[Tuesday, 23-1-2018 (Cancer): A bright, shiny day with new experiences. Enjoy your path, even if it's rocky. Steer away from conflicts that make you restless. There is a lot more to your surroundings than you are currently aware of.]
"The card of Temperance. Lovely. It means «Effortlessly, the angel brings a balance between air, water and fire». The card shows water flowing from one cup to another, standing for internal conflict in a search for synergy and harmony. It looks like today's goal is the criminal with the code name Fish Dish. Fish, water, and air, plus the fire of the Maltese cross, it all points toward…"
I finish Shirley's sentence: "Maltatal, the Valley of Falling Waters. My spiPhone gives me all the info we need: «Thanks to the High Tauern, Maltatal has more waterfalls than any other valley in Austria. Welcome to the Grand Hotel Maltatal, on the bank near the barrage of the artificial lake. In our five-star restaurant, we have 100 different ways to eat trout.» High in the air, full of water and the cooking fire to prepare a balanced Fish Dish. The chef of the Grand Hotel Maltatal is our man, Shirley."
Shirley thinks aloud: "The element of Fire might also indicate the Zodiac sign of the man we're looking for. If the choice is between the fire-signs of Sagittarius, Leo or Aries, the latter stands out. Aries combines energy, courageous pioneers, aggression, high places, and adventurous recklessness. They stand for initiative and leadership, while synergy is high on their list of goals."
"Destroying the world is synergy?"
"When you see synergy as «being part of a group that aims at something so immense that you can't possibly achieve it by yourself», it's enough to motivate any criminal Aries to join a gang. But we shouldn't jump to conclusions. Leo is also a leader, and Sagittarius is known for his love of the outdoors. Let's see which Tarot-cards form the arms and the hands of the Maltese cross."
Shirley turns the next cards on our breakfast table while she explains their meaning: "North is the Chariot. That means «a victory after a great ambition» but it can also indicate that we'll need a vehicle to get there. The eight of batons: full steam ahead. Cups, cups, cups, cups, cups… Cups stand for water… Perhaps it's not an Aries but a water sign we're after… Fish Dish… Pisces would be logical."
"Would you eat yourself? Or would you be the fire that prepares the fish? I say we go for the Chef, but we have to run or we'll miss our Chariot: the 08:45 bus to Gmünd."
* * *
In Gmünd, we take another bus. This one takes us into the valley of Maltatal, but not all the way up to the lake. Halfway, it stops at a gate. End of the line. We have to get out and walk the rest.
"It would have been better to rent a car or take a taxi. How far is that lake? There's snow up there and the radio said it's going to rain. Do you want to end up in a blizzard?", I complain.
"It's only eighteen kilometres. If you stop whining and start walking, we'll be there around lunchtime. Come on, my dear Watson. It's cold. We have to keep moving, and there's no better way to move than by taking a walk through Austria's most beautiful nature."
"Right now, I would prefer to see that beautiful nature from the back of a car.", I grunt, but I don't have a choice and follow Shirley, who's already on her way. Shirley doesn't waste time. She strides at a steady pace. I have difficulty, keeping up with her. For her, this is easy. She was born here. Austrians are used to climbing until they reach the top. Shirley has had over 68 years of experience. She has a lot of energy. I don't. I'm tired. The other night, I had a nightmare. I didn't sleep well. It's normal that I'm exhausted. How long since we left the bus? An hour and a half already. I wonder if there's a place where we can have coffee. I need some sugar, energy to go on, a pancake with syrup or… what's the name of that Austrian dish I had last week? It was delicious! Oh, how would I like to eat it now. I can even smell it here…
"What's the name of that dish, Shirley? It looks like pancakes, but it's all crumbs, and you eat it with raisins, sugar, and strawberry compote."
"Kaiserschmarrn. They have it right there, in that little restaurant. Why? You can't be hungry. We've had breakfast two hours ago. The most important meal of the day, my dear Watson, gives you all the energy you'll need until lunchtime. After a decent breakfast, you won't long for high-calorie in-betweens like Kaiserschmarrn."
"It wasn't a suggestion for ordering and eating it. I smelled it, but couldn't remember the name. But it's coffee time, and we won't run into many other places where we can have a break and shelter from this freezing-cold wind. So, if you don't mind interrupting our uphill marathon for a five-minute coffee break…"
Shirley shakes her head: "If you want to save the world, you'll have to give up lots of things, my dear Watson. Begin with giving up excuses. You're young and fit. If you can't keep up with me, train more and eat better. It doesn't matter what you want to do: if you want to be great at it, you have to love it and be prepared to make sacrifices for it. So stop being a crybaby and stop looking for excuses. We have a world to save and we can't do it behind a cup of coffee…"
"You're right, Shirley, as always, and I'm ashamed of myself, but I'm also tired and cold. The owners of this restaurant need to make a living too… Is it absolutely necessary to suffer as much as we can? Or is it okay if we save the world and enjoy ourselves while we're doing it?"
Shirley stops, looks back, and shows some mercy: "Okay. Five minutes for a coffee won't harm us. You're right. Let's go inside."
The bar is warm but empty. I shout: "Good morning!" to draw the attention of anyone present.
From the kitchen, a woman's voice responds: "Good morning." She sticks her head around the corner and says: "Take a seat. I'll be right there. Just a minute."
Shirley hangs her coat on a peg on the wall and goes to the bathroom. Why anyone would like to live in an isolated place like this? In the summer, it might be busy, but I wonder if three months of business would be enough to make a year's income. Perhaps they need little. The river provides fish, the forest provides meat, there's room enough for a vegetable garden and a henhouse, firewood and freshwater are everywhere… Some couples are just happy with each other's company and a quiet life. Could I live like this, in a deserted place, like pioneers in the Far West? I'd survive, but… I wouldn't be happy here. I need a challenge, a goal, a dream to live for. Perhaps it's different if you're married.
Shirley takes her place next to me at the bar. She smells like soap and smiles: "How many friends and family members do you have on the birthday calendar in your bathroom?"
"I don't know. My parents have fifty or sixty. They have over twenty birthdays in just the two months of April and May."
"Lovely. Before my house burnt down, I had almost one hundred birthdays on my calendar. Here, they have one: Raphaela Bischofshofen, on the fifth of April. Perhaps they have a good memory."
Suddenly, I get a strange feeling: "What makes you think it's a «they» who live here?"
Shirley looks puzzled: "In a desolated place like this, I would expect a couple. Don't you? Would you like to live alone, this far away from everything?"
"What kind of person would live alone here? A strange, solitary person who isn't particularly fond of the rest of the world? Someone who hates the world enough to destroy it? What sign of the Zodiac has someone who's born on the 5th of April?"
"Aries.", Shirley says, and something else bothers her too: "That smell, coming out of the kitchen… That's not Kaiserschmarrn. That's burnt Kaiserschmarrn."
I run to the door and look into the kitchen: "She's gone!"
I run to the window, just in time to see a fat woman running away. She disappears behind the corner of the path that leads uphill.
"It's her. Raphaela Bischofshofen. She's the fish killer. She escapes. But I'm faster.", I shout while I run to the door, through the kitchen, out of the back door, and back to the front. The path is steep, but I'm young and fit, a trained professional, warmed up by a rough 'n' tough hour of hiking, followed by a brief break to get my breath back. The woman, Raphaela, is fat and not used to any kind of exercise. She has a head start, but I can catch up with her, in about five minutes… if she keeps following this path…
When I reach the corner of the path, I expect to see her, but the trees and the undergrowth are too heavy to see through. The good thing is that she couldn't have left the path. I'm running out of breath. The continuous climbing forces me to lower my speed. The path snakes between some enormous rocks and a cliff. I hear a waterfall. The river that runs alongside the restaurant falls off the cliff right in front of me. I can see the water. But I still can't see Raphaela.
The path is almost horizontal now. I run the last steps towards the water. On both sides of the stream, there's a field. There's Raphaela, on the other side. She's riding a donkey. She looks at me over her shoulder and waves goodbye with a radiant smile. What do I do? Do I swim to the other side? The water is ice cold. Do I take the risk of freezing to death in my wet clothes, or do I go downstream until I find a bridge? Can I outrun a donkey? It's useless. She's escaped.
No. I can still outsmart her. The path, the complete valley, leads to only one destination: the barrage, the lake, and the Grand Hotel Maltatal. The path must lead to the road. She will either stop a car and go down, or get stuck at the hotel. If we're fast, we can go back to the bus stop; all we have to do is wait for her.
I turn to go back, just in time to see Shirley coming out of the woods: "She's escaped on a donkey. We have to go back."
Shirley looks around and sees what I failed to see: three other donkeys, standing close to the cliff, eating grass, and looking stupid.
"We can't let her escape. When she gets to the road, we'll never see her again. We have to follow her. It's our only chance.", Shirley says. She takes the closest donkey, pads her on the back, unties the rope, fastens it like a leash, and jumps on the animal's back: "Come on. Don't stand there. She's getting away."
Riding a donkey? Cautiously, I come nearer. Shirley's already on the bank of the river. Her animal isn't afraid of the cold water and it isn't deep either. In no time, they are on the other side.
"Go after her. I will follow.", I shout. I turn around, step in a pile of horse product, slip…
The name of the stuff I'm sitting in comes out of my mouth, but I have no time to clean up, I have to keep going, I can't leave Shirley running after a dangerous criminal while I'm here getting my shit together, I mean, she'll be in deeper shit than I am, I mean… Rostov! And my horoscope for today promised me a bright, shiny day with a lot of new experiences.
One of the two remaining donkeys runs away when he sees me. His sister can't escape, as she's tied to a stake in the field. I fasten the rope like a leash, just like I saw Shirley do it, pull the head of the donkey in the right direction, jump on her back, and shout: "Hey!"
The donkey doesn't move.
I click my heels into her sides: the donkey doesn't move.
I take the long end of the rope and slap it against her back: still no movie.
I step down and pull the leash. The donkey pulls back. She's stronger and more stubborn than I am.
I break a branch from a tree, clear it from leaves and hit the donkey on her behind, while I shout: "Hey! Move! Forward! Start! Go!"
I'm out of vocabulary, but the donkey still doesn't move one foot. I'm getting nervous now. Shirley's still waiting for me on the other bank of the river: "Come on, Watson. Raphaela is getting away. Stop playing dumb ass and start moving. We don't have all day."
I slap the donkey again and again, while I shout back: "She doesn't move."
Shirley puts her hand in her bag, takes something orange out of it, and throws it to me: "Catch. How do you motivate others to move their ass? By wielding the stick of punishment? A compliment and a carrot-reward work better. You have a lot to learn, my dear Watson."
I catch the carrot and throw the stick away. I apologise to the donkey, feed her the carrot with one hand and caress her gently on the head with the other, while I whisper in her ear: "Good girl. Can you help me catch the ugly, fat lady who ran off with your sister? If you do, and if we catch her, I'll give you a bucket full of carrots. I promise."
She moves her head up and down, telling me in the international language of gestures that I should take my seat, fasten my seatbelt, and prepare for take-off. They won't serve any drinks during our flight. I hop on board. We cross the river and join the formation with Shirley and my ride's sister.
The path goes steep uphill. We've lost precious time, but the donkeys are strong and fast. Raphaela weighs more than Shirley and I together. Her donkey should be tired by now. We should see them in front of us any minute.
What we see in front of us, is a tarmac road. Left goes down, to the bus stop and Gmünd. Right goes up, to the Grand Hotel and the lake.
"Down. The hotel is a dead end.", I suggest.
"Up. She didn't climb this mountain to go down again. She's gone to the hotel, to hide there. Aries. Remember?", Shirley says.
"What do we do? Split up?"
"Whatever, but we should do it fast. She's getting away."
I look around. There HAS to be a clue. Downhill, there's a tunnel. Uphill, I can see the road for about 50 metres until the next curve. No donkey dropping on either side. I listen carefully. Birds and bees are buzzing a bestial version of Die Zauberflöte, but somewhere deep down I hear a false note that Mozart didn't put there, a slow beat, coming our way, and the faint echo tells me…
"The tunnel! Wait here. I'll be back.", Shirley shouts while she moves her ass steers her ride down the hill. When she reaches the end of the tunnel, a colourful figure on a bicycle comes out.
"Did you see a fat woman on a donkey going down?", Shirley asks.
"No. No. Bo. Dy. Since. Gmünd. Pfff."
Shirley gestures to me and shouts: "Lovely. She went uphill. Go after her. I will follow."
We have no time to lose. Austrian time is running out. We've lost too much time already. It's better when Shirley stays behind. This risky business of chasing criminals is nothing for a woman of her age. I'm the spy. I can do this. I've had a courage transfusion. I can do everything. Come on, donkey. Don't give up. We're almost there. Up there you can see the barrage. The lake is behind it. The hotel must be just around that corner. It's less than a kilometre now. Look! There she goes. She's beating your sister Asstrid to make her go faster. Come on, girl. We're going to teach her a lesson. All you have to do is reach the top. Give it all you've got. Your bucket of carrots is waiting for you, in the kitchen of that five-star restaurant. You've never had better carrots. You can do it.
Raphaela disappears over the top of the hill, but we're close now. She can't escape. This is a dead end. My donkey's flying. We reach the top of the hill in less than a minute. There she goes. The hotel is too far away. We're faster. We'll catch her before she's there.
She's not going to the hotel. She's stops at a wooden landing pier, leaves the donkey behind, runs over the pier, jumps into a fisherman's boat, fumbles with the rope, starts the engine…
Rostov! I'm too late. We've lost the race. When I reach the end of the pier, she's already ten metres away, leaving a heavy trail of deep-purple smoke on the water, waving at me with a glorious smile. Her plan never was to end up at the Grand Hotel. The hotel is a dead end, empty, cold and bare. She's an Aries, the goat of the high mountain; for her, there is no better place to be than on top, where she feels at home, where she has everything prepared, where everything is under control.
It seems that we have lost the race.
The winner takes it all.
Second place is for the first of the losers.
I turn and shamble back to my donkey. She's waiting for her lunch.
"What are you waiting for? Get in!"
I look around. It's Shirley, behind the wheel of a Zodiac.
"Where did you find that?"
"Get in. I told you I'd be back, didn't I? You should pay more attention to your surroundings, my dear Watson. This boat was on the shore, next to the barrage. All I had to do was cut the iron chain and hot-wire the ignition."
I run to the end of the pier and jump aboard.
"Cut the iron chain?"
Shirley takes a nail cutter out of her handbag: "If you're old like me, you'll buy the finest tools to cut your toenails. You drive. You're the spy. Make this baby fly. Fire in the sky."
And fly she does. The Zodiac has a 500 horsepower engine, much stronger than the 75 donkeypower outboard motor of Raphaela's wooden fisherman's boat. All we have to do is follow the trail of smoke on the water and grab our donkey by its tail.
But it's not as easy as that.
We're fast enough to sail around her, but her little boat is light enough to dance the twist with us. We can't stop her, we can't catch her, and every time I change course, we're losing speed, which gives her time to go ahead.
"Take the wheel, Shirley! If you can get us close, perhaps I can jump aboard and get her! Or should we just steer the Zodiac over her and mince her with the propeller? Shirley?!"
Quickly, I glance over my shoulder. Rostov! The boat is empty! I must have lost her!
"Go on. Speed up! Overtake her. I hop on board!"
I can't believe this. Shirley's hanging behind the boat, one hand holding her handbag and a rope, while her other hand waves at me: "Keep on going. If you stop, I drop." She's waterskiing behind the Zodiac like she's never done anything else in her life.
"Don't worry about me. I'm Austrian. I was on skies before I could walk. You keep the speed, I'll do the rest. WHOOPIE!"
She steers to the left and uses the Zodiac's waves to somersault. Now she makes a big turn to the other side, jumps up with the skies in a V, waves at me again, and assures me: "Keep the speed. I'm fine as long as you keep the speed. Get as close to her as you can."
What can I do? Keep the speed and get as close to Raphaela as I can. Which I do.
500 horsepower on a small boat is FAST! Raphaela never sees it coming. She'll never know what hits her. Shirley jumps and lands on her back. In less than a second, I have the Zodiac before the bow of Raphaela's little boat, kill the engine and, with a rope attached to the Zodiac in my hand, I jump aboard.
"You have the right to remain silent.", I say while I break a capsule of OV-C 340 (Tumble Tornado) under her nose. And to Shirley, I say: "That was SPECTACULAR! I've never seen anything like it. You jumped with water-skis into a boat, at full speed, right on top of the captain's head."
Shirley waves it away: "Oh. That skiing was easy. What you did, keeping the speed, was much more difficult. With this wind and the waves on the water, the Zodiac could easily be lifted and capsize. The temperature of the water up here is around zero degrees. We would have frozen before we'd drowned. I could never have sailed that Zodiac like you did, my dear Watson. You were SPECTACULAR!"
"WE were spectacular. We're a team, Shirley. Don't give me all the credits."
With Sleeping Beauty's boat tied behind the Zodiac, we return to the shore. A bucket of cold water wakes Raphaela up, and a bucket of leftovers from the 5-star restaurant's kitchen expresses our gratitude to the two other members of our team.
We take Raphaela to the lobby of the hotel to interrogate her. She's not the fishwife I expected her to be: she walks like a Duchess, she speaks in a calm and educated tone, she's good-looking and well-dressed. My first question is the most important; if she refuses to talk, we're going to have a problem: "Do you want coffee or do you want tea?"
"Coffee, please."
Lots of problems are solved with a cup of coffee.
"Milk and sugar?"
"Two lumps, no milk."
"Would you like a plate of Kaiserschmarrn too?"
"They don't make Kaiserschmarrn like mine, but the Apfelstrudel here is quite good."
Shirley interrupts: "We're not having Apfelstrudel for lunch. It's just sugar and fat. Where is your protein? Where are your fibres? Where are your vitamins?"
"If Raphaela likes to have Apfelstrudel, we order Apfelstrudel, Shirley. Apples are full of vitamins and fibres. The sugar will give her energy after such a busy morning."
Shirley and I, we're a team. We're playing Good Cop — Bad Cop with our suspect as if we've never done anything else in our lives.
As a good cop, I say: "We're not going to hurt you."
"You jumped on me with skis. You knocked me unconscious.", Raphaela objects.
"That wasn't our intent.", I say. I don't say that our intent was to run a Zodiac over her, so the 500 horsepower engine would turn her into minced fish food before she'd drowned in the freezing-cold lake. Good cops don't say things like that.
It works.
I confront Raphaela with her crimes. She cooperates like I would never expect from a stubborn Aries.
"You're accused of being part of a criminal organization, the Sieben Gänge gang. Is there anything you like to say to defend yourself?", I say.
"There's nothing to defend myself. Ambition isn't a crime. All I did was follow the examples of the world around me: I wanted to be the best, the number one, the monkey on top of the mountain. The gang gave me a chance. I've done nothing wrong.", Raphaela answers, with her mouth full of Apfelstrudel and her lips covered with sugar.
Shirley takes over: "When you're at the top, you have to show responsibility. You didn't. You ran away like a coward and hid in the woods where nobody could find you. The membership of the Sieben Gänge gang has changed you into someone else, into somebody you aren't. Look in the mirror, Raphaela. You're not reaching the top of your potential when you follow orders from some obscure gang that tries to destroy the world. They don't help you reach the top. They hold you back. Bravery is your strongest quality, but they turned you into a coward. You were born to be part of something bigger than yourself, but you entered the wrong house, the house of destruction, the full house of cards that some stupid with a flare gun is going to burn to the ground."
Shirley's words cut through Raphaela's soul. She stops chewing and looks away, through the window, at the snowy peaks of the High Tauern.
I add a handful of salt to her wounds: "The highest goals in life aren't rocks to climb. The top isn't the elite that looks down at everybody else. Our highest goals are the values of civilisation, of leading the masses who cannot distinguish between good and evil. We can give you a chance to reach that top. We offer you a place where you can become part of something important, work in a team, and take responsibility for others who would be lost without you. You won't get an alternative. If you walk away, I will follow. We've caught you once, and we'll catch you again. Don't be a coward. Step back from this narrow path, filled with rocks, that leads to this cold and lonely top. Step down and come with us to a home that's called the Twilight Zone. But you have to be brave. Are you brave?"
I learn quickly. Shirley has a way to know people, to find their strong points and their weak spots, to motivate them to do the right thing, with a carrot, not with a stick. Shirley told me a few days ago that Aries are brave, even reckless people who want to reach the top, but they are also short-tempered, impatient, and eager for direct results. As a part of the team, I trust Shirley and her knowledge, like she trusts me and my skills. Together, we can accomplish anything.
Raphaela is still silent as a freshwater fish. I have one final word: "I'm brave. Let me help you. I can give you a courage transfusion. Let me take away your fears and give you the strength you'll need to stand up and fight that evil you adored so much."
Shirley puts her hand on Raphaela's arm and says: "The top of your potential is to be the rainbow in someone else's cloud, dear. You don't have to be alone anymore. I'll help you, my dear Watson will help you, and everybody in the Twilight Zone will help you. We want you to become a part of something bigger than you. We want to take you to where you belong. Come with us."
Raphaela puts her fork down and cuts the Gordian knot on her plate: "I'm brave. And I don't want to hide anymore. I'll come with you. But not until we've had lunch: I want a Forelle Müllerin Art, a trout like the miller's wife made it. You've never tasted anything better in your life."
After getting up early, after running around, hiking around, sailing around, and flying around, the entire morning, without even one cup of coffee, without getting anything else but the smell of Kaiserschmarrn, I refuse to accept Raphaela's offer: "Do you think you can get away with a trout? If your trout is as good as you say, I want two for lunch. And I want a plate of Kaiserschmarrn for dinner, made by you, personally."
Three times two trouts (Müllerin Art) later, we have a deal.