in. Even the suppressor-twins granted their iron facial expression some touch of irritation and slightly bowed their heads. Only to quickly look up again and get back to business.

"Don't move from the place or you are dead before you can fart!" one of them shouted and pointed his gun.

Well, that definitely didn't sound Italian. It sounded more like some tourists who had booked their vacation at Smith & Wesson Travel Agency, tourists who longed for very individual extracurricular activities. Actually, it sounded like true blue killers.

The minute we realized that the boys hadn't undertaken the long journey from the US to Rome's underground to, sticking to the fitting slang, blow our heads off, we couldn't help but feel a relaxing shiver down our spines. We didn't matter at all. They were after the hooded man. Many dark forces were interested in his miracle, and our two friends had come so it could change hands.

Giovanni though looked at the situation in a more pragmatic manner.

"Always a pleasure chatting with you, il mio amico", he said with a so nonchalant expression that I was afraid he was about to leak like perfume from a bottle and vaporize above our heads. "But I'm afraid someone around here will suffer from lead poisoning very soon. And with regards to poisoning I'm a burnt child remember Spaghetti Bolognese with a hint of green. Arrivederci, Francis!"

Giovanni took off without any sign of nervousness, so that even the gunmen felt forced to adjust their dark gla.s.ses and let things happen. Totally relaxed, he strolled through one of the guys' legs, turned around the corner and disappeared.

Of course I was flirting with following him at first. Because what Giovanni had said sounded pretty much as prophetically as the suggestion that days are warmer in summer than in wintertime. It wouldn't have taken anyone by surprise, if there had been bullets shooting through the air in a minute. And still ... Still I willingly devoted myself to the sweet poison, which fed my incurable disease: insatiable curiosity. I wanted to know what was going to happen next. Maybe I'd get to know something about the miracle this way.

After the two mannequins for gla.s.ses had swallowed Giovanni's cool performance, they resumed work.

"Discard the f.u.c.king saber and get closer slowly!" one of them said to the hooded guy and pointed at the saber.

Right at this moment I felt a powerful blow below me, which automatically made me think of an earthquake. The bang was ear-deafening and made the whole catacomb tremble. After a tremor like this there should have formed prominent cracks between the stone slabs. And in fact, when I broke away from the gangster drama a split second and looked down, I saw them. Like ramifications in a broken gla.s.s panel the cracks spread over the floor in an irregular pattern. What a winning streak I was on! Now I could even choose the manner of my upcoming death: shot by a stray bullet or buried by boulders.

For a moment the boys got distracted from the noise, which the hooded guy took advantage of without any hesitation. He turned around and wanted to escape towards the cross tunnel. But one of his bailiffs acted quick-witted and fired.

It created a noise like a springing trap, half of a hiss, half of a snap. At the hooded guy's right upper arm appeared a hole in the size of a dime; and a small gush of blood oozed out of it. The master dropped the saber, which fell on the floor with a rattling sound, and grabbed the wound with his now free hand. Honor to whom honor is due; the killers knew their craft. They wanted to catch the miracle man alive and had therefore pa.s.sed on a heart shot. They didn't want to destroy the treasure chest before they hadn't yielded the h.o.a.rd.

For a moment there was silence in which the foes fixed their gaze on each other. Barely visible fume soared from the m.u.f.fler of the fired weapon; blood oozed from between the hooded guy's fingers, which were still pressed on the wound, and the tip of my tail shivered so feverish, as if I had just found a brandnew mouse hole. Then the boys stepped towards their cornered prey, and the events followed in quick succession.

Another crash went through the silence, even more booming now, the ground tremored and I began to hallucinate. I just couldn't find another explanation for what happened on the ground. The cracks between the flagstones multiplied rapidly, some stones staggered threateningly, others already collapsed and eventually plunged into the deep like blown up building blocks. I only realized that I wasn't hallucinating, when the foothold underneath my paws dissolved into thin air and I followed the plunging stones.

Before I started on the vertical journey, I was granted to witness the temporary end of the hooded man's story. The opening had created an inveterate rift between the opponents. While the killers tried to get over their bewilderment, the master took a chance and ran away. Promptly another shot was fired. This time it hit the fugitive's leg, which didn't kept him from running until he reached a cross tunnel ... But this ambivalent happy ending was not for my eyes, because faster as antic.i.p.ated I became a victim of gravity and dropped through the hole in a cloud of dust, flying small stones and big slates.

The arrival on the ground didn't quite deserve the t.i.tle "comfortable", but I also wasn't welcomed to the netherworld but in a circle of three enlightened. I landed on my four paws on a big pile of rubble, while a rain of dust and rubble fell down on me. Apparently I was in a new catacomb. This one seemed to be built far more primitively than the other buckled and crooked walls, probably built bare-handed and with a mortar-mix of clay, straw and cow dung, bordered by support logs which were made from trunks and partially were still covered in bark. Everywhere around here seemed archeological jewels seemed gathered. Crosses from Rom and Jerusalem, aureoles, which represented the apostles with halo and heavenward pointing index and middle finger, and scenes from Jesus' holy grave together with whining women had been painted on the walls with pure ash. But also colored paintings were on view. I suggested that this lowest level must be the original part of the catacombs.

I couldn't enjoy the sights though, because the three illuminated guys surrounding me blinded me. Mine lamps, which shone directly at my face, were clipped to their canary-yellow hard hats. One of them was still doing the heroic pose of a monument for the laboring with an iron battering ram in his hands, which apparently he had used for hammering for cross ways to the temple. A woman wearing metal rims and a filter mask appeared to be the intellectual within the group as she simply held a delicate little hammer for minerals and a brush. The third guy looked freaking familiar. No wonder, as this stupid face usually bend over to me on a daily basis with lines like "Wuduwuduwudu, likey your yummy-treat?".

As I knew that this guy's speed of thinking was as good as a snails' fugue, and as I also knew which line was about to follow this exhausting mental work with the utmost probability, I whiled away the time with something useful. I raised my head and stared at the breakthrough in the ceiling. The boys upstairs had unsurprisingly disappeared by now, and nothing reminded of the gunfire that had just happened at the piano n.o.bile just a few moments ago.

Then I turned back to Gustav and endured his surprising insight: "I got one of your kind at home!"

The reunion with Gustav if the umpteenth encounter with one and the same person within a single day counts as reunion anyway only lasted a couple of seconds. Because I had neither time nor leisure to study my cohabitant's slow motion working face for long, who by the way wasn't made for being in catacombs anyway. Of course he deserved some credit for getting to work with his colleagues right after landing and digging the newly accessed tunnel until late at night. Also the new breaking would shed light on the catacomb-maze upstairs and inescapably illuminate the theosophists' activities. But my unmistakable instinct told me that the mystery's solution wouldn't be found in either the catacombs or inside the theosophical society. This secret society might be amazingly conspirative and shady, but still the brothers were harmless. No, the key to the cruel truth lay in the master's hand alone. He milked everything to do his own thing. This thing, il miracolo, was the actual motive for the murders of my Roman fellows. This I felt, this I knew!

In the spotlight created by the beaming mining lamps on the hard hats, snowed in rubble and dust and with the most stupid facial expression the world has ever seen, I probably didn't cut a fine figure on the pile of stones. Thus, I wasn't that surprised when the three archeologists looked at me with rather pitiful miens after the first shock had subsided. Gustav half-heartedly tried to pet the dust off my fur, but I was already on my way.

I ran down the pile of rubble and towards the exit. As in this tunnel there was just one way to liberty, namely back through the newly discovered pa.s.sage, this time I didn't worry about getting lost. Despite the darkness around me I was able to sneak a peak of some of the treasure while running. Often there was the word INRI carved into the walls, the abbreviation for "Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum" inscripted on the very cross Jesus Christ had been crucified on. Now and then artistically very sophisticated reliefs stood out, which portrayed angels with halos and children dancing around them. I could very well receive how Gustav had repeatedly been haunted by a phenomenon at the sight of these treasures which he had to go without since the invention of color TV: o.r.g.a.s.m!

However fascinating the gallery I pa.s.sed was, my thoughts were bothered by the recent incidents. Those had killed all vacation mood and had brought me that fire instead, a fire I had never believed to see blazing up again. Although the whole thing was related to blood and death and although many innocent had been killed, I felt the pa.s.sion again. I noticed how every single atom in my nerve cells jumped for joy on the hunt for the butcher. And whether I wanted to admit it or not, the best vacation for an ill mind, like the one in my head, was in the land of unresolved mysteries. In short, the situation began to be great fun.

So let's count it all up and wait for the result, I thought to myself. According to the hooded guy's festive lecture the miracle wasn't just a mystery to me, but also to the theosophists. As to the premiere of the revelation, i fratelli were promised jam tomorrow. Thus, the whole situation became more thrilling, and the old trick still worked, so they were willing to donate even more. On the other hand the mystery didn't leave much to be desired, if even government circles got scent of it. As the two killers in the catacomb hadn't quite looked like escaped prisoners, who were after a suitcase with cocaine. Their smart outfits had reminded me of "civil servants", who did pretty much everything but sit in an office and stamp forms. So the master's work wasn't very popular within a certain government, or they hadn't been able to conclude a satisfying contract on whatever.

All these thoughts brought my last dream to mind. For me, dreams had always been the key to solving a mystery. Just that I had never realized this in time. In my last dream anyway the attack on the twin towers in 2001 had been pretty prominent. And maybe all that had happened in the world after the terroristic act had found expression in a mental echo. Sometimes I feel like Dr. Freud's soul mate, but of what importance was Antonio's transformation from a comic hero into a rocket, which averted the catastrophe last minute? Was there a possibility to gain "definitive peace" for the world like the master had mentioned in his speech? What might such a pacifier look like? And how did Antonio's cruel former master fit into this bizarre concept? Should I worry about him looking like an Italian macho or maybe better about the fact that Antonio had been happily curling up just in the guy's lap who had once abandoned him so recklessly?

I had ducked the next and crucial question until last, as I couldn't even find an explanation to some extent. Why this b.e.s.t.i.a.l killing method? Why of all things the ear or better the whole hearing aid, which the killer removed in total? Certainly the feline ear was unique, or to speak in the language of advertis.e.m.e.nt: a hit product. It is nature's most sensitive hearing aid and outshines every other species' aural sense in the aspect of distinguishing single sounds. So it was comprehensible that humans took a closer look at this aural wonder and maybe even abused it for their dark deeds. But, and this but trashed my theory like a big wrecking ball: 1. The feline ear was researched by scientists right down to the last detail ages ago and was taken even the slightest secret. So n.o.body needed to arrange cruel experiments with "living material" but could easily download every information in that score from the internet. 2. I had every reason to be proud on our ear trumpets and to praise them to the skies, but, that's only fair, humans had developed even more sensitive listening devices by now and had come first in the winner's podium at the Eavesdrop Olympics long ago. If one meant to do it, with the appropriate high-tech device one could easily listen from outer s.p.a.ce to a worm burping 30 feet below ground level. In this regard we couldn't teach them any more.

Thoughts of this kind buzzed through my head while I began to wish for finally seeing something else than darkness and the monotonous linear stone corset of a catacomb. I had attended a clever quiz, but as a candidate I had failed miserably. Yet, the game didn't count for nothing, as I had gotten a feeling where the journey was headed.

One question, a concrete one this time, still bothered me. Where would I end up at the exit of this ancient Christian tube? Hopefully not in the middle of Rome's killing traffic, which was as considerate of four-footed road users as much as a lava flow was of proud homeowners. But I suddenly realized where I was located, and at one go I smelled fresh air and from afar I saw the first contours of a place, which made me gasp in awe. "In truth!", I shouted like the Italian poet Francesco Petrarca did in 1337, " Rome is greater, and greater are its ruins than I imagined! I no longer wonder that the whole world was conquered by this city".

The catacomb ended at a wall that was covered in spider webs and in which a hole in the impressive size of Gustav had been smashed. The fallen rubble still lay everywhere around the threshold. I jumped outside into the night and via a ramp I finally, finally reached the Forum Romanum! Fronting me the mighty triumphal arch of Septimius Severus towered, which was to remind of the victories over Parthians, Arabs and the tribes in former a.s.syria. Moonlight dipped the 75x82-feet-giant, which was situated across the church Santi Luca e Martina, into a bluish shimmer. Impressive about the three-gate building were the four giant marble reliefs, which showed scenes from these wars with superior plasticity. The victory G.o.ddesses sat enthroned above those, holding their trophies.

Quickly I jumped onto a little hill of broken pillars, turned south-east bound and let my eyes roam over the heritage of the empire, that so shortly before sunrise outranked every sword and sandals film's technicolor-panorama. It was epic! It was t.i.tanic! It was ... gorgeous! What a wide plain, surrounded by ruins, gardens and temples, covered with fallen capitals, upright lonely pillars, trees and silent desert. It seemed as if the agitated rubble from the poured out ashtray of time and the flinders of a big world had been knocked about. Crickets tried to out-c.l.i.tter each other, the warm wind audibly petted the ruins that were mainly covered with gra.s.s. I got a lump in my throat from happiness, that I actually made it to this sanctum of civilization, and the gun salute, which I would have loved to shout out into the night, stuck in my throat: Hail ye, Rome!

Halfway up I had the chance to open myself to the ruins of this central square: from the three temples below the Senator's Palace and Tabularium, the Dei Consentes (the twelve G.o.ds of Greek origin), the emperor Vespasian and the G.o.ddess Concordia, over to the Imperial Fora on the other side of the Via dei Fori Imperiali up to the Arch of t.i.tus and the Colosseum. All this testimonials of the Western world's origin towered in front of me like dark silhouettes, which began to reveal their secrets little by little with the beginning dawn. I pretended they were secrets. Actually, I had spent countless nights with Gustav in front of the fireplace, when he had revealed every secret of this golden Epoch with the aid of tons of books, and I, who I pretended to sleep in the middle of the doc.u.ments, had done the same.

At the Forum the whole power and history of the city of Rome and the empire was reflected. The site had been a weely valley in the middle of the seven hills, on which the humans had settled at first. Here, the close connection of economy and justice, religion and politics, the increasing power and influence of the Roman state was doc.u.mented with splendid buildings and gorgeous art. The representatives of public life, the tribune of the plebs, clerks, senators, consuls and emperors had been prettifying the center of their empire with impressive building and monuments for ages, where now newly built things right next to ancient and organized right next to accidentally originated built a densely developed complex.

Now the former hub of the world had become a ruined city, a dead city, in which at this lonely time maybe ghosts a.s.sembled, saw their life's work crumbled and forfeited, and wept bitterly about that in a heart-touching choir.

"O you emperors, o you n.o.ble citizens of Rome, o you slaves, and not to forget o you fellows with pointed ears, who you certainly put the fear of G.o.d into the d.a.m.n rats back in the day, o you masters of the universe!" I yelled at all those sad dead souls in my mind's eye and believed my voice to resound quite impressively. "Don't cry, you unrivaled, as your doing won't be for the birds, nor for the cats if I'm allowed to throw in this pun. We are all doomed to die, and even the little we will deliver to posterity, like for example the Afro hairdo or the word Girlie, won't last. Everything decays. The beautiful created by an aesthete will last forever and always. But also the poor devils who once had to carry and beat these rocks the whole blessed day and who after work probably never thought about the right color of wallpapers, shouldn't be forgotten. You used to be a superpower, and no superpower in the world has ever created something more beautiful. If it was worth conquering the whole world for this, your excessive G.o.ds may judge that. But whatever you created, you always spoke for the whole mankind. Not much will last in the breathless stream of history, but this will!"

Thus I talked to the ghosts in moonlight and believed to get a note of thanks from them in the shape of a suddenly upspringing gust of wind. From my elevated position I couldn't see either the any sign of a human soul or of any other creature in this ancient silhouette landscape. Even the birds hadn't started with their singing and chattering yet, so at the silver shimmering giant square I began to feel like at an abandoned megalomaniac stage setting.

And again I was about to hold a rather elegiac speech: "O Antonio, you pink black one, you cronista di Roma, where are you now that I need you so much? You queen of my heart, who let me eat delicious trash, you, who feathered my nest with velvet cushions just like you had promised, can you maybe stop snoring, move your b.u.t.t and kindly look for me! Otherwise I will develop some serious aversion for you queers! G.o.d, I need you so!"

Yeah, that was the desolate state of affairs. What on earth was I about to do in this El Dorado for Latin inscriptions lovers? Samantha was gone, Giovanni was too, and without another useful hint or a guiding paw, which led me through the mysterious maze of Rome, I was in a fix. Technically, I should have ruefully went back to Gustav and get in his good books so he would take me back to the manageable backyard idyll. Then the case wouldn't be solved but let's face it between you and me and the rest of the criminologists, more than half of all crimes remain unsolved.

As often the case in these tricky situations I suddenly got an idea, which wasn't related to the actual case at all: The Mona Lisa hangs in the Louvre and is protected against robbery by a security system that probably leaves even Bill Gates clueless. And the isle of Manhattan is probably under such high guard that not even a sewer rat can get inside without proper papers. And here at the Forum Romanum, in the cradle of humanity ... nothing, simply nothing! There weren't security guards patrolling, no reddish light barriers glowed in the dark, and no CCTV could be seen. Didn't those responsible for this cultural heritage worry at all that one of these nights guys with fancy names like "Toothpick-Eddy" or "Monocle-Max" showed up, loaded one of the temples on a truck and disappeared? I mean, even a statue's head from the Forum would bring that much money at the archeological black market that a gangster would be set for life. Or did even the biggest gangsters think it was a sacrilege to steal from Cesar's treasure chest?

I just couldn't find a good answer to this, and I didn't know if I hadn't missed a hint. In that regard I realized that I found myself in a far more privileged position than a tourist who had to force himself, surrounded by his kind, through the solid ma.s.ses of the Ancient World under the sun that stole all mystic glamor. Yeah, might as well. Now that I was here and the site was open for me alone, I might as well go for a stroll, and let my memory be my guide. Actually I didn't have much of a choice anyway, as I had lost my sense of direction as well as my Roman friends in every aspect.

I left the pile of pillars with an elegant leap and began to walk the Via Sacra. Right in front of me was the Lapis Niger, the black stone, a black marble square on the ground. They say that underneath the grave of Romulus, the founder of Rome can be found. The spot shimmered opaque in the moonlight, and it gave me the creeps. To my left hand side I saw the Basilica Aemilia, the only remaining building from the Republican Age. The name probably means "hall of the kings". The basilica had functioned as stock market and courtroom among other things.

And so it went on, one famous site after the other viewed by me with widening eyes and enjoyed while catching my breath. The fundaments and the truncated columns of the big Basilica here, the remains of the Temple of Caesar there. Then eventually the Temple of Vesta and the House of the Vestals this monopteron had enshrined the "holy fire" in Ancient Roman times under conservatorship of the Vestal priestesses. The virgins, who were chosen for the duty of the holy fire, came from the n.o.blest families in Rome. They were admitted as pre-teens and had to stay for thirty years; if they were to breach the rule of chast.i.ty they were buried alive in a dungeon. The things you do for tradition!

When I reached the eastern part of the forum after a while, I decided to rest right below the Arch of t.i.tus. In the background the giant silhouette of the Collosseum towered like the just landed s.p.a.ceship of an alien authority. The sky above the site was still sapphire-blue, and the big old moon still catered for a pale, yeah creepy shine. She was the only one who had seen everything in its whole splendor and glory. The crickets by now were in a real singing frenzy, and here and there a firefly sent mysterious signals. The ghosts were still on the road, they were everywhere, but soon the sun would rise and ban them back to their interstation.

My eyes wandered along the height of the triumphal arch. t.i.tus, another emperor of the emperors who had always wanted jam on it, too, ultimately had defeated the Jewish people with his conquest of Jerusalem and by that initiated their expulsion from Palestine and their century-long dispersion all over the world. Thus, to the Jews the Arch of t.i.tus is a saddening memorial; they avoid pa.s.sing it. The old wounds still suppurate ...

Suddenly there was a shrill cry that cut the air like poultry scissors! Never-ending echoes resounded from the walls of the monuments. I was so frightened that for a couple of moments I could only hear the wild hammering of my heart. Another cry, a little quieter this time, and then an almost infinite whining chimed in the breaking dawn. Although these cries sounded somehow familiar, I could hardly calm down. The whole area had become a dangerous jungle from one second to the other, hiding a blood-minded monster behind each tree and every bush.

After I had been running headlessly all over the place, I braced up a little and decided to get to the bottom of it. An about 5 feet high pillar that had been broken in the middle seemed to be a pretty good lookout to me. I used the catapulting function of my strong rear legs, and within seconds I was on the pillar. Restlessly, I kept observing the place, looking for something suspicious or a brief movement. But I couldn't spot anything in this varied landscape of ruins.

A new sequel of cries started. Still pretty frightened, I began to realize that these noises didn't sound like a tortured creature. Didn't just the opposite apply? Then from afar something caught my eye, something silvery-blue that simulated an antelope's incredible leaps. The strange figure danced with itself between the remains of sanctuaries and vegetated piles of rubble, and it occurred to me that I watched the dance of a fertility G.o.ddess, who only appears at this magical time of night. How did I suddenly conceive the idea of fertility? Well, despite my old age I didn't just have sharp eyes but also a freaking good nose.

And my eyes finally announced the longed for correction: These weren't cries of pain, but cries of l.u.s.t! And as for me: Don't they say one is never too old? Or too stupid? Or too dead? However, this smell, that I knew very well but still hadn't smelled in quite a while, reached my nostrils like the order of a ruler who tolerated no dissent. I felt weak at the knees, and I was animated with the sole wish to unite with the source of this jinxing odor.

As quick as lightning I jumped from the beheaded pillar and ran down to the rudiments. When I breathlessly reached the spot in which I had seen the ghost dance from afar, the pleasant daze of my senses grew into an ultimate frenzy. As it wasn't a ghost whom I faced now, but a saint! And if that weren't enough: She even spoke in the language of saints!

It is almost a miracle how one is forced to transform into a breeding roboter by a steamy fellow's love aroma. The situation becomes even more explosive when the object of desire turns out to be the most flawless and most gorgeous that a race or a species or, in the end, this whole freaking world ever created! Between half broken column bases, fallen pediments and burst mosaic pieces a korat rolled on the climax of her l.u.s.t.

An old Thai poem describes my unexpected lover's fur as "with hair roots like clouds and ends like silver". She had a heart-shaped face, very big, awake, green eyes and raised ears. Her body was remarkably beefy and her body was very long, like due to a digital film trick against all rules of anatomy. Her race's emblem, her short, silver-blue fur with clearly visible silver hair-ends differed from those of any other race of our kind. The tipping, the contrast between topcoat and underfur which showed with every movement, caused a reflexion of light on the fine, pointy hair, which created some kind of halo above her head. Although Korat cats have Thai ancestors, she was my perfect Roman G.o.ddess. Knowing also that her race was said to be lucky charms, what could go wrong?

"Tandem is heros venit, qui me tormentis meis liberabit", she curred in a beautiful, quiet voice and rolled aside with l.u.s.tily stretched limbs.

Only partially sane due to the rapture of love, I felt like the things heard were the most normal in the world. A moment later though a little sense apparently had been left despite the deluging ocean of hormones I realized that her words were neither Italian nor any other common language. Then it sunk in. Incredible, she spoke Latin fluently! Where did she learn that? I changed some switches inside my brain and tried to think within the language that I had learned in the life that I have shared with a very fat archeologist. If I wasn't mistaken, she had just said "Finally the hero has come to save me from pains". Which actually hadn't sounded that bad.

"I'm a hero indeed, even more, I'm your personal hero!" I replied in Latin. "But how come you know this extraordinary language?"

"Garriamus aut gaudium habeamus? Explicationibus postea tempus erit."

This sounded reasonable. If she wanted to have fun first and save the explanations for later, fine with me! But as good manners are harder to get rid off than mouth odor, at least I wanted to know her name before we got an eyeful of paradise.

"Sancta!" she said and hissed sensually.

Holy cow, how could someone look like a saint and then actually be called "saint"! However, whether what we did afterwards could actually be cla.s.sified as rather sacred, I left to the saints in charge. After I had introduced myself, Sancta started to tread rhythmically, raised her b.u.t.t and kept moving her tail to the side. The smell of her urine and v.a.g.i.n.al fluid almost drove me nuts. And just as if a shrink had opened a drip bottle filled with the sweetest drugs all the way, the whole world around me turned pink. Slowly it began to dawn. Little by little, the darkblue of the sky cleared the way for warmer colors, coral status clouds pushed themselves above the heads of the statues and the equestrian monument sin wavy motions and made them blush, until eventually the light of the dawning day poured over the whole ruin site.

Some cries of joy wrested from my throat, although I was also busy leaving scents. How lucky I was! No compet.i.tives around us! As I could have hardly competed with love-crazed teenagers, who were full of sap and just waited for this kind of opportunities like bone surgeons wait for glaze. Although my silvery-blue, green-eyed sweetheart heavily hissed, just like girls do, and tried to scratch me with her bare claws, I knew from experience that this all could be cla.s.sed as proves of love. It was very important to notice her receptiveness, as an early attempt to mount her could cause a bad a.s.sault on me. So I had no other choice but to sniff her treasure from the distance and flehm in fever.

After this extensive argy-bargy those who are foreign to our species might probably call it that the magic moment finally seemed to have come. b.l.o.o.d.y red, the sun ascended about the Basilica of Maxentius and dipped my saint and me into his halo. And when I mounted her and grabbed the fur at her neck with my teeth to immobilize her, I believed to feel Eros' presence, the very G.o.d among the many G.o.ds here, who really was

useful. (3) The birds began to sing, and on our climax Sancta and I joined in with hymnic screams. That was what I call a first-cla.s.s-vacation!