The Good Life ...Part 5 ...Phantasmagoric Vision

I was finally going to be mentored by Victor Goldman—the man who had everything, as his reputation declared.

I was more than willing to sit at the feet of the stock market's resident guru and glean whatever pearls of wisdom he was willing to dispense.

Victor's eyes gleamed as he saw my obvious desire to prostrate myself before him, attentive to every word and observant of each nuance of gesture he might impart.

He warmed to the task.

“I’m going to tell you this parable as it was disclosed to me by a Russian aristocrat whom I had the good fortune to meet when I was a very young man embarking on my ‘Grand Tour’ —wandering through Europe in search of myself.”

I could scarcely believe my fortune to be privy to such a privileged disclosure

But as Victor began speaking a strange thing occurred—I not only identified with the young aristocrat in his story—I became him.

It’s as if Victor mesmerized me with his voice or perhaps in some mystical way there was a temporary transmigration of souls and everything I experienced came through the young aristocrat’s flesh.

It turned out the young aristocrat was a prince set to inherit the family titles, all the fortune and estates the day he turned twenty-one.

On the morning of his inheritance, he decided to get up early, pack a picnic lunch and take a walking tour of his estate. He would walk for three hours- sun himself, eat lunch and then return in time to drive to Moscow and sign the inheritance papers.

Then he would spend the next few hours getting ready for the ball that evening. All the most beautiful debutantes in Russia would be there.

The details reminded me of my own life – how I inherited my parents’ fortune when they died in a plane crash – how I had been touted as most eligible bachelor until I turned thirty-five and then was replaced by other celebrities who were now more appropriately seen as filling that role...

And how this very evening I had prepared for hours choosing the perfect wardrobe just to impress Sylvia...and now the great Victor Goldman!

Victor’s voice rumbled on as he narrated his tale.

"It seemed the prince walked for three hours and then spotted a huge black slab of rock in the middle of a field of feather grass. He made for the rock, took out his wine cheese and bread – ate his feast and napped for a half hour basking in the sun and the warmth of the rock. Then, it was time to return and claim his inheritance."

"The young man started back, walking across the field of grass—but as he was nearing the old, dusty pathway he heard a snapping sound, as if he were walking on thin ice and suddenly the ground beneath him splintered and the earth seemed to swallow him up."

"He reacted quickly, but frantically—he cast himself forward on the grass, grasping a handful of long feather grass. But his feet slid out beneath him as a cloud of bees ascended into the air. He was beginning to slide down into a hole, his hands unable to catch hold of the damp feather grass."

Victor paused for emphasis, as my heart raced.

"At the last moment, he noticed a gnarled tree root growing out of the sides of the sandy shaft, and he grasped onto it and held on for dear life."

"Once, he was sure he had a firm grip on the tree root he began shouting for help at the top of his voice. He did this for several moments until he came to his senses. It had been some time since he had passed the last peasant hut on his walk out—he was certain no one would hear him."

"He began absurdly to panic and shout all the more, but eventually his voice went hoarse and his throat sore, and he stopped. A strange calm came over him."

"It was futile. He was going to die. There was no exit from this hole. It was his fate."

"The gates of Hell opened beneath him. His arm muscles burned with pain and fatigue. Soon, he'd be forced to let go and plunge into a fiery chasm."

It was weird. I had been listening to Victor's story but at the same time transported into it—sliding helplessly into a yawning abyss.

I'm not sure how long the experience lasted, but I gradually began to awaken from this strange trance and return to my own body. As I did, I saw the utter futility of my life—my pride and vanity.

Was this the wisdom I had sought from my mentor?

But instead of consoling me, Victor seemed to delight in making me squirm.

I was terrified by this horrific vision and he sensed it and now shape-shifted into my tormentor.