On my last day in London, I had an early breakfast and, following a pleasant stroll on Hampstead Heath, decided to have a last browse in Kensington Church Street. Leaving the train at Notting Hill Gate, my feet soon led me to Theophil’s Antiques.
Lucy had concluded the negotiations forthwith. The new owners transferred the stock in trade to one of their shops and removed the furniture. The building, which was to be put on the market following refurbishment, looked desolate. Gone were the tapestries, the illuminated books, the silver, the glass and the porcelain displayed in the show windows. The vacant rooms and bare floors, visible through the panes, announced ‘empty’. The signboard alone bore witness to the fact that this barren shell had once housed one of London’s famed antiques stores.
I looked at the building sadly. A chapter in my life had drawn to a close: a blissfully happy epoch of some ten years! My Peppi – the man of flesh and blood – had left this world. All the same, I knew that, as far as I was concerned, Peppi was still with me. His sound judgment in matters of mores and religion, his tolerance and his urbane outlook on life had left a lasting impression on me. They did so despite my suspicion – perhaps even knowledge – of the force behind Peppi. True, I still had my reservations about the existence of that force or being. All the same, I had sensed it and respected it from afar from my early childhood. Now, at long last, I was prepared to commit myself to it. But would that being – be it Theophil or Peppi’s spirit – give me the chance?
Downcast, I turned away from the shop, but at the last moment spotted a piece of paper protruding from beneath the front door. Instinctively, I approached and bent down to pick it up. In the process I brushed against the door. To my surprise, it gave way.
A sense of unreality, of trepidation, engulfed me as I entered. Dropping my umbrella into a stand that had been left behind, I walked slowly from room to room. Satisfied that the movers had done a conscientious job, I took the stairs leading to the second storey and, ignoring the chime of an inner warning bell, tried the handle of Peppi’s office. The door opened noiselessly. I stepped inside, my heart racing.
Peppi’s elegant desk and well-upholstered armchair were still in their place, as, indeed, was the visitor’s chair which I had occupied so many times since we had met. Without further thought I took my seat, rested my tired feet, and – just for a moment – closed my eyes.
When I opened them, Peppi was sitting across from me. He looked distinguished in the fine two-piece light blue suit, custom made by a tailor in Savile Row.
“You look great, Peppi. Thanks for the treasures you left me. I’ll cherish them.”
“I know. They’ll go well with some I gave you … under a different guise,” he replied, shaking my hand warmly. “And Peter’le, thanks for the information you got from Anna. Her encounter triggered off her metamorphosing from a light-hearted adolescent into a seriously minded young woman.”
“Did all this make sense to you?”
“Now, when all is clear, it does,” he nodded.
“But how could you – or Theophil – let this happen?”
“I had forgotten to lock the door. Poor Theophil – whom everybody blames for all wrongs in the Galaxy – is not always in command!”
“I am still baffled. I saw you taking hearty swigs from the same bottle. It’s true that a change came over you. Yet you remained Peppi!”
“But Peter’le, truth is in the eye of the beholder. You are a hardened rationalist. Even if you had witnessed a total change, you would have dismissed it from your … prejudiced … mind. Anna was in her teens – a mere child – and so she believed her eyes.”
“Anna’s hysterical reaction was underscored by the vicissitudes of puberty and of growing up,” I added. “Still, Peppi, I maintain that on all these occasions you remained yourself!”
“Except at the very moment contact was made. For just a second there was a sort of a … transition. If young Anna had arrived a minute later, she would have beheld her loving father, would have crept up behind him and yelled ‘boo’ in his ear, given him a kiss and returned triumphantly to her own bed!”
“What an unfortunate coincidence.”
“It was, rather. But even great events can be triggered by trivial causes!”
For a while we sat lost in thought. I was pondering on the unhappiness and suffering that a single moment had inflicted on my friend and on his daughter. Peppi, I sensed, was reflecting on the events of the last few days. In the end, it was I who broke the silence.
“Peppi, what is your reaction to Otto’s simplistic explanation of ‘good’ and ‘evil’?” I asked with some hesitation.
“It is dictated by his faith. Further, as an exercise in consistency, it is impressive.”
“Many years ago, in Munich, Theophil convinced Dad that ‘good’ and ‘evil’ were separated by a narrow, perhaps imperceptible, line! Well, Peppi, don’t you think the distinction is altogether illusory? The terms are relative. What is ‘good’ today may be ‘evil’ tomorrow. Further, what is ‘good’ for Tom may spell ‘evil’ for Dick and Harry.”
“Would you care to elaborate?” he asked with growing interest.
“How about King Sha’ul? His failure to annihilate the Amalekite women and children strikes me as decent and humane. But the poor chap lost his Kingdom for this purportedly horrid crime!”
“What would Otto’s reply be?”
“What the Bible says: disobedience is a sin, as is the very questioning of a divine command!”
“And your conclusion, Peter’le?”
“Both ‘good’ and ‘evil’ are relative terms. ‘Purposive’ [or utilitarian] and ‘counter-purposive’ are more to the point. The former engulfs anything that furthers a goal. The latter is anything that stands in its way. Let me illustrate the point: even love, when take to extremes, might become a prison. In most cases, passion fades, doesn’t it? This means that what begins as a passionate fire between husband and wife cools to ashes unless companionship and understanding replace it. Often this metamorphosis does not take place. Accordingly, what started as ‘good’ might turn to something undesirable and hence ‘counter-purposive’!”
“I agree. And how about Otto’s further conclusion that the Devil is ‘evil’ because he casts doubt on the goodness and omnipotence of the Good Lord, who is deemed the epitome of all that is ‘good’?”
“Except that, like the Devil, a rationalist is bound to question both the ‘goodness’ and the ‘omnipotence’ of the Good Lord.”
“Why?” asked Peppi.
“Because a rationalist refuses to accept a principle or rule without proof!”
“But Peter’le, who taught Rationalist Man to take such an assertive stand?”
“We know the answer; that is, if Mephisto exists.”
“You remain unconvinced,” he grinned.
“Why can’t he simply appear in front of me?!”
“Didn’t he speak to you?” For just a second Peppi let his irritation show. Then, in a milder tone, he added: “You, Peter’le, believe your eyes but doubt your ears. Still, will you be able to face him if he materialises in front of you?”
“Of course!” I let my own irritation show.
“Very well then. But, whatever happens, do not break our eye contact.”
Even as he spoke, a subtle change came over him. Initially, he remained Peppi as affected by a sip from his bottle. Then his face mutated, becoming elongated with protruding cheekbones and a firmly set chin. At the same time, the colour of his pupils and of his skin altered, assuming a reddish tinge; and his hands, arms and neck became sinewy, leathery. His figure, too, mutated from Peppi’s bulk to Friedrich Duval’s gaunt physique.
As this metamorphosis took place, my heartbeat grew faster and faster. As it progressed, I was overcome by waves of panic. My hands shook, my jaw tightened and beads of sweat formed on my brow. My mouth opened wide, but a remnant of sanity, abetted by pride, suppressed my scream of terror. Then, gradually, reason returned. My breath steadied, my hands regained their strength and the black circles in front of my eyes vanished.
“So, we have braved this storm, Peter’le,” Theophil spoke gently, affectionately.
“The voice is still the voice of Peppi but the shape is Friedrich Duval’s,” I said, surprised that my words were not hindered by a stammer.
“What a clever adaptation of Genesis 27:22,” he smiled benevolently.
“Peppi would not recognise the verse,” I countered, my gaze holding his. “And you are Mephisto, known to me as Theophil!”
“Who else, old friend?”
“It is you who under different guises has befriended me over the years. And during my ten years of friendship with Peppi, I formed a bond with him and tightened the commitment to you.”
“So you did; and you befriended him although you sensed, perhaps even knew, that the force behind Peppi was Theophil!”
“I sensed it. But I didn’t comprehend! But, you know, I owe you an apology,” I told him.
“Not for doubting my existence? You were quite rational there – even if perversely so. Still, dogma dies hard. But me’thinks you are contrite for yet some other reason.”
“I am ashamed of my idiotic reaction. Why on earth did I turn into a terrified child!”
“Your reaction was natural, or ‘as anticipated’. All in all, you under-reacted!”
“I thought I did the opposite. Looking rationally at what had happened, I fail to see what frightened me.”
“But is fear rational?”
“Fear is an instinctive reaction to danger: an in-built safeguard or warning device. But how does this explain my reaction to you? What made my nerves classify you as a threat? There is no ‘past experience’ to justify their reaction.”
“Simply put: your nerves treat the ‘unknown’ as dangerous. The precise answer is more complex. The human race is programmed to fear me because I am ‘evil’.”
“A genetic instinct?”
“Many instincts are! Fear of the dark is one. Fear of sudden change is another. You can call these instincts the human ‘self-preservation mechanism’. My presence induces Man to question his basic dogmas. Your instincts protect you against this ‘evil’ influence.”
“I understand; and you have to find ways to deal with this fear when you visit us in person.”
“Often.”
“Is why you are called ‘tricky’?”
“Precisely – and don’t you fear. I was not offended by our fair Lucy’s words. She spoke as programmed. She represents the human norm. You, with your incessant urge to question, are the exception. This is why I’ve been able to reveal myself to you without catastrophic repercussions.”
“Thank you,” I said, gratified by the implicit compliment.