Page 23 - Unlikely Stories 1

Madagascar Madness

as freaks or mountebanks in the United States; their higher mental
attainments are ignored or discounted by intellectuals committed to
Judeo-Christian principles of duality in the cosmos. Yet fake
spiritualists and mediums often successfully adopt the trappings of
the East to fleece their emotionally confused clients seeking contact
with another world of ghosts and spirits. The irony, Private Seidell, is
that the stage magic trickery of dishonest Western mystics is decried
by sophisticated Americans and Europeans while they flock,
fascinated, with open purses to the latest imported swami or guru
performing the same deceptions.”
“I guess so,” mumbled the soldier, beginning to squirm a bit.
“That sort of thing never interested me.”
“Because you are a secular American Jew: if you looked
deeper into your own traditions, you would find as crazy a streak of
mysticism as anywhere else. At any rate, I had advanced from simple
physiological mastery of bodily functions to a study of the wisdom
behind them. They taught disciplines of fasting and meditation
leading to refinements of consciousness far beyond anything dreamt
of in our philosophy, bound as it is to a strict distinction between
physical and metaphysical realms. For several years I traveled about
the States, debunking spiritualists—you see, I knew all their tricks—
but knowing my true calling was to pursue the self-knowledge and
self-extinction offered by the ancient and subtle teachings I had
discovered through my studies—I had a huge library, you know—it
became imperative for me to use the illusions to escape from my
identity and fame and seek the reality.”
Seidell nodded slowly. “So that would be the explanation for
disappearing into the middle of nowhere: but you don’t look very
good now, if I may say so.”
“Correct.” Weiss shrugged. “You should have seen me before
the war: I had attained yogic powers achieved by few people outside
the Indian Subcontinent. I grew a beard, bought good-quality identity
papers on the black market. I stayed away from Europeans until my
French was adequate, at least for a Romanian expatriate—my new

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