Follow Me If You Want

Prologue Thursday,13th August 2020 «At last I get it» repeats a man to himself as he walks uncertainly along Avenida da Liberdade; in his hand an old brown leather folder. The dim lights of the evening surround the figure of mystery, a cool breeze from the sea is channelled through the streets of Lisbon. The rattling of the elevador da Gloria, the funicular that climbs from the Baixa on one of the hills of the Portuguese capital, booms. The old man leans on the stick with one hand, with the other he grabs the pole to go up; in the attempt the folder opens and the content falls to the ground. A tall boy, dressed in black, helps him collect the scattered papers, not without first having a peek at the top sheet. The strange yellow vehicle starts, suddenly slows down, almost stops, it seems unable to reach the top, then with a snort it resumes the climb. The man pretends to look out the window, actually observes the other passengers: he stares worriedly at the young man who helped him. The Barrio Alto is picturesque for tourists, but walking through those poorly lit alleys is not reassuring even for a master of Krav Maga, the fighting art of the Israeli army. The old man accelerates his pace, until someone in rua do Norte grabs him from behind. «Italian? Dinner with a fado show?» Talking about one of those “pullers” who are stationed outside the typical places; this is actually not a restaurant for tourists, but Adega Machado, the oldest Casa do Fado in Lisbon. «No thank you, I'm not hungry.» The waiter insists by showing photos of old performances by Amália Rodrigues and Marceneiro, famous fadists, unknown to most. «Fado is like jazz: beautiful music, which you would never stop listening to ... but only for the first three minutes» thinks the man. Besides, he doesn't have time to eat the usual cod while listening to that sad Portuguese chant. With a jerk he moves away from the room. The wind seems to blow him up a dark slope to an all-blue building. «Open up, we're back,» he yells at the half-open window on the second floor. A decidedly overweight young man comes down the stairs two by two. He comes panting to the front door. «Your holiness.» A long bow accompanies the man's entrance. «Close the door! They followed us.» «It's safe here. We will protect your sacred person with our lives.» The elderly man has known Bruxa for some time, the chief contact person for Portugal of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, the neo-pagan order of which he is the undisputed leader, and he knows well that what he says must be calibrated. He is convinced that at the first difficulty Bruxa will run over to the enemy and does not hide it. «Rats, and sometimes commanders, are the first to escape from the sinking ship.» He puts his hat on an armchair, continuing to hold the leather briefcase in his hand. «I found that…» he stops. «Are you at home?» Tell her immediately to come to us.” «Of course, your holiness. We run in front of her.» «No, just her! You take care of setting up a hot bath.» «Very good. Your every wish is an order.» Behind that obsequious manner, the Lusitanian Adeptus Exemptus hides a petty soul. Bruxa in turn turns to a woman, who has been standing by the arrival of the elderly man. «Prepare a hot bath for the highest!» «Why does he want to report her findings only to her?» Bruxa reflects, walking towards the room on the second floor. She knocks lightly. «Yes, who are you?» «Bruxa. Your holiness wants to confer with you.» The door opens. «I'll go up to him immediately. Come with me?» «No, he wishes to speak to you alone. I will go to the temple to feed the sacred fire.» «Make sure you don't turn it off like a month ago,» she points out, closing the door. A large fireplace lights up the ceremonial room; on the sides the statuettes of Jupiter and Aesculapius, above a larger one of Helios, the sun god. Bruxa adds some branches collected in the natural park of Gerês; she sweats in front of the fire. Meanwhile, the girl enters the room of Magus Ipsissi- mus, the absolute head of the Hermetic Order. «My lord, were you looking for me?» «Come here, my star.» The elderly man is sitting in an armchair, tired from the long walk. «Now you can give me the you: Bruxa is not here. You seem so kind, but I'm sure you would be ready to suck my blood if I looked away.» She crouches in front of him on a huge pillow resting on the carpet. «In these months of research in the library I have understood one fundamental thing: I was convinced there were two and instead ... There are three!» The girl knows what she refers to and she repeats in amazement: «Three?" «That's right!» she exclaims the supreme spiritual guide. «Did you find out what was written on it?» «Many years ago I saw that text, for a few moments, then it disappeared. I have not yet understood who had engraved those words.» «Who?» She encourages him to continue. The man waves a paper in front of her face. «An emperor!» the old man stops and looks around. «But they found me. A boy a little while ago on the elevator.» «What happened?» she asks worriedly. «I know he was sent to them. They are here!» «They won't leave us alone until you give them…» she comments. «Never. I'd rather die.» «Don't say that ... I'm curious: can I see?» The man caresses the girl's face, she refrains from moving away from her. «Just tell me…» «Patientia animi occultas divitias habet.» «Is it a quote from Cicero?» Or maybe Seneca?» she asks. «It is one of the sententiae of Publilius Syrus: He who has patience has a great hidden treasure.» Then he continues: «The way to truth is long and tortuous for him: it must be taken one step after another ... Now I'm tired. I want to take a nice bath.» She stands up. «I respect your will, I leave you to your ablutions, your holiness.» He shakes his head. «Don't be like that, my sweet. I've been doing research for years ... Waiting one more day doesn't change anything.» Once the girl has gone out, Magus Ipsissimus undresses and enters the personal bathroom with the paper in his hand. He turns on the cassette player, an heirloom from the last century, and puts in a cassette that he himself had prepared in the 90s. He throws some bergamot salts into the tub, lights a candle and lies down in the tub. Part of a little-known piece by Angelo Branduardi who sings a poem by Yeats, the only Nobel laureate who has been part of the Hermetic Order: Sento che troverò il mio fato in un luogo tra le nuvole lassù; coloro ch’io combatto io non odio,coloro ch’io difendo io non amo… [I feel that I will find my fate in a place in the clouds up there; I do not hate those I fight, those whom I defend I do not love…] The music stops suddenly. The darkness hides a stealthily entered figure. «What are you doing? Who are you?» Two hands push it to the chest. The elderly man tries to get up from the tub, in vain. «I won't tell you anything. You can also ...» Then he glances at his precious notes left on the sink, and finally, in the soft light of the ginger-scented candle, he recognizes his face. At that point he stops reminding himself: «Divine will be done». The man lets himself slip under the water, the intruder holds him on his chest and head. He is drowning, but he is not distracted, he does not open his mouth in a desperate and useless gesture of searching for air. With his eyes open he looks at whoever is killing him and smiles. Yes, he smiles. Unexpectedly, the mysterious figure lifts the man still alive from the tub and leaves the room. The Magus dries, dresses carefully. Finally he presses again play: Ho soppesato tutto, valutato ogni cosa, gli anni a venire parvero uno spreco di fiato, spreco di fiato gli anni del passato, in bilico con questa vita, questa morte. [I weighed everything, evaluated everything, the years to come seemed a waste of breath, a waste of breath the years of the past, in the balance with this life, this death.] The man has a shiver of cold when he opens the window overlooking the inner courtyard. Then a sharp thud. Blood spills on the pavement. Lying on the ground, he still has the strength to pronounce a word, only one: «Gudrun.»