2013

Pathan: A German Man. Chapter 3 (part).

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Chapter 3

Every weekend now, from Friday afternoon, to early Monday morning, prior to autumn’s commencement, a continuous gala went on at Pathan’s apartment building. So many people attended that, down in the street doorman were needed, although it seemed these – teams of doormen – were not there to stop people from attending. On the contrary, almost all were welcome provided they were willing to allow the recording of their personal out-of-body experiences, dressed smartly, smiled – and spoke courteously to doormen. The rooms became crowded, gorgeous couples, groups of elegant people, often sat and lounged in the hallways, waiting, on chairs and stools the staff brought them.

As news of Pathan’s project took hold people arrived from all over Germany. and Pathan installed further lifts in the courtyard, to accommodate the weak, infirm – or the simply fatigued. I heard the code of conduct later, simply: no alcohol, behave sociably, be recorded – and to dress. For the weekend events big band orchestras, or jazz quartets, or string, arrived and set up. During these soirees, teams of caterers produced gallons of non-alcoholic drinks and freshly-squeezed juices. Spotless wait staff continuously offered of bite-sized delicacies, brought from every part of the globe, it seemed.

Now into this safe and luxurious environment returned the more adventurous strangers, those Pathan had entertained first, in the days and nights after we were six attending his purpose. Cars with foreign number plates began to park in the surrounding suburban streets as they brought their friends.

Yet in Pathan’s rooms, still always lavished with candles and flowers, and full of music, laughter and easy chatter, most still came with the firm intention to enjoy themselves, and it seemed they did. They sounded so delightful down in the street that I would often watch passers-by stop in their tracks, wistfully look up to the fourth floor, to the balconies overflowing with beautiful people, mixed in with the darker others. Those in the street would stand for a few minutes and watch more of the gorgeous retinue arrive.

Occasionally I also would dress, and cross the hall, and wander through groups of visitors, listening to an amusing anecdote here, a happy laugh there, enjoying the always-superb music. Like many others there, I sought Pathan, his generous happiness, his warm laughter, and his inimitable spirit, which pervaded his place; but there, for now, Pathan was never to be found.

Amber and Rose, familiar with Pathan’s habits, both  knew how fond I had grown of Pathan lately and how sorely I then missed him. By now these two were permanent fixtures in my life and had introduced me to the divine Amen, fashion advisor to the stars. All that summer, since that day by the Isar, Pathan had provided his convertible for my use, and one warm and memorable day, at Amen’s instruction, we four drove to the extraordinary Lembach House, now the home of the Munich Stadtische Galerie. There silently we stood in front of Max Slevogt’s painting “Danae”. That experience, and my subsequent reading about the group Slevogt was sometimes-part of, provided me with a much different perspective.

Ancient Gods, it seemed, were calling to me, and to the three girls too. That same day, after we visited Amen’s salon – to be styled, of course – we lunched with the wicked Chinese restauranteur nearby (name?) and there all got softly drunk on Chinese wine. Then these three girls took me home with them. Then this became something that happened often and so I found myself in heaven and asked myself what more could a man want in a life. Nothing.

Now I truly loved Munich. The extraordinary weight of its history, its astonishing reconstructions and renewals; the city astounded me daily. I began to perceive a little about its strength and power, and that of its own, independent people plus the new and unique mixture of gifted individuals who now decided Munich was where they would live and work – much as had occurred in the artistic pinnacle reached around the turn of the previous century.  As the summer turned towards autumn our new-found patron asked us to structure the work environment of a marvellous young creature called Perpetua Evedown,

Aside

Pathan: A German Man. Chapter 2.

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Chapter 2

Munich is a city that reveals itself to the visitor only gradually.
As, during the icy  winter, the gorgeous Munich women slowly remove
ever more layers of clothing, in its steamy, super-heated, mid-winter
restaurants and cafes, so also does the city to the new visitor. So it
was not until the second month that I began to identify the importance
of The Englischer Garten. That large garden, situated in the heart of
the great city, was a place of fantasy, of modern-day myth.  That
summer it seemed to me all of Munich was enveloped in the
emotionally-charged aura emanating from that place.

In an area where the Isar floods a huge swathe of verdant deep space
has been set aside. There a superb play of light and shadow has
developed, evolved from the start, as the Englischer Garten was always
a serious undertaking. First conceived in 1789, serious planning of
the garden went on for 9 years, right up until construction began in
1798. As a result, today’s visitor is confronted with seventy-eight
kilometres of roads, and bridle paths, that lead the energetic through
several hundred acres of woods and meadows, and lakes.

If arriving to this other-land via the Southern entrance the statue
“Harmless” provides scant assistance. Far better to find the way
speedily to the Chinese Tower which, inexplicably contains a Munich
Beer Hall that accommodates more than 7,00/0?. From there the visitor
can venture on by rickshaw, or carriage, bicycle, or on foot, to the
garden’s countless entertainments. The Free State of Bavaria is the
keeper of this magical place where The Temple of Apollo and The Lake
House welcome visitors every day of the year, and the ancient
Children’s Carousel. Split in two parts, the Sudteil and Norteil, all
the Garten is alive; with more than sixty birds species, and hares,
rabbits, foxes, squirrels and hedgehogs. There where the Schwabing
Stream plaits its way for more than eight kilometres, throughout the
Garten, often alongside walkways, one can see countless large, and
fat, fish. It was on one of the one-hundred bridges that I next
encountered Morgana.

It is a long-defended tradition that many large-dog loving Muncheners
exercise their hound in the Englischer Garten. One sunny morning the
previous week I had walked quite a long way through the Englischer
Garten, as I headed to a coffee date with a friend at one of the many
Garten kiosks. As usual I was, in my walk, on my ‘coffee’ quest, and
as I stepped onto one of the 100 bridges in the Garten, it was with
dreamy anticipation. Yet suddenly I saw a young horsewoman rapidly
approaching, an enormous dog running free at her horse’s side.

I had only a second before girl, horse and dog also mounted my bridge,
and clattered past dangerously close by me. Angered, I turned to look
after them. At that moment, from out of a wooded incline there emerged
two mounted police, a man and a woman officer, and as with a roar the
girl’s dog took after the police horses  the policewoman momentarily
lost control of her horse.

Though the girl quickly dismounted she took, deliberately it seemed,
some minutes to call her dog to heel. During that time the dog nipped
at the heels of the policewoman’s horse, which shied and then bucked,
kicking its heels out, aimed for the dog’s head. The actions of the
dog forced  the horse to spin tightly around on the soft turf. Once
called, the dog instantly obeyed, returned and dropped, panting, onto
the grass at the girl’s side. Though it was clear the striking blonde
policewoman was shaken, she quickly drew herself together. She
produced bulky forms mysteriously from a saddlebag under her shapely
thigh, all the while furiously berating the girl, and demanding name,
address and other information.

I watched this elaborate pantomime and saw the girl received terse
instructions and a copy of the notice created by the officer. I
noticed the handsome male officer only languidly rode closer to the
pair when the matter was completed. Upon his approach the girl drew
off her riding helmet and shook out her magnificent hair. Then I
realised who she was, as the police rode away. I continued on my path,
which now came over a rise, close to where the drama had taken place.
Morgana stepped suddenly from the shadows, into the sun and looked at
me familiarly in an unsettling way “What did you think of my dog? He
is marvellous, isn’t he?” she asked, as if it were the most natural
conversation in the world.

I blustered, said lamely “Your dog created a dangerous situation.”
Morgana looked fondly at her dog. “But that was the whole point, don’t
you see?” I looked at the huge dog, lying there by here side, its
tongue still lolling, felt I had not heard her correctly “Sorry, but…
what did you say?” She smirked “I planned the event – those police are
always very punctual, ride down through that wood on Tuesdays and
Thursdays at precisely the same time. The only unknown factor today
was you.” Thinking nervously of what may of happened if I had been
closer to her I said “Why would you plan something like that?”

“To see what would happen, of course.” She regarded me with some
surprise. I said: “But, the police booked you – and your dog. That’s
not a very good outcome for you.” Morgana shook out a red silk ribbon
still entangled in her black hair “Um, no? They will let me off. I
know. Brutus is only two, and I will claim he is still immature, still
being trained. And… I’m young too, eighteen, and I’ll be so contrite –
they like that.” She smiled to herself. “But what is your point?” I
asked, horrified. “To master that female.” I was puzzled “Who?” She
smiled indulgently “The policewoman.” I asked “What on earth for?” I
was now equally amazed and horribly fascinated. “Because I WANT TO!
Because she and I have met many times before and this time I wish to
achieve my own outcome to our meeting, and I shall” she continued
thoughtfully “and today I also made that man really look at me – for
the first time.” Morgana was indeed magnificent standing there in the
early morning sunshine. She was impeccable, wearing a man’s red shirt
and black riding breeches, boot and gloves.

With that she mounted, called her dog to heel and slowly, thoughtfully
rode off. I went on to my coffee thoroughly confused and distracted.
Her words seemed to echo something Pathan had said yet I could net
exactly say how. Morgana was playing a dangerous game, for no good
reason that I could perceive, and I wondered if Pathan was aware of
this side of her character. I thought I would ask him as soon as there
was an opportunity. However, Pathan had left me a message that as he
wanted particular sound and film crews to record our event it would be
another day before the first session could take place. By then I had
forgotten Morgana again.

As Pathan wanted a special atmosphere to the sessions and also because
they would be recorded Pathan said our meetings would be by
candlelight, and that we must all dress formally. That night, while he
looked even more like a fashion icon than ever I was supremely
confident in my own locally-designed, tailor-made suit. Pathan’s
sessions finally began on a glorious early evening where huge banks of
thick candles already glittered and guttered in a benign summer breeze
that came in from the open windows. Pathan’s rooms were filled with
perfume from enormous arrangements of roses in every imaginable
colour. As he and I waited for his other guests, Pathan suddenly spoke
of Morgana.

”Morgana is an ‘old soul’, and thus one who remembers her travels
outside that beautiful body, face, that you and I perceive and Morgana
is also a dark, negative being. Now incredibly learned, she  spurns
the light and returns here only to use her considerable powers
destructively.  Her mother and sister both are experienced travellers
and sadly they too destroy the journey of life wherever they can.
Together they form a triumvirate of extreme power.”

Pathan’s speech disturbed me enormously, and brought fresh doubts
about his undertaking that I had now agreed to enter into, Yet I had
given my word and so I had to continue. Now Alexa arrived and Rose
shortly after and we four sank into modern, corner seating. Then two
highly decorative young individuals arrived, together, both tall and
black-haired.

Velveta and Daemon were the youngest in our group of six, in their
early ‘20s, vital, alive and very much in love. Velveta wore a long
brown velvet figure-hugging gown that showed purple hues as she moved.
Rose was clothed in sulphur-yellow crepe-de-chine satin, and Athen her
signature black and white. These elegant creatures contributed to the
blaze of colourful flowers in the room. Velveta’s entwined her
hour-glass silhouette around Daemon who wore an elegant dinner suit.

Pathan stood up and said: “Welcome! It’s time we began.” As he spoke,
fresh lemonade, and rhubarb juice, water arrived in large pitchers,
and crystal tumblers appeared. “Tonight we begin by asking Velveta to
speak of her experiences. Everyone, remember we are filming and
recording…. all OK with that?“

Velveta, reclining on a sleek modern settee, said: “Now, today – at
this stage in my life….  I remember – as a tiny child, being joyful as
I experienced whole constellations of stars looking down on me, and
remote events of the Universe evolving around me. As I floated about,
somewhere, somehow. When I was a little older, these occurrences
continued. However, at that time often I arrived in dark, and shadowy
places… and in all these experiences I still had no control over
events, or when I would return to my physical body. So I often felt I
was in an awful ‘bear trap’ of some sort where I was completely
paralysed, and afraid. There was no joy for me in this.”

Daemon nodded, said softly: “ Now sometimes we choose to return there
together, Velveta and me, into the dark, the caves with the shadows…”

Velveta continued: “Later, in my teens, when I had learned some
control, I could sometimes – but not always – direct the course, of my
dreams, and these other events. Now I can choose, but not always, when
and to where to go and what to do when I arrive.

In the candlelight Velveta’s blue eyes were bright and as she leaned
back and out of the light her full red lips shone.

Pathan said “Velveta, you have also had other, more recent experiences.”

Velveta stayed in the dark, and her head lowered, yet her eyes looked
ahead. Her long hair, covering the back of the settee, caught the
light as she moved, raised her hand to her head. In a soft voice she
began again: “Last year, not long after I arrived to Munich from
Australia, a huge man attacked me, on the street, at night. He tried
to kill me, and he almost succeeded. This was in Schwabing, of all
places, where no such event has occurred for over 30 years.”

While the group remained silent, there was sudden tension in the room.

“At the outset I felt no pain. Do you know, I did not realise he had
smashed my head with a rock. I think his blow had caused me to
half-pass out. Unaware of what had happened, I thought I must have
fallen. Then, he seems to have seen I was still moving, and so he next
tried to suffocate me.

But, in his haste his fingers slipped. His nails tore at the roof of
my mouth and created the first pain I felt. With that pain, I was
suddenly transported outside myself, I was behind him!

Yes, I could see what he was doing, to me, how I lay half on the
street half on the pavement, and how he bent over me, knelt in front
of me, how he also was half on the pavement, half the road.” Velveta
paused reflexively:

“This attack was happening to me – and yet I was observing the event.”

Her gaze was faraway as she continued: “ I saw the back of his big,
close-cropped head. I observed his powerful back and shoulders. I
realised he was suffocating me so much I couldn’t breathe. I observed
the horrible contortions the lack of air caused my body to make .”
Velveta took a deep breath:

“Yet, then, as this all must have been in just a fraction of the same
time, it was also pain of his fingers in my mouth that then pulled me
– back – into my body, into my life here – and that was when I bit his
hand very hard.”

Velveta continued: “At the trial he begged my forgiveness. Since then,
in some very strange way, I feel bound to my attacker – that the event
was not, and is not still, subject to the normal physical laws of
time, space and place. Now some of my life is overtaken by this
matter, and although it feels dangerous, very dangerous, this man and
I have met again, but not in this world and only with Daemon beside
me.” Visibly affected now, she looked at Pathan, who motioned the
cinematographer to cease.

Rose and Athena rose in unison, gathered up Velveta and all went to
the bathroom. Pathan threw open the wide doors to the balcony and then
we men went outside to smoke.  “Daemon, you are next.” said Pathan. An
astounding blue colour had suddenly appeared from dull cloud cover,
and I looked at Daemon framed so well in his dark suit against the
azure sky. Daemon smiled, rather shyly, I thought and said yes, ok,
although he had stage fright. We talked for a little while longer,
finishing our cigarettes and admiring that excellent dusk, before
re-entering the room. The technicians had all in readiness.

The girls had returned, laughing. Daemon stood by Velveta, taking her
hand and appeared to brace himself before he began: “Velveta has much
better recall than me. I do remember some events clearly though – I
know that as a young child I could decide to get out of my body
anytime. At night I went off to observe events from up in the air. My
bed was my companion! It made me brave and when we had many
adventures, it was always with me,  a modern, Swedish 4-poster! We
would fly, incredibly fast, to distant corners of the earth. Yet I
always knew my body was sleeping, below, safe at home. Each time we
returned I always told my grandfather all about my adventures, who
simply nodded. Just recently Velveta found an old picture book about
the children who fly away on this 4-poster bed…. He paused: My bed? It
stayed behind, with my childhood – and yes, I still have it!

As I grew up I began to deliciously anticipate my travel, I had a
sense that somehow I must have deserved it, as these adventures always
felt like a reward, and so I was always in a happy state of readiness.
In this way, I learned about many different ways of life on this
planet, but the bed and I were always only the observers, unseen, and
we could not land. Then, in the last few years I began to see that I
could go completely away from this earth. After a while I met others
who also could visit the other zones I had found, and then in one of
these places Velveta and I met – my greatest reward.

It was some time before Velveta and I met in this world. Now we
together explore  and work to understand this other, important part of
our lives.” Daemon smiled at his audience, straightened his jacket,
and checked his tie in an embarrassed fashion.

Pathan said: “The path you and Velveta have chosen, Daemon, is a way
to our race’s collective, but largely forgotten unconsciousness. You
are re-developing lost skills, and seeking paths generally forgotten.
Your goodness allows your search into the eternal stream of great
change, which leads directly to the universal ocean. There all our
ideas, hopes, dreams gestate; like great fish. They must be caught –
but gently found and brought, intact and vital, into the general
consciousness. These are not gifts and we must fight with them, as
they contain the very keys to life, and love, and it is dangerous –
particularly for you – as you will attract evil.”

The group visibly relaxed, the recording once more ceased, and as I
considered all that had been said, I confess my views were challenged,
as I had to think why events such as these occurred, to everyone, it
now seemed. These thoughts made me extremely uncomfortable;
nonetheless, I was fascinated by the process I had been plunged into,
and really could find no fault in the process.

Daemon and Velveta were first out on the balcony where they embraced,
in the dark, with the lurid lights from the street below reflecting up
onto their faces and bodies. Pathan stood next to me as we walked
outside: “Your turn next, James… if you are ready?” From the balcony I
looked down at the lights and the street. There people in elegant
evening dress were hurrying or strolling by and I felt suddenly in
another world. “Yes, I believe so.” I said. Refreshing juices were
served as we stood there and I gulped mine down and headed inside.

“Well. Let me say, first, that I am a skeptic. Yet what I have
remembered has amazed me. I recall that, since my youth I have had an
experience, a repeating dream I call it. It is so familiar to me that
it feels like a part of me. Yet now I see perhaps is is not a dream in
the regular sense, and to some extent it is continuously changing,
growing as I grow. Now that I am mature (and some would question that,
I know) I must race the dream. All this I have only realised since
Pathan brought up the subject with me, not so long ago.

When I first remember this dream I was playing in the midday heat with
visiting cousins. We lived in one of the remotest, desert regions of
Australia, and my cousins were all very agile, lively, they loved
physical games. So we were playing a very fast type of hide-and-seek.
It was during high summer, very, very hot as most northern Australian
days are. We were sprinting all over the little mine settlement and I
decided to hide in a T-chest, which was a special type of box that
regularly arrived at the mine. An extremely strong wooden structure,
nailed together with metal strips and lined with thin paper made from
pure silver, (a precursor to today’s aluminium foil) it was built to
preserve exotic tea leaves during their long journey from Asia. These
boxes were so light a tiny child could lift them and carry them
around. These were entrancing place to play in, as the silver paper
reflected back strange, distorted images and was hot to the touch.
Later they told me I was three days unconscious with heatstroke.

Yet it seemed but a few minutes to me. I remember, firstly, the heat,
the sweat running down my back and through my hair – and the silver
paper – rustling, shimmering, kaleidoscoping colours around me, and my
heart beating so hard with exertion and excitement… then suddenly,
stillness, and speed. I realised I was flying, incredibly fast,
through white, but empty space towards a very bright white light. I
remember a strong feeling of anticipation of something wonderful, and
as I approached the light, I saw it was really entirely composed of
rings of soft colours, like a rainbow on a rainy, misty day.

As I was absorbed into this light I found it slowly revolved and that
I had arrived into a small and beautifully formed open boat. I
relaxed, sat back onto soft cushions and then realised that the
structure was a huge and beautiful eye – around which I was travelling
in the little barque. I craned this way and that, but saw only the one
eye. I also noticed a number of beings, different, attractive, yet
quite undefined in shape, and then realised I could not see myself
clearly. Yet I was quite unafraid.

It seemed to me these beings were quite similar to me and they moved
around, came together and moved apart, and they also arrived and
departed, at whim. So I experimented, first attempting to jump from
the boat, but that did not work. Then I tried thinking my way to the
place where I saw others, and this worked. So I floated, slowly, up to
another being, and when I arrived I somehow knew that this was a close
cousin of mine who had died the previous year. We were about the same
age and I had missed him terribly after he died. When we met there he
knew me, and so we just floated about, effortless, in a warm stream of
others. Occasionally a  shock would run through our group, and dark,
cold beings would cut swiftly through, but they were as a part of the
rest, as night is to day. That floating about was one of the most
wonderful experiences I have ever had in my entire life.

I remember I assumed I would stay there forever with my cousin and the
others, I was so happy there. With my lost cousin there beside me I
felt as warm as I did when visiting my grandparent’s house, and there
received their loving embrace.

Yet suddenly I was back with my family.” There I ended my tale,
exhausted and once again covered in sweat. Pathan put his hand on my
shoulder and remarked that such an expenditure of nervous energy was
enough. “James,” he said, “here and there other lives, those we have
been most close to, and who die, call to us. They cannot easily return
to this physical plane, and sometimes those people, for good or bad,
may find us and act as our guides. Also, those you meet may be
addicted to power, and this can cause the new traveller great
difficulties. In your case your cousin only wants the best for you. So
you have a marvellous friend – in this different, expanded dimension
of life. I will discuss this matter further with you. You will find
him again and without too much difficulty.”

Tea was then served. We sat around with the technicians who told us
they were pleased with the recording quality they had achieved – and
that there would be no re-shooting required. What relief I felt at
that.

In the late summer weeks thereafter, Pathan came and went with a
plethora, it seemed, of strange and colourful characters. Pathan’s
staff, and his drivers, expanded to accommodate a 24-hour schedule,
for now his new friends were welcome at all hours. The enormous
building was spotless and the garden manicured to perfection and from
my new, and much larger quarters, I sometimes watched as he and his
guests arrived, and later departed. Yet he did not see me at all, and
neither did he see any other of our six. I realised I still did not
know where, or how we had previously met, and although I had plenty to
occupy me I felt strangely let down.

Chapter 3

Aside

Pathan: A German Man. Chapter 1.

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Wolram E. Deaps: “Reality and perception are entirely different things,
and let me tell you, Floyd, reality is the lesser of the two.” (Chad Eagleton, 2013)

PATHAN: A GERMAN MAN
BY Bryant C. Phillips

Property of Susanne Lorraine Harford & Donatella Felice
Copyright 2013.
Chapter 1

For as long as I can remember some of my father’s words have echoed in my mind.

“Funny fellow”, “They’re funny fellows, all”, he would say, and invariably these words would be delivered with his subject immediately in front of us. I knew, instinctively, from the outset, that any words he did convey were loaded with great meaning. A big man of few words, my father, with everyone. Being his almost-constant companion for over 25 years, I was a more fortunate recipient than most. This particular deliverance led me to develop peculiarly variable levels of what might be thought of as compassion. These variations applied, without exception, in any subsequent dealings with humankind – because I maintained the hope that somewhere in life were people who were not “funny”. The unfortunate lifelong consequence was most people became convinced I was manipulative and so a great gulf opened, generally, around me.

As I turned 39 this year, I felt I had finally to accept my father’s pithy diagnosis; that there are only “funny fellows”. Yet life is indeed a funny business, as suddenly and unexpectedly a generous relative offered me another chance to visit Europe for a few months, beginning in July, 2013. It was there, then, that I met Pathan, who in a multitude of ways was as totally unlike me as is possible, and whose deep Islamic cultural heritage often made me feel like a gauche youth. Although truly cosmopolitan and at home in any human culture or society, Pathan was also a person far different from any I had ever met. In his own way he had all that hope which I had just given up, and more.

He was like a shining, burning, light, one ultra-sensitive to the human potential. And yet Pathan also called out to somethings feverish, some aliens without compassion. They feted on his goodness, attached to him, became almost part of him, and they contra-indicated his hopeful dreaming. These he attracted, and I realised with some fear that they epitomised my father’s words. Yet now I see these spectres also brought into sharp focus just how special Pathan was at that time.

The last seven generations of my family were Australians, a vast sprawling unruly. These were first, most times, unwilling colonists, and convicts included in the general Scottish and Cornish baggage of Australia’s strict English overlords. Thereafter the family transformed itself, and became dedicated to interracial-intermarriage. They formed a solid part of that entirely silent Australian underclass that votes only with their feet. After WW2, my father’s father used his to remove his family as far as was possible away from most institutional forms of authority. My part in this is as the family’s “Jimminy Cricket”; while my siblings and their many offspring lead dutiful, productive and responsible lives, I am steadfast only in the avoidance of permanence of any type.

Our family polyglot DNA is evidenced by my father’s mother. When conscripted to The Old Country army, my colonial carnage-candidate Grandfather deliberately grafted, by marriage, an albeit-questionable component of English-ness to his rebellious Scottish-German genes. Not that it did us much good. Because Emmeline (Billie) was probably not English; there is no record of just when she, or her family, arrived in England, or even who she and her parents really were. Billie had a hard, golden intense beauty much like that of the Norse, yet conversely was as close as I have ever been to another human anything like Pathan, but also to his nemeses.

Nonetheless Grandfather’s continental military travails – he handed back his commission and medals when discharged – and Grandmother’s “English-ness” both contributed mightily to the call Europe and England had upon all of us, and hence my delight at once more returning, from the Colonies, for a short spell, to our Anglo-Celt homelands. I bought plenty of books with me as I was sure I would be ‘parked’ – left hanging whenever not needed.

Because, although generous, my Berlin relative certainly did not envisage spending much time with me. So rooms were found in Munich – just far enough away that I could be summonsed if desired, and so I came to occupy a comfortable room in Pathan’s discreet apartment. To my amazement, I found this arrangement entirely suitable. The Underground was outside my door, Ana came to tend our every need each Thursday, and, best of all, Pathan had many bewitching girl friends. All with dogs.

Although I worship women from afar, I am also very fond of dogs, and not at all modest about demonstrating my affections. So I soon had many new friends, became a willing and ready dog-minder, and this quickly made me an indispensable addition to Pathan’s circle, and for once in my life, I seemed to fit in. I stayed at Pathan’s apartment for just over 3 months, long enough to be able to guide newer travellers towards what had, at first, been a tangle of incomprehensibly-named streets, suburbs and squares.

Munich in 2013, July and August, was gorgeous; weather, flowers, fruit, food. The only missing essential was coffee and thus I entered into the “Munich one excellent coffee a day” quest. Always an early morning wanderer, I moved ever outwards from Marienplatz, the Munich equivalent to the centre of the Known Universe, and in totally serendipitous fashion I would thus chance upon museums, galleries, exhibitions, shops, other sights and experiences. All formed part of my coffee search.

The part of Lindwurmstrasse where Pathan lived at that time was the strangest of places, energetic, a dynamic cultural divide between the old “Bayericches” of Munich, and the “now”, or today’s, Munich. Lindwurmstrasse is itself one of Munich’s most essential thoroughfares, a wide, breezy strasse that leads to Munich’s heartland. First into Goetheplatz, which seems to be close to, or part of the old outer wall, built as the fledgling city grew larger, and thereafter straight on through the older, historic Sendlingor Tor. Munich still has nine such “Tor” or gates, still clinging onto vestiges of the mediaeval, and even more ancient, city walls.

It is vestiges also, of Lindwurmstrasse, much like a braided stream made of smaller thoroughfares, which lead (those walking) inevitably into the old, yet constantly revitalised Munich, to Marienplatz. Pathan lived at Lindwurmstrasse, 62, on the 4th floor. The address was somewhat out of the fashionable district, yet only a block from the extraordinary Munich urban feature known as Theriesenweisse, the home, and site, of the annual rite, Oktoberfest. For the rest of the year, Teriesennweisse is a wonderfully quiet, almost forgotten, rather large and unkempt park – perfect for the walking of the many small and endearing dogs belonging to Pathan’s seemingly unlimited group of lovely girl friends.

Pathan’s building was over 200 years old, and mostly in rather shabby condition at that time. Not so Pathan’s big apartment, which was bright and modern. Ornate 20-foot ceilings meant one had to mount eight flights of twelve solid wood steps to arrive, from the big exterior door, to Pathan’s entrance. In the building it was quiet, very quiet. While there were two apartments per floor, during my time there, not a squeak was every heard from any one of them – except, of course, from Pathan’s. Behind that side of Lindwurmstrasse that housed Pathan’s and other venerable apartment buildings, were old, criss-crossing streets bordered by Theriesennweisse.

There I regularly walked tiny dogs during cool, shady afternoons, while looking up at magnificent private mansions lining those streets. The area was pristine, the houses set in splendid, cultivated gardens, even more silent than our own immediate neighbours. A deep, quiet calm enveloped me, and my canine charges, whenever I walked there. Yet I simply had to cross to the other side of Lindwurmstrasse, to plunge into a teeming, exotic, hot, dusty world that occupied countless streets beyond. There, generally all manner of shops offered an unimaginably hideous array of cheap goods, and there all parts of life spilled out from the buildings and dwellings, right onto the sidewalks. Music blared from homes and businesses alike, and small garish restaurants were busy day and night. The dogs were impossible on that side of the street. However, most of my time was not spent on Lindwurmstrasse.

Pathan and his lively band of alternating femme fatale worshipped at the sun and sports altars, and that summer I was often invited to join them there. A dynamic group, highly diverse, their interests, and their love of Pathan, along with high intellect, and some strong strains of local and global communality, drew them together. Much of my history of that summer was created with my new friends. They ran, they swam, they walked, rode, and played games – incessantly – and they argued, in the classic sense, unceasingly.

Pathan had a lithe, tall and powerful physique, and at 37 he looked 20. An engineer, he had already been astoundingly successful with a string of technological innovations in water, desalination, body therapies and healthy foods. He no longer needed to work, and yet Pathan continued to apply himself, solely to work, every day between the hours of noon and three. Throughout the nights he alternated work with socialising: games, movies, workouts, dance, and dining, with his argumentative friends of both sexes. Pathan was open and happy and seemed content with his life. Most evenings ended at 4am, when Pathan retired to his silent, darkened room, alone, or accompanied, as his fancy took him. I soon understood why Pathan’s house was titled “The House of Women” by his male friends.

How, and why Pathan’s family arrived in Germany and why he returned there after completing an English education I don’t know. He spoke impeccable German, English, Arabic and Latin and was conversant in Italian and French. Somewhat careless in his dress, Pathan nonetheless always looked as if he had just stepped from a fashion shoot, with his tousled black curly hair, bright eyes and sparkling teeth.

One dreamy, late, sunny afternoon found some of us again on the banks of the Isar, lazing on rugs thrown across the smooth rounded Munich “pebbles” and that is where an unusual conversation had its beginning.

Spread before us appeared to be half the beautiful people of Munich, the Bayerisse, often splendid in their nakedness, as was their wont, and their right. Even the more modest were downright watchable; some enticing with the shortest of shorts and teetering high heels, tottering over the stones, laughing, and, as always talking. Enchanting. Legs of both genders were toned to perfection, as tans everywhere undertook every imaginable activity. The whole tableau was bathed in a gold light and a gentle breeze cooled this sultry assembly.

Pathan, not quite entirely naked, and fresh from a long swim in the clear, cold water stood calf-deep in the Isar. He motioned for me to join him there in the shallows, then startled me by asking, with a softness in his eyes and his voice, “Would you say you have ever experienced an-out-of-body state?” He had been watching me watching, and being all too physically transported, by the current bunch of his lovely companions. They were close by and playing in the bright sunlight… So nothing could have been farther from my mind. With an effort I withdrew my focus and replied “Why yes, if you mean as a child?” Pathan continued in his eloquent, open way “Yes, that, and also other, adult experiences?”

While the clear summer light that day made everything marvellous, I was waiting for news of a military call-up. So I found, between trying to appear nonchalant by searching the clear water for flat stones to skim across the top of the water, and looking for the huge, lazy fish that owned the Isar, that I was in a nervous frame of mind. I said slowly, “Well, there are, of course, lines – between sleeping and waking? Where and when one later reflects that perhaps something else was ‘going on’? Not only dreaming?” I said, “But, no… I’ve never taken it any further than that. Have you?” Although I had by now grown accustomed to the way Pathan could sometimes consciously use his delivery, build his charming voice to captivate a specific audience, that day his low response seemed to me entirely different, genuinely emotional. “Yes, I have” was all he replied. I was intrigued. That day was far too pleasant, however, to harbour any disturbing thoughts, whether of my conversion from banking to military life, or to other forms of life experience, and so our conversation then drifted to other matters, and my pre-military nerves evaporated with the beads of water on our bodies.

For a few minutes more we continued to stand in the shallows together. Listening to Pathan speak, for the first time, to me in the confidential manner, confirmed to me his great charm. Pathan carried all along with him, even unperceived enemies, as he was so full of life. That day his muscular body glowed in the sunlight as his well-shaped legs flexed to withstand the considerable pull of the Isar. His warm laugh rang out often, as he stood there talking to me that day, as his intense, sparkling eyes expressed one strong emotion after another. Pathan thus invited all to enjoy life, have fun with life, yet also conveyed an impression of a deeper chance, of another meaning to life. He seemed to love all his acquaintances while also knowing all their faults, perceiving all their wickednesses. He offered all kindness – with never a thought of return. When it seems the conversation was at an end he began to fidget and also gazed down into the clear running waters, suddenly returning to the subject, saying to me “It is what really occupies me”.

To steady himself he moved closer, and in a brotherly fashion he languidly draped an impeccably tanned arm around my shoulders. He looked up, out, over the gorgeous array of Bayerese enjoying their day, and their river. “Do you know, almost everyone has experiences just like yours, or similar, especially when young? And enjoy them, love them, yearn for them to return. Yet they never follow up. Let’s dry off, eat”.

While we went up the layered shale bank into dappled half-shade cast by enormous weeping peppercorn trees, the glorious, soft breeze caressed our hot shoulders and backs. From the bank the river sparkled and flashed like a million diamonds, as it ran gurgling across the stones and small rapids. Over the new green grass two girls had arranged in a delightful tableau of food, drink and their own loveliness. A pretty cloth was spread, soft-backed cushions scattered around, and bright towels hung on the low branches. The latter swung lazily in the breeze and afforded our party a little privacy. They brushed against us softly.

On the river now, in front of us, sensing crumbs, several duck families sailed to and fro, in attempts to edge closer to the bank. Three vigilant little dogs bravely repelled the feathered intruders as Pathan threw himself down on the cloth, smiling and gently calling the dogs, who ran to him. I followed rather more carefully and chose one of the cushioned seats. Amber, already tall, wore towering heels with a black and white geometric throw and looked like some potent Egyptian goddess. As she drew back her dramatic serape it revealed the tiniest of white bikinis.

Right at that moment, with perfect timing, four impeccably white swans arrived to also investigate the pickings. Minuscule in comparison, the dogs became almost apoplectic. Rose, small and intense, showed her perfect teeth in a smile as with a few words she immediately calmed our brave protectors. She rewarded the tiny warriors with morsels of roast chicken.

There was a third beautiful girl. Her name was Friederike. She lay, fully clothed, on her stomach, a little way apart. When Pathan introduced me she ignored me. Seeing this, Rose laughingly leaned towards me, nudged my shoulder and put her pretty hand softly in mine. “I’m so happy to see you again, and, on such a lovely day!” She looked up at me and I immediately forgot the surprising disquiet Friederike caused. Rose’s long mane of golden brown hair cascaded down across her face as she leaned towards me. She slowly drew it back with one hand, her eyes never leaving mine. Friederike, in the meantime, has rolled over and dusted herself off. Standing she announced angrily to Pathan “I’m going”. She walked away. I noticed her magnificent figure and the elegant carriage of her head. Then I saw a horse was tethered under one of the towering trees and it dawned on me that Friederike was wearing riding boots. Our little party watched her canter away along a bridle path.

After that, our al fresco meal was a gay affair, with our two companions plying us equally with delicious food, fresh juices, and laughter. Their sweet little dogs darted about, running to and fro and occasionally barking happily. In her low, vibrant voice, Amber questioned Pathan searchingly about his latest successful business. Both girls listened attentively while he gave us all a long and technical outline. Afterwards, Rose, her long, creamy caftan covering a sun-ray golden yellow bikini, gently asked me about my career change. She listened soberly. These girls were wonderful company. They encouraged us both to speak freely about ourselves and our lives and they had much to contribute themselves – to all facets of our conversations. And so we spoke of endless fascinating matters that day and the girls seemed to enjoy our every word. Only occasionally Pathan would gaze reflectively where Friederike had lain, and once his eyes followed the path of her departure.

Suddenly, he exclaimed, “Let’s go!” The three little dogs barked, all surprised, as the girls in chorus gaily replied “Yes! To where?” So, as the sun reached down toward the horizon we rose in unison, Pathan gazed at the girls for a second, then at me, as if searching for an answer. “Ices” he said. Determined to continue to captivate my lovely audience I lamely added “Double, triple ices!” Hugging each other, the girls quickly then set to. In less than three minutes they turned the remains of our tasty repast into tidy packages. They then folded and packed everything in two splendid wicker baskets. Incredulous at this superb example of speedy female logistics, Pathan and I carried the baskets back to Pathan’s car of the day, a convertible roadster, deep metallic blue.

Pathan put the top down and we helped the two lovely girls into the comfortable back seat, where they artfully arranged themselves. They appeared as two exotic fresh and radiant flowers, and I could not help but prepare to continue to look at them in the side mirror. “Where are we going to for our ices?” demanded Amber. “To the Bayerishcherhof” said Pathan, “of course”. “Yes!” the girls shouted with happiness and delight. “But then, oh, we MUST dress!” “Of course we MUST!” said Pathan, steering me protesting to the driver’s seat, while he half turned in the front passenger’s seat, making plans with the two lovelies. “Home, James! Home!” he said – “first, Amber’s, then to Rose’s… don’t worry – be quiet! I will direct you there… just get started! Turn right at the entrance, and… “ So in that lovely afternoon there began the conversation, and there it was left unfinished. That afternoon was also, as I realised much later, when I first became aware of Friederike, another, altogether more disturbing personality.

The only thing to be said of the life of a young city banker was that it meant you had a stylish wardrobe – for any occasion. So in that regard I felt I gained some advantage over Pathan as we accompanied his lovelies. They sashayed into the foyer of the Bayerishcherhof, that hotel, on Promenadesplatz, built in the reign of King Ludwig 1. During that era Munich was the capital of Bavaria and the King was intent on making Munich glorious. The hotel is still a magnificent showpiece today, and it was with all eyes upon us that we proceeded through the glamorous lobby bar to an elegant table outside in the garden, under the open sky, and ordered our ices. Many others were seated around us, also enjoying the cooling evening. Rose sighed with happiness. Looking at Amber’s back, brushing a light hand over that brown, warm skin, she said “I do so love the summer, so much to do, out in the lovely fresh air all day and night, so free, so free”. She hugged Amber and then sat back. She ran her hands over her own golden shoulders and arms, and finally nestled them in her lap.

Amber looked at her fondly “Plenty of summer still left, darling… so, let’s plan. Shall we create a candle-lit, ‘Rose’-flavoured soiree, lasting at least a week of nights, right in the centre of Schwabing, at the biggest pool of (?) Or shall we create an impossibly chic, an intensely intellectual outdoor salon at (….) the biggest in the world?” As an afterthought Amber added “Although I am not sure there are any intellectuals left in this world”. She turned “What subjects shall we present for the people – to the world? Pathan? James…. will you be our guides?” Pathan replied: “Ah… dearest darlings, these are your affairs, you will know, you are so wise! But, rest assured, if you instruct me, I” Pathan swung around to me “We… will assist you in every way.” I simply nodded and smiled.

So that evening was spent most intensely planning several memorable and inspiring events. The hotel provided the girls with sheets of paper, and pens, and any other assistance they requested. Throughout this sublime evening many other of Pathan’s circle arrived, to eat and socialise. On seeing our animated little party many stopped, pulled up tables, chairs, close to us – poets, artists and artist’s models, singers and other musicians, photographers, artisans and architects. That evening Pathan recruited many to assist in the girl’s endeavours. At 1am we four retired to the quiet of the hotel’s smoking room. There the girls declared themselves highly satisfied. They had completed planning two events to be held within the next month – and recruited all the necessary helpers.

The first event was to be an invitation to the public to discuss Peter Singer’s recent statement about how to proceed with the eradication of world hunger. The second was to be a large public lecture and workshop open to any interested person regardless of status, or age. The girl’s aim in this project was to revitalise the public’s interest in artisanal and traditional skilled craft-based learning; activities such as shoe and watch making, farming, and the basics of clothing and shelter construction. In these ways they would ensure this useful, essential learning was more widely distributed throughout the community.

In the enveloping warmth and darkness the girls each enjoyed an elegant cigarillo while we men smoked cigars. We four lingered there, not wanting another perfect evening to end. Pathan paced about “I feel we are on the brink of a new time, perhaps a time more productive for all humans. If we can draw each person’s focus away from themselves, and help them to consider the impact of their actions”. Turning to me he continued “Perhaps in this period those other life experiences, those I asked you about earlier today, can be researched in valid ways”.

Pathan then proceeded through the same process with the two girls. It was remarkable to see both their reactions were similar to mine, thus verifying Pathan’s earlier conclusions that while all yearn, no one follows up, and also that this subject could be a matter of interest to many other individuals.

Having been introduced to this subject by Pathan earlier, I was not so surprised this time. Indeed, this time my banking instincts clocked in: “Will you support that research, Pathan – put your money into this, as a venture?”

“I intend to, and you, James, will assist me to do so. I hope that by developing a valid study people like us, who are so privileged on this physical plane” his hand swept around the sumptuous room, “will find ways to work here, to assist others less fortunate”. Amber and Rose nodded, and Amber said “Rose and I will arrange whatever you need. We will work unceasingly on your dream – so that it may begin – create events for the public, involve them in your great hope”. Pathan moved to squeeze Amber’s hand, but suddenly received a call. He immediately left our party, walking off towards the pool. Rose turned to me and asked softly “Has Pathan said anything to you about Friedreicke?” Both girls watched me intently. “Friedricke?” I had entirely forgotten all about my earlier introduction, and had to be reminded. “The girl with the horse. We think Pathan is in love with her”. “Why no, not a word” I said with some surprise, as until then I had often admired Pathan’s easy relationships with so many different women. “We think so” confirmed Amber, “and yet we know nothing about her, apart from that she is often very angry. She abandons him, then later calls him, like this, tonight… at the most unexpected times – and he always goes to her”.

The light in the room glowed and where we sat in its deepest recesses it reflected upon their lovely, concerned faces. They both faced me, leaning slightly forwards, almost breathlessly, it seemed. So we stayed there, like that silently, until Pathan returned, distracted but smiling faintly. This situation seemed to me so uncharacteristic of the Pathan I thought by now I had grown to know well. Pathan’s phone rang again and this time he frowned. However, once again he headed away from us, now for the door, throwing his coat over his shoulder. True to Amber’s words he would not return.

“Let’s go outside, we three, and look at the skies” I said, knowing the girls would be sad if this evening ended on such a disturbing note. “You know, I quite forgot, until right this minute, that tonight is the 12th August!” I consulted my watch “and if we go outside right now we will see a once-a-year astronomical event, the Perseid Shower. This year it’s meant to be quite bright.” Amber swiftly unfolded “Ah, yes, in the Northern Hemisphere” she commented as I helped her off the couch where she had been reclining. “Yes, not in Australia, as we are in the Southern.” Rose gathered her wrap around her and we proceeded outside again, to the now-empty garden where, over the next hour or so, we watched the meteors and shooting stars. So our wonderful evening ended pleasantly. Finally, now knowing the way, I drove two drowsy girls each to their own home. I slept, dreamless, until 6am.

The very next day Rose came by the apartment around 11am and kept me to my word. We began the process of researching Singer’s statement and world hunger. We also looked, contrary to Singer’s stated view, at the many existing and planned cultural and learning-based initiatives already set up to assist those most in need to assist themselves. Amber had to wait for several days to find Pathan and during that time he did not return to his apartment. In the meantime we three commenced a search for a wonderful outdoor venue for their summer “Break Bread Together” salon, which they hoped would become a huge annual event. Finally they introduced me to the famed, yet now quiet and empty, Templehof Airport, the place where the Allied food drop took place in 1948? and this is the wonderful venue we decided upon.

And then I became very busy with some routine matters I had to finalise in Australia and thus hardly saw Pathan or any of his friends for almost a week. Finally one morning Pathan and I happened upon each other at a favourite cafe. I was surprised as I had grown accustomed to taking my morning coffee alone, and had never known Pathan to rise before noon. He had just returned from a meeting Amber had convened and so his commitment to the two girls had caused his unusual early rise. “James! It’s good we meet today. It is now time to get started on my research.” Though Pathan looked healthy, and fit as always, something new was in his face, something different, something that I could not then identify. He laughed: “We have known each other before, do you remember?”

Thinking what an extraordinarily open and unafraid character Pathan was did not assuage the distress that arose in me at his words. I hid my anxiety, smilingly shook my head “No. No, Pathan, you are such an amazing person I am sure I would remember clearly if we had met previously.” Pathan said “Ah, yes, but I have the benefit of some knowledge that is not yet available to you. Without doubt we have encountered each other before.” I was dismayed “Where? How? When?” I asked him forlornly. He laughed at me gently “As they say, all will be revealed, and soon! Tonight – shall we dine together?” I nodded, speechless. “Nine-thirty, upstairs at Schumann’s? I pay – as you will be working!” “Yes, fine, thanks. But really, you have made me rather anxious – was it banking, is that what you mean – were you a client? There were so many… Now I am embarrassed. I can’t forgive myself if I have forgotten – you!” At this Pathan laughed out loud “Oh, James, what compliments! No, I wasn’t and no, you didn’t! Please don’t worry so, I’ll explain tonight, over a short meal.” With that he left, leaving me wracking my memory – unsuccessfully.

What Pathan said would not leave me alone, so when I arrived for dinner later that night I was quite worn out. Pathan was already there, he rose from the bar as I came in. The maitre’d had reserved a table that gave us a complete vista over the elegant crowd that already filled most of the tables. It seemed the long, summer days were taking a toll as the talk in the room that night was muted, subdued, as if there were others as exhausted as me.

After we ordered Pathan began “James” he said “would you agree, that we are both tortured, more or less to the same extent – by life’s big questions – the ‘why’ and what we are doing ‘here’, really? And, also that it is possible many others seek answers to those same thought-questions, even if they, and we, suppress these ‘impulses’?” I answered slowly, rather reluctantly “I gave all of those thoughts up, rather a long time ago now – actually when I began as a banker.” I smiled resignedly. “Exactly! said Pathan, “You actually replaced those questions, thoughts, with actions – on the physical plane.” The waiter arrived and we ordered our meal.

I returned to the conversation: “What do you mean by that – the physical plane?” I asked, disconcerted as the side of Pathan I had glimpsed during our talk in the river re-emerged, so totally different from the hedonistic and sophisticated playboy I had grown to known, and love. After all, I had shared his apartment, and much of his life, for nearly a month at this point. Pathan, serious, looked at me closely “No, James, I am not a spiritualist, nor religious, and I do not think I am crazy. What I want to discuss with you tonight, share with you, can be approached in a purely scientific fashion – and that is exactly what I wish you will assist me to do.” We then ate in silence until our light meal was finished. When coffee was before us, Pathan began again. “James, let’s look at facts. Those we can know.”

“Firstly, it can be established, can it not, that a certain, and possibly reasonably high proportion of individuals have some form of experience, or other, where they feel they have left, or gone outside of their physical bodies, for some period of time. Can we agree that is the case?” “Well, yes,” I said slowly, thinking “having had that experience myself, I believe that could be established relatively easy by research.”

“Good! Now, secondly, if those same people, that can be identified by valid primary research methods, hold this view that they are not, at the time of their experience, in their physical body, then – where are they, during that time? Of course, this is rather harder to establish, is it not?”

He paused, then went on “While at this point we certainly cannot go back to the past, and even if we could we cannot, scientifically, ascertain where these people were during their experience, is it acceptable to state, in this research, that during their individual experiences – these certain people, (those we scientifically identify), believe they were not in their ‘physical body’ at the time of their experience, but elsewhere?”

“Yes, I suppose that can be agreed. I do clearly recall a strong actual knowing I was outside my body. Indeed, that was one of the main sensations. But, yet somehow I could still see all over this world we live in! It was still around me”. Pathan was flushed, excited now “Excellent! Tell me again, during your experiences, did you say you carried out, if you like, ‘para-normal activities? – you floated, in the air? – you flew, without assistance of any kind, quite long distances?” Despite my reserve I was becoming electrified at his train of thought “Yes, those were the other primary things I experienced, and they have stayed in my mind very clearly. Now I see what you are establishing – that if I had still been in the physical plane then how could I have achieved these experiences?”

“That is, in these experiences, mine for example, how could I have carried out these activities if still subject to all the normal physical laws, rules, of gravity, etc.” Our conversation had taken me directly back into those experiences, even though they were over 20 years prior, and I remembered them as if I were in them at that moment. Pathan rose “Well done! That is enough, good, enough for us now.” He stood there “You were actually searching then, as we all are… it is always just right there, in the background, and we never bring it up, into the light. Tomorrow is when we really begin our work here.”

As we parted at the door, he said “With your agreement, tomorrow our party will be six. You, Rose, Amber, me… and Velveta, who will bring someone we don’t know, another man – which is good, as thus we have equality with our clever girls.” I thoughtfully said “Yes, that seems like a good plan. Interesting, now that I see where you are going with this, and frankly, I must say it is a great relief – the path your are taking, that is, that we will take, I am now interested.” So we went on our separate ways, into the night. To clear my head before the night’s performance, I decided to try to walk to the Prinzregententheater. As I crossed the Isar, and was walking around Maximiliananlagen I realised Pathan had not told me where we first met.

When I returned much later that evening to Pathan’s apartment I was greeted formally at the door by an unknown staff member. Pathan came out of the kitchen with another young man, impeccably dressed in chef’s costume, who now occupied that domain. Pathan said absently “We have been rather busy here tonight, James, as you will see. We have moved your personal effects to a larger suite of rooms, across the hall, immediately on the other side of this floor. My rooms are also over there now, although a little further – in the other wing.”

Nothing surprised me about Pathan now. Not even when I subsequently found he owned the entire building which covered a whole city block. He had personally overseen the transformation of his original apartment area into an operations and support centre. Where previously his apartment had often been full of people there on a social level, now technicians, researchers, caterers came and much new furnishings and equipment was brought, discreetly, into the building that night. Whilst my previous London banking life had left me somewhat jaded, I now found I was impressed despite myself.
END

Pathan: A German Man. Chapter 1.