SALVE ROMA! A Felidae Novel - U.S. Edition (16 page)

A new sequel of cries started. Still pretty frightened, I began to realize that these noises didn’t sound like a tortured creature. Didn’t just the opposite apply? Then from afar something caught my eye, something silvery-blue that simulated an antelope’s incredible leaps. The strange figure danced with itself between the remains of sanctuaries and vegetated piles of rubble, and it occurred to me that I watched the dance of a fertility goddess, who only appears at this magical time of night. How did I suddenly conceive the idea of fertility? Well, despite my old age I didn’t just have sharp eyes but also a freaking good nose.

And my eyes finally announced the longed for correction: These weren’t cries of pain, but cries of lust! And as for me: Don’t they say one is never too old? Or too stupid? Or too dead? However, this smell, that I knew very well but still hadn’t smelled in quite a while, reached my nostrils like the order of a ruler who tolerated no dissent. I felt weak at the knees, and I was animated with the sole wish to unite with t
he source of this jinxing odor.

As quick as lightning I jumped from the beheaded pillar and ran down to the rudiments. When I breathlessly reached the spot in which I had seen the ghost dance from afar, the pleasant daze of my senses grew into an ultimate frenzy. As it wasn’t a ghost whom I faced now, but a saint! And if that weren’t enough: She even spoke in the language of saints!

I
t is almost a miracle how one is forced to transform into a breeding roboter by a steamy fellow’s love aroma. The situation becomes even more explosive when the object of desire turns out to be the most flawless and most gorgeous that a race or a species or, in the end, this whole freaking world ever created! Between half broken column bases, fallen pediments and burst mosaic pieces a korat rolled on the clima
x of her lust.

An old Thai poem describes my unexpected lover’s fur as »with hair roots like clouds and ends like silver«. She had a heart-shaped face, very big, awake, green eyes and raised ears. Her body was remarkably beefy and her body was very long, like due to a digital film trick against all rules of anatomy. Her race’s emblem, her short, silver-blue fur with clearly visible silver hair-ends differed from those of any other race of our kind. The tipping, the contrast between topcoat and underfur which showed with every movement, caused a reflexion of light on the fine, pointy hair, which created some kind of halo above her head. Although
K
orat
cats have Thai ancestors, she was my perfect Roman goddess. Knowing also that her race was said to be lucky
charms, what could go wrong?

»
Tandem is heros venit, qui me tormentis meis liberabit
«, she curred in a beautiful, quiet voice and rolled asid
e with lustily stretched limbs.

Only partially sane due to the rapture of love, I felt like the things heard were the most normal in the world. A moment later though – a little sense apparently had been left despite the deluging ocean of hormones – I realized that her words were neither Italian nor any other common language. Then it sunk in. Incredible, she spoke Latin fluently! Where did she learn that? I changed some switches inside my brain and tried to think within the language that I had learned in the life that I have shared with a very fat archeologist. If I wasn’t mistaken, she had just said »Finally the hero has come to save me from pains«. Which act
ually hadn’t sounded that bad.

»I’m a hero indeed, even more, I’m your personal hero!« I replied in Latin. »But how come you know this
extraordinary language?«

»
Garriamus aut gaudium habeamus? Explicationibus postea tempus erit
.«

This sounded reasonable. If she wanted to have fun first and save the explanations for later, fine with me! But as good manners are harder to get rid off than mouth odor, at least I wanted to know her name before we got an eyeful of parad
ise.

»
Sancta!
« she said and hissed sensually.

Holy cow, how could someone look like a saint and then actually be called »saint«! However, whether what we did afterwards could actually be classified as rather sacred, I left to the saints in charge. After I had introduced myself, Sancta started to tread rhythmically, raised her butt and kept moving her tail to the side. The smell of her urine and vaginal fluid almost drove me nuts. And just as if a shrink had opened a drip bottle filled with the sweetest drugs all the way, the whole world around me turned pink. Slowly it began to dawn. Little by little, the darkblue of the sky cleared the way for warmer colors, coral status clouds pushed themselves above the heads of the statues and the equestrian monument sin wavy motions and made them blush, until eventually the light of the dawning day po
ured over the whole ruin site.

Some cries of joy wrested from my throat, although I was also busy leaving scents. How lucky I was! No competitives around us! As I could have hardly competed with love-crazed teenagers, who were full of sap and just waited for this kind of opportunities like bone surgeons wait for glaze. Although my silvery-blue, green-eyed sweetheart heavily hissed, just like girls do, and tried to scratch me with her bare claws, I knew from experience that this all could be classed as proves of love. It was very important to notice her receptiveness, as an early attempt to mount her could cause a bad assault on me. So I had no other choice but to sniff her treasure from t
he distance and flehm in fever.

After this extensive argy-bargy – those who are foreign to our species might probably call it that – the magic moment finally seemed to have come. Bloody red, the sun ascended about the Basilica of Maxentius and dipped my saint and me into his halo. And when I mounted her and grabbed the fur at her neck with my teeth to immobilize her, I believed to feel Eros’ presence, the very god among the many gods here, who really was
useful
.
 
(3
)
The birds began to sing, and on our climax Sancta and I joined in with hymnic screams.
That
was what I call a first-class-vacation!

Our loveplay went on for several hours, until we didn’t even have the strength to clean ourselves, totally exhausted, yet soaked with happiness. From afar we already saw the first tourist crowds enter the Forum. It was time to take a little walk and get to know each other on a more intellectual level, or let’s say time to finally talk to each other!

»Can you maybe tell me now who taught you the language, which the whole world thinks of as being an invention of ad writers for drugs boxes, darling?« I wanted to know while our feet led us towards Palatine under the blazing sun. »
Dominus meus me docuit, Pater Umberto
.«

In my mind I translated the words, which poured out of her silvery sparkling snout. Her master, a padre called Umberto had taught her Latin ...

»... In his former life he used to be an engineer, until he plunged into a big crisis and turned towards religion. He joined a monastic order with a very bluenosed codex. But his reputation as a great engineer followed him into the dark monk’s cell and, luckily, beyond. Thus, one day the Holy Father himself ordered for him to come to the Vatican to update the security technology. Today he is in charge of the monitoring systems, especially for the St. Peter’s Basilica. And as he is so good, he was asked to apply his approved technology also here at the Forum. He is obsessed with our kind, and besides me he also keeps some black rascal on this site, who runs away pretty frequently though. At least, I don’t see him very often. After Umberto had bought me from a breeder, he only talked Latin to me ever since I was a kid. He may live in this world, but his heart beats for the old world. He thinks our times are totally rotten. Like infested by a special kind of Alzheimer’s, one after one would for their most primary and most important language, as well as the values of the Christian western civilization. For what it’s worth, he’s way over the top
.
Equidem me satis dixisse puto, Narra historiam tuam, Francis. Non hinc esse videris
.«

So now it was my turn to tell my story. Well, this one would sound rather crazy. For a beauty queen who spent her days with nothing else than comparing herself with stony beauties and turning up her nose at tourists in XXL-shorts, it may even sound a little silly. We had climbed the Palatine Hill meanwhile, a mystical-mythical world of ruins. The emperors of Rome had resided on the Palatine for ages. Rich Patricians, writers like Cicero, politicians and scholars used to live here, and emperors like Augustus and Domitian had built temples and city palaces on this hill – the word »palace« originates from Palatine by the way. Even the rudiments of these buildings were able to give a clear impression of the former glory. Walking between the terraces and flower aisles, lawn, little buildings, fountains and groves was even more pleasurable than a stroll over the Forum. From up here it was also possible to see the empire’s remains from the well-ordered aerial perspective. The best thing though was the unrestricted, breathtaking view of the Flavian amphit
heater, also called Collosseum.

I told Sancta about the circumstances of my journey to Rome, the friendly reception by Antonio, Giovanni and Samantha in the city and about the events that had followed in quick succession. Of course I came to talk about the rampant murders and the last victim, which I had been forced to see with my own eyes. I presented her my thoughts on that score and the resultant theories. Sancta seemed to be far from the picture I had created of her, namely that of a delicate flower blossoming in a f
issure of a broken column, and
–
thank God!
–
turned out to be a realist. She had also heard about the murders, was even afraid to lose her ear and life at the hand of the killer and had decided to energetically support my investigation with any infor
mation she could possibly give.

»
Igitur investigator es, Francis, quaerens verum ultimum?
« she said and narrowed her eyes to slits because of the scorching sun. We had rested on one of the terraces of the Thermae Severianae. The giant substructures, which once supported pillars and arches in the walls, some baths and corridors and even the heating system, were still in good condition. From here we could even see the Collosseum and the Circus Maximus. But still the most wonderful site of all was my ancient bride. In daylight, the blue color had totally disappeared from her fur. The silver tone in it had become a cosmic glowing though, which made her a saint once and for all. Her sexy odor was stuck in my nose like some happy childhood memory, it almost brought me to my knees. Lordy! I hadn’t felt like that since my blissful days of youth! The old fox had fallen in love! I had almost mocked myself if the use of animals in mockery d
idn’t get on my nerves so much.

»Yeah, now and then the detective takes me over, Sancta«, I replied, after I had recovered a little from the daze caused by too much sunlight and hormonal frenzy. »But only chance brought it about that sometimes I have to descend to Hades. Or fate. But as of today, I want to be just one thing, namely the one who adores you till the end of days.«

She smiled mischievously, as if she would think of my words as a kind but rhetorical compliment. But I knew from experience that to the ladies especially the most pathetic compli
ments are music to their ears.

»To get back to the recent cruelty in my second job: I told you that on this creepy conference down in the catacombs the capeman talked about an upcoming miracle, about
il miracolo
. Does that ring a bell? I mean, have you ever heard rumors regarding a so-called miracle amongst our kind?«

Sancta thought for quite a while, whereas her patina-green eyes totally disappeared between the slits of her eyelids, then she shook her head. I just wanted to ask the next question, when she suddenly looked
up as if she just got an idea.

»Well, come to think of it ... there actually is a miracle with a certain connection to us. But it is not about to come, it has existed for ages and it is quite alive. All Romans know it. And since the TV stations, which bless the people with pathetic impressions at Christmas and Easter, have broadcasted his pictures ad nauseam, everyone has been sick of it.«

Instantly I changed from the passionate lover back to the passionate detective.

»What, there actually is an
il miracolo
?«

»Unfortunately! And that’s his name, too.«

»Excuse me?«

»
Miracolo
is the name of the Pope’s pet! And ever since these cute media reports this creature carved out a career as the Vatican’s secret mascot. That’s okay. But this guy, who unfortunately is one of our kind, has more air than the pope himself. He’s a Persian, who meanwhile has seen more springs than the Temple of Apollo. He surrounds himself with flunkeys who even support him in his megalomania. Anyway, from time to time he sends our kind some bluenosed messages, which outdo the pope’s encyclicals by far. At best we don’t get them and at worst we shake our heads.«

»I got to meet him!« I yelled so loud as if I had spotted a fire.

»
Quare?
« she replied
and looked at me, dumbfounded.

»Seriously? I’m looking for a miracle in Rome, Sancta, and Miracolo is the only miracle I can get a hold of.«