BEUTELRATTE

Chapter 1

“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat.”

“Defeat!” cried that grey-haired man. “Aahan, my boy, I plan to win by losing.” He smirked as though he was the smartest man on earth. Aahan knew he wasn’t.

“Eureka!” exclaimed that gray-haired man. He was not gray-haired for age, although he was not so young either, he was gray-haired because he simply was. “What it is master, do say!” inquired Aahan out of curiosity, stopping his mopping the office. “I’ve got it Aahan! I’ve got it!” the man was so happy that he grabbed Aahan and pounced around the room with him.

“Master, your leg!” The master took no notice of his leg, which was bleeding from where it was bandaged: that was nearing the knee. The doctor said the wound will heal but he would always have a slight pain in that area and that would most probably cause him to limp a little in his walk.

Aahan sat him down and begun to clean the wound and prepared new bandages. “Aahan?” The master stared the young man into his eyes. He was being serious, but with a certain joy incased in his voice he whispered “I have to die.”

Chapter 2

He died.

The sky was depressing and threatened rain.

Below that sky, a casket was lowered into the ground.

Some cried. Some sobbed. Some wept. Some, except one.

Had he not covered himself exaggeratedly and having to protect his face as if from the wind, except there was no such wind as needed covering; had he not done this, he would be recognizable. He was incredibly famous, only being as famous as that gray-haired man that was being lowered into that ground. The two were the two-most-famous authors that lived at the time and in that place. Now there remained him- Alone.

Although he pretended to feel nothing- especially that his new assistant was standing next to him- he was undeniably quite troubled. He was troubled twice. The first trouble was that his life was now entering into another new emptiness. Fifteen years he had spent, contested with this man. That contest was to see who was to be the longest running best author. Fifteen years, he had won. The pleasure of the victory was derived from having someone to make sport of. Now there was nothing. 

A man is never as lonely as when his adversary departs. You see, true love is an enmity of sorts, it is in the very nature of things: that is, opposites attract, and even more that their existence is only truly defined in the existence of the other. Take light and darkness for example each needing the other but always destroying the other when they meet. 

He was alone.

The second trouble was that death reminded him of the very thing that had caused him to enter into that said contest. The death of his wife. Having made his mind busy year after year made him less likely to have to come to terms with her death.

Again, he was alone. Twice as trouble and twice as lonely.

His name was Dresden Coen Bilde.

Chapter 3

The next day. Not so far from the graveyard. The sky was less depressing. The clouds were clearing from yesterday’s rain.

Dr. Bilde’s office.

A scrawny figure made to cleaning the office. He was not much of a man, nor was he much to be mistaken for a woman. Quite frankly he was so scrawny and thinly that it was difficult to watch him without inducing the anxiety that he might break a bone or two by the mere act of him walking or doing a thing. Anything at all! It was not that he lacked food, nay it was only that he was.

It seemed yet that he had great empathy for he had more than noticed the feeling of his master, he had felt every word of which his master failed to say.

Dr. Bilde sat in his leather chair, assuming that position of deep thought, and around him was that vibe of melancholy.

In such a manner as was respectful and caring, he spoke to his master, "Sir, if I may, it is a sad thing that he died, and that of it so dreadfully."

 "It is indeed" replied his master. Dr. Bilde was halfway in this world and halfway in another.

"Shall I pour you a drink sir?"

The question seemed redundant for he was already halfway into pouring a drink. It was as if that scrawny creature could read his master's mind and indeed "Yes, indeed, do that" was Dr. Coen Bilde’s reply. Despite that it was still morning, the Doctor felt that need to drown in a drink. Or two or three.

He drank. And he slept.

Evening came and night came and morning came.

The Doctor rose to a bad headache. There was a pounding so great that it felt as if it begun from inside him but was surely head even outside. He had slept in his office. His loyal assistant, proving so loyal in such a time as a few weeks that he had just been hired, lay on opposite couch, probably engaged in some Indian dream.

He was interrupted by the groaning of his master.

Immediately he went from half a dream and into full work mode. He went for the dispenser and drew some water. “This should help you sir!” he arched and assisted his master to drink who was pressing at his temples. “How long did I sleep?”

“Give or take, 19 hours sir.” Replied the scrawny creature.

“Can I ask you something?” inquired Dr. Bilde. The tone was that of respect to friendship than of business. “Why not sir. Shoot!” The scrawny creature smiled. “I have this burning idea...Say, what if I dedicated the next fifteen years to promoting Kastner’s books? I have had my years of glory. It is only fair and fitting to give him what he so longed for if not alive, at least in death.”

“A brilliant idea sir." Said the scrawny creature. "And I know just where the funds could go as well, if you don’t mind me saying, that is." Dr. Bilde pulled himself up and smiled. “Not at all. Shoot!”

They both laughed.

They spent that whole morning planning and talking and getting to like each other. They spent the next fifteen years making good of those plans and making Johnno Kastner’s books the best-selling of each year.

Chapter 4

The sixteenth year was about to be over. Only a day remained. It was New Year’s Eve.

Dr. Dresden Coen Bilde was old but felt in his soul to be filled with that youthfulness that comes with generosity. He felt as if he had lived up to the very act of his Christianity; that is to say that he had finally understood those great words as to say "Love your enemies". And more than understood them, he felt as though he had lived them. He felt as though he had indeed lived.

He was sat at his favorite coffee shop and was sipping at a warm cup. Those that knew of this hidden place that he liked to come to often sneaked in and to meet Dr. Bilde.

In that context, Dr. Bilde imagined that that man that came towards his table was aiming for the same thing. A part of him didn’t want to be disturbed but another part of him desired company. Coming with this man was his loyal assistant who had gone to grab a cup of coffee of his own.

As the two got closer, the Doctor noticed that the man was as old as him and dressed in a certain glamour as if he was going for an important meeting. His hair was gray but not of old age and he had a limp in his walk. The man seemed ghostly familiar.

The man came straight for the opposite chair and sat in it. He motioned to that scrawny creature as if he owned him and said calmly. “Do grab a sit Aahan. You have done well.”

 “Have we met?" Asked Dr. Bilde.

"Indeed we have,” replied the old man gently, with such a sinister smile, “I am dead."

Johnno Kastner wasn't dead.