The Emasculation of the Enlightened Forces

In the gardens of the baroque Belvedere Palace in Vienna, a very large man walked slowly, pensively, among the resplendent blooms. After a little while, sniffing an azalea here, gently caressing a rose there, he found a bench upon which he sat and slowly took off his wide-brimmed hat. A few minutes later, the large man raised his eyes to observe a little man in a hooded sweatshirt scurrying towards him while glancing from side to side.

“I am so glad you came,” said Alfredo Pérez Corbacho Chaves María de los Remedios Cipriano.

The little man sat down close to Cipriano and tugged at his hood.

“The message said that this was urgent,” the little man hissed. “Well, I have lots to do, so you had better be serious – and quick!”

“Fernando, Fernando, there is no call for such angry speak. Are you not my most beloved friend? Do we not laugh and cry together? Have we not broken bread and drank wine together since you were allowed to leave your mother’s home unaccompanied. Are we not..”

“Get on with it!”

The big man sighed. His bloodshot eyes and drooping jowls gave him the gloomy aspect of a bloodhound labouring from indigestion and flatulence. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, as though he was thirsty. At length he was able to speak.

“My dear friend, you better than anyone, know that I have dedicated my whole life, my entire being, to the mastery of the Enlightened Forces. So much so that it has felt like a marriage more loving and more passionate than any in the history of marriage. I do not wish to keep you here unnecessarily, but I beg you to allow me at least ten minutes. Come with me please.”

With great reluctance- having first surveyed his surroundings to ensure he was not observed – Alonso followed Cipriano into the Österreichische Gallery. He led him to a couple of works by Egon Schiele.

“Here you see perhaps the most beautiful painting Schiele ever painted in his short, tormented life. At this time he was blissfully happy and madly in love with his wife Edith Harms. He wanted to echo the famous panting, The Kiss, by his friend and mentor Gustav Klimt, but he wanted to give a more passionate, more sensual expression of the adoration he felt for Edith. The Embrace never ceases to make me weep.

Alonso shot a glance upward at Cipriano and saw that his eyes were moist.

“A year after The Embrace was finished, Edith succumbed to the Spanish flu epidemic and died while six months’ pregnant. Schiele died three days later at the age of 28.”

“Now, if you look at this self-portrait which Schiele painted 5 years before The Embrace, you can see that prior to meeting Edith, he was a desperately unhappy fellow.”

“And what is the point of all this?” snapped Alonso.

“Well, my treasured friend, a year ago, my mastery of the Enlightened Forces felt deeper, more enthralling than Schiele’s adoration of Edith in The Embrace. I felt energised, in charge of the whole world. Now, my feelings about life are more akin to those Schiele suffered when he was painting that self-portrait. You see, my unique faculty with the Enlightened Forces has required me to seek synergies between the sorcery of the Far East, the Levant and Africa. Each of the three elements are essential. Without any one of them, my combination of mysteries becomes powerless, impotent, emasculated.”

“You have lost me completely, Alfredo.”

“You know that I travel extensively throughout those three regions on research missions every year, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, how am I to go to Syria now without risking decapitation or disembowelment – or both?”

“I see that, but what does it have to do with me on a day like today when I need to be at the A1 Ring practicing for this weekend’s Austrian Grand Prix?”

Tears now flowed freely down the big man’s face. He wrapped his enormous arms around Alonso as his shoulders shook in heavy sobs.

“Much as it breaks my heart – and believe me, I have wept copiously over this - I am forced to breach my promise to you, mi amigo más valorado,” he sobbed, “the promise I made to you solemnly while we shared lovingly prepared food and wine at Fonda Gaig in Barcelona two years ago. My powers have escaped me. The Enlightened Forces are unavailable to assist your labours at Ferrari. I can do nothing to improve your fortunes for you, or harm those of another. Nothing at all. Nada! You are on your own.”

“Quita tus manos de mí!”(Get your hands off me!) screamed Alonso as he shook himself free of Cipriano.

He dashed out of the Österreichische Gallery with a face like thunder. This season, more than any other in living memory, he needed something, anything, to come to the aid of the once mighty Ferrari; something which would bring vitality back to the team, restore their engineering ability and give him a decent car with which he had a fighting chance of winning races. The niggling feeling that it had been a mistake to join the mighty Scuderia had irked Alonso increasingly over time. Had he been too hasty to leave McLaren when there had at least been the prospect of a championship victory there? Was it too late for him to secure a third world title? Things just weren’t fair. Here he was, the most consistent, most intelligent, most talented of any driver currently in Formula One, and yet he was being outclassed by a German well beneath him in ability. To be regarded as one of the all-time-greats – which he undoubtedly was – he needed to have at least three championships under his belt; and yet Sebastian Vettel had won four in a row. But championships were only won through winning races. It is impossible to win races with a dog of a “racing” car.

Alonso walked plaintively to his waiting car and sat heavily in the back seat.

Meanwhile, in a suite at the Palais Coburg Hotel, a curious conversation was carrying on.

“It can’t be that difficult, Nicole, surely it can’t.”

“Are you out of your tiny mind, you chicken-shit? I ain’t cut out for that kind of fucking caper and you know that! What sort of idiot do you take me for?”

“Come on, Nicole. How hard can it be? All you’ve got to do is sneak into Nico’s motor home and swap a couple of his water bottles with these doctored ones here.” Hamilton pointed at six seemingly untainted water bottles wrapped in cellophane. “Nico’ll have such a bad case of the runs on Saturday and Sunday, he won’t be able to race. If he’s out of the running, I can see my way clear to sorting out this annoying points deficit.”

“Lewis, do your own fucking dirty work. I am going to get a pedicure.” Nicole flounced out of the room in her usual style – not forgetting to ensure that the door made as much noise as possible as it slammed shut.

There was anxiety throughout the Formula One paddock. The A1 Ring was one of the more challenging of circuits in the old days and had seen many a good contest – like the superb one between Michael Schumacher and Mika Hakkinen at the end of the last century – but had not been used for Formula One races since 2003. Nobody knew what to expect and from whom. Crashes were a distinct possibility.

It was going to be a tense couple of days.

Gitau

20 June 2014