„To hell with my reputation!
I need a job!
I need an income!
I am bursting with envy when I see your beautiful wives, your noble automobiles, and your expensive country houses.“
G. B. Shaw
„The Doctor’s Dilemma“, Act I
(Dr. Ridgeon)
The Ambassador’s Cat ► An erotic tale by Gerhard-Stefan Neumann …►
The old ambassador felt wretched, weary, and worn out. Lately, he had found himself longing for the end of his days more and more often. His young wife, Eva, was of little help in this regard even though he loved her dearly and was absolutely certain of her love. The fact that she had numerous young lovers changed nothing in this respect.
Even though Eva would amuse herself at least once a week with one of these young gentlemen at some utterly trivial ball in one of the capital’s embassies, her elderly husband was not in the least bit jealous. On the contrary, he encouraged Eva’s passion to the best of his ability and knew every one of her lovers personally. After all, they were all diplomats just like him. He knew exactly when a new affair began, when it reached its peak, when it waned, and when it was finally time for him to introduce his wife to a new, suitable admirer.
As always, the old ambassador sat in his wheelchair at his favorite spot in the small garden perched high above the island’s cliffs. This solitary, tiny, and exceedingly picturesque island was his private residence. He had secured this retreat from the Chancellor in distant Berlin when he first assumed the ambassadorship in the capital of the small South Sea archipelago decades ago. In the view of the great old Chancellor in Berlin, this assignment was meant to be the aged ambassador’s final official act. Yet, the old fox would merely chuckle softly behind his hand whenever he thought of that powerful Chancellor back home:
„Let him sit in his feudal palace,“ the seasoned envoy wheezed into his fine damask handkerchief; „we shall see who outlasts whom.“
Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult for the ambassador with each passing day; his aging eyes had all but lost their sight, and moving about under his own power had long since become impossible for him. Joseph, his servant grey-haired and dignified attended to his essential needs and wheeled him out to the garden on the island’s cliffs every morning, or whenever his master desired. Her constant companion throughout the years was Eva a loyal and affectionate Ancient Egyptian temple cat, a breed of exceptional nobility and rarity.
From there, the old diplomat would watch – through an equally ancient telescope the modern freighters and steamships that populated the horizon in ever-increasing numbers. And, as always, the cat would stretch out contentedly, purring on her master’s lap; she was clearly relishing life and enjoying the ambassador’s affectionate attention. Throughout all those years, Eva the cat remained loyal to her master. Not even the animal’s occasional long excursions could alter that bond. Yet, whenever the beautiful creature reappeared after a prolonged absence, the ambassador’s physical health would improve abruptly. That is why he did not hold her back when she suddenly broke off her doze, beamed at him with green eyes—a look at once meaningful and knowing leaped from his lap, and vanished into the rocky cliffs.
Just as he increasingly turned his attention inward as if to ensure he would notice the arrival of Old Man Death in good time he would also listen to the sound of the waves crashing against the island’s shore, a good hundred and fifty meters below. He delighted in the amorous play of the seagulls, watching the daring, spectacular feats of flight with which they circled him, his residence, his garden, and the entire island.
The ambassador held a special love for his garden. It had been laid out and tended by local gardeners with meticulous attention to his own plans and sketches. Even today, many years later, major repairs or alterations of any kind may only be carried out following detailed consultations with His Excellency. The ambassador was in the habit of speaking about his garden in a manner that was both double-edged and ambiguous:
„Even when this world is long gone, my garden and I will be one the garden above, I below.“ It was not merely because his pet cats members of the rare ancient Egyptian temple breed had found their final resting place in a secluded corner of the grounds; no, two of his wives had also been laid to rest in this idyllic spot over the decades.
Occasionally, unsettling feelings would rise up in the old man, especially when he thought with horror of the massive, portly though, fortunately for him, long-departed ladies who had once held his heart. With Eva, his current wife, things were naturally quite different; she was a rare stroke of luck – a true jewel. Tall and slender, highly intelligent, and young – a full fifty years his junior – with subtle curves and shoulder-length reddish hair, she was the woman he had always longed for, even if she did not belong to him alone. But what did that matter? Her mere presence sweetened the isolation and solitude of this outpost of global diplomacy.
Every bone in his weary, exhausted body ached, and he could barely keep himself upright in his wheelchair. He drew the fresh Pacific air deep into his lungs, always hoping the brisk breeze might restore a measure of the physical vigor he had once possessed. He also yearned deeply for Eva’s embraces. Yet that hope remained unfulfilled; the end seemed to be drawing ever closer.
Joseph was well aware of his elderly master’s wretched condition and suffered alongside him – especially as he realized the extent and pace of the ambassador’s physical decline. He would therefore shuffle over as quickly as his own infirmities allowed, bringing his master the equally ancient telescope. „Thank you, Joseph,“ the old man murmured, mounting the instrument onto the hastily provided tripod to steady both the telescope and his trembling hand. What the old man saw seemed to bring him profound joy; an ineffable sense of happiness spread through his frail, emaciated frame, rejuvenating him by ten, twenty, perhaps even thirty years – the ambassador was, quite literally, awakening to a new life.
The ambassador’s figure straightened and grew taut; the countless wrinkles in his skin vanished, and his pallid complexion took on a healthy tan. His lank, unhealthy-looking, yellowish, and disheveled hair turned a radiant, silvery white – a mane that would have done credit to an ancient Greek philosopher. Joseph had witnessed this incredible transformation before. Each time, he suffered alongside the old man from distant Europe; and whenever it occurred, not only did an inexplicable death take place on that lonely island, but Joseph’s own body would also mirror that of his master. At first, this frightened him. Yet he soon forgot his fear, especially since the ambassador would merely laugh in astonishment and ask, with curious interest, which young girl Joseph had spent the last few nights with. In his many years of service, Joseph had learned to remain silent, to serve, and to enjoy.
Buoyed by the old man’s newfound euphoria, Joseph felt his own spirits soar; he thought with delight of the new, coffee-skinned beauty who had for some days been responsible for the Envoy’s breakfast and five-o’clock tea. Joseph’s face – weathered by the sun of his homeland and etched by the storms of life – beamed as he thought of his beloved: of her shapely long legs, her firm thighs, her slender hips, and above all, the womanly curve of her backside – features that had often tempted Joseph to offer some small token of affection, only for him to be rebuffed with a pert, „Now, now, Grandfather…“
That was all about to change; of this, Joseph was certain. The radiant smile in His Excellency’s flashing, steel-blue eyes confirmed it. He would kiss every square centimeter of his beloved’s skin, clasp the girl’s waist and never let her slip away – to say nothing of her lush, deeply feminine bosom – and he imagined burying his face in it. And he wondered by how many decades his own life’s clock might be turned back, here in the shadow of his master’s rejuvenation.
An energetic wave of the hand from the diplomat—now blossoming with new life – jerked him rather brusquely back to reality. „Just look, Joseph,“ His Excellency cried delightedly. „Yes, look very closely; they have found each other and they are in love – at last, the moment has come.“ With an elegant, sweeping gesture, he handed the glass to the servant and signaled for him to look through it. Far below, in the dreamlike, beautiful cove nestled between the cliffs, Eva – the ambassador’s wife – was enjoying herself with an exceptionally handsome, tall, young blond man. „It is your First Secretary, Horvath, Excellency,“ Joseph blurted out in surprise. „Yes, Joseph, I have known about it for quite some time,“ the ambassador confirmed, adding calmly:
„I was the one who introduced the young man to her, and I believe he is quite useful for our purposes.“
The young couple – who, even from that distance, seemed made for each other – had already shed all their clothes and were swimming in the Pacific waves just as God had created them: an innocent, joyful, carefree, and perhaps even somewhat childishly playful pair of lovers. As Eva’s uninhibited, happy laughter echoed up the rock faces and she yielded ever more willingly to the naked youth’s advances, her husband seemed to gain new stature and substance:
„Joseph,“ he said, turning to his servant, „may God be my witness and forgive me, but this young man is our salvation from the Lord of Eternal Darkness.“ He spoke these words while stretching his arms toward the blazing sun, thanking the advocates and benefactors across the infinite reaches of the universe for his rebirth. At that very moment, down on the archipelago’s golden-yellow sands, his deeply beloved Eva was uniting with the athletic, toned body of that extraordinarily handsome blond youth from distant Europe. And just before the moment of their mutual, liberating climax, Eva opened her eyes and glanced up toward the edge of the seemingly insurmountable cliffs; there, she saw her husband. Standing tall and upright – thanks to her – he had cast off his sorrowful former self and risen to a new, more meaningful existence.
Yet Eva did not merely give; she also took – taking the most precious thing her young lover had to offer – and she took it for her husband. At the very moment he surrendered himself – will-less in her arms – to his ultimate destiny, thereby fulfilling his life’s purpose, two brilliant, blinding white flashes shot from Eva’s beautiful green eyes up the face of the cliff; they pierced and illuminated the Ambassador as if in a thunderstorm, made him glow with the most dazzling colors of this world, and finally vanished on the horizon just as swiftly as they had appeared. A short while later – as if by providence or the stagecraft of a skilled magician – deep darkness descended upon the island’s cliffs, and in an instant, it was the dead of night…
In high spirits, composed, indeed truly cheerful and almost light-footed, the young-yet-old Ambassador made his way toward his bedchamber. Naturally, his faithful servant Joseph had already prepared everything for a restful night – including the customary glass of warm milk intended to lull his master into a state of cozy, relaxed slumber – yet His Excellency was certain he would have no need for that milk, delicious though it always was, on this particular night. With a deliberate gesture, he threw open the massive double doors to his bedroom with both hands, allowing himself to be embraced by the light, the warmth, the friendship, and the love:
He was greeted by a halo of golden beams of light that enveloped him, the room, and the bed, as if he and the entire space were meant to become part of their immense radiance. And then he saw his beloved – the cat. Purring contentedly, the beautiful ancient Egyptian temple cat stretched out on the fine linens; her eyes glowed like giant phosphorescent stones, and tiny white flashes were reflected in her irises. „Eva, my little darling,“ the ambassador whispered happily, kneeling by the bedside and caressing the noble animal with great tenderness. After a while of affectionate companionship, the envoy noticed traces of blood on the animal’s claws; as he looked into the cat’s eyes – questioning yet deeply troubled – his own past was mirrored within them. A short while later, as the diplomat prepared to retire for the night, the cat snuggled into his arms and gazed lovingly at him with large green eyes…
The thunderstorm did not come as a surprise; in a way, he had hoped for it and longed for its arrival, for it promised deliverance from his suffering and would restore his hope and confidence. It would renew him and offer him a fresh chance at life. Yet, in its violence and intensity, this storm was louder and more menacing than any that had come before. Fear seized the ambassador, causing him to start up in alarm.
At that very moment, the door to his bedchamber burst open with a loud crash, and a figure clad entirely in white entered the room, surrounded by a radiant halo of supernatural white – indeed, almost blinding – light. „Eva,“ the ambassador stammered, startled, delighted, and surprised all at once. „How wonderful, my beloved, that you are finally here.“ Eva remained silent. She seemed to float rather than walk, coming to a halt beside his bed. With a barely perceptible movement of her shoulders, she let her robe slip to the floor, revealing herself to her husband in all her wondrous beauty – exactly as her Creator had made her.
He welcomed her with open arms, and she silenced his questioning lips with a long, tender kiss. And the deeper he penetrated her body, the more the vital spirit of the young First Secretary – who had passed away far too soon – took possession of his frame. And they made love through the long night…
The next morning, shortly after breakfast, the ambassador sent for his servant to dispatch a personal telegram to his superior, the Chancellor. When the servant entered, he saw his master standing by one of the large windows, staring almost motionless out at the vast expanse of the Pacific. „Joseph,“ he said to his servant, „please ensure that this telegram reaches His Excellency, the Chancellor, with the utmost urgency. Berlin must notify the family of Secretary Horvath, who met with such a tragic end. It is a tragedy.“
„Yes, Mr. Ambassador,“ the servant agreed sympathetically, „it is a tragedy. Those swimming accidents are truly terrible. That makes three deaths during your tenure now.“ As he turned to leave, he noticed the ambassador holding his cat. „Oh,“ the servant exclaimed with delight, „Eva is back, too.“ „Yes, Joseph,“ the diplomat replied happily, „Eva is quite the wanderer, but fortunately, she always comes back.“ „Yes, it is truly a stroke of luck,“ the servant agreed, and left to send the telegram. And the cat purred most contentedly, stretched out in her master’s arms, nuzzled his hands, and tenderly stroked his cheeks with her little head. Her eyes beamed at him. They were wonderful green eyes.
The ambassador turned away from the window and back to his desk. He smiled, appearing supremely happy and well-rested, his demeanor balanced and composed. It was nothing short of a miracle – the elderly diplomat, once seemingly succumbing to the ravages of age, had been transformed into a vigorous, youthful-looking, and stately man in his mid-fifties. The ambassador’s gaze settled on the wall opposite:
Hanging there was a portrait of Eva, his beloved wife. It was a nude study depicting Eva with her cat. The ambassador adored this painting; he could – and often did – spend hours gazing at it. It was not merely because it showed his wife unclothed and life-sized, or because the cat she held in her arms offered only the scantest coverage of her magnificent, deeply feminine torso; no, it was the eyes of the subjects that held the ambassador so utterly spellbound:
Whenever the ambassador and the cat found themselves alone, the diplomat would take a chair and – with the cat cradled in his arms – contemplate the portrait of his wife. And it was rarely long before those two beloved pairs of eyes in the painting began to glow, raining down tiny white bolts of lightning upon the man who held the cat.
Far away in Berlin, the Chancellor stood on the balcony of his official residence – stooped, his hands clasped behind his back – contemplating the bustling activity of the city, which was rapidly growing into a metropolis of millions. He, too, was weary of his office and felt utterly unequal to the tasks that lay ahead. And then, to make matters worse, there was Hermine. Hermine was his wife, a souvenir from his time as „chargé d’affaires“ at the Austrian court in Vienna. But that was a long time ago; the Hermine of today shared about as much in common with the spoiled, merry, and vivacious Imperial-Royal princess of yesteryear as an old sailing schooner did with the colossal „MS Imperator“ – the ship scheduled to depart Hamburg for its maiden voyage to New York any day now.
Moreover, Hermine was hardly the model of a faithful wife. Yet that would have bothered the elderly Chancellor little, had her current lover not happened to be a rather vacuous man-about-town and actor. „If only she had chosen a government councillor or a colonel – no, it had to be a stage hero,“ the old Chancellor grumbled into his beard, which had turned grey with dignity.
The telegram from his friend, the ambassador, still lay on his massive desk. And one thought had been occupying him the entire time – refusing to let go, haunting his mind incessantly:
He could visit the homeland of his ancestors, live a life without Hermine, simply resign, be young again, visit the islands of the South Seas, and enjoy the twentieth century – still in its pristine infancy – to the fullest… for better or worse, and… and…
The Chancellor stood before the portrait of his great-grandfather – the founder of the family dynasty – and the two men gazed at one another. One – the Chancellor – was contemplative, questioning, searching, and alive; the other – the great-grandfather in the painting – was experienced and fully aware of his great-grandson’s troubles. In his arms, the figure in the painting held a particularly noble and beautiful cat: an ancient Egyptian temple cat. Cats of this distinctive breed had been kept by the dynasty since time immemorial and were deeply revered by the family.
The Chancellor, too, loved these magnificent creatures; whenever possible, he would gaze at the painting, allowing himself to be captivated by the eyes of the temple cat depicted within it. After a period of intense contemplation, time and space seemed to merge; the present and future ceased to matter, and the elements of life in the here and now blended with the entirely new and unknown values of a vastly different world.
When the Chancellor’s aide-de-camp entered the study, he was so startled he nearly suffered a heart attack. The vast room was filled with a gentle, mild sea breeze, and the officer thought he could hear music drifting in from a great distance:
The soft melodies of the South Seas, the surf of the Pacific, and the swaying of palm trees. Yet, there was no trace of the Chancellor. On the desk, the aide found nothing but the Chancellor’s letter of resignation – no other clue, no message. As he looked around the room, he was struck with sheer disbelief:
Where the portrait of the great-grandfather had always hung, the Chancellor now gazed back at him, holding a cat with luminous green eyes in his arms. And as the officer lightly touched the picture, he discovered, to his unspeakable horror, that the paint on the painting was not yet completely dry …
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