Moles and Machine. v1.1. PROLOGUE.

Moles and Machine.
[Rhetorical] dramatic epic.

These evil creatures have deprived us of death and glory,
But it's not the Veche just right now, and is not the last parade
The Triglav body, forged by Arkona's blacksmith
Spiraling down from Heaven will utter us: It's time!
("Interlocal smuggling" ©)

PROLOGUE.
Istanbul, 8 May 1945. Old Galata Bridge
Characters: Adam Glauer aka Baron von Sebottendorf, founder of the Thule Society, an adventurer
Heinz Schaeffer, commander of submarine U977.

Glauer:
- Here, in the lands of Asia Minor, in the center of the world, The the Path of Knowledge I began
With cunning tricks of the Kabbalah. Here my good Turk, my old Hussein Pasha
Helped me to comprehend the wisdom of the Sufi. And the first lesson of the Runes cold mystery
Von List taught me himself, still healthy at the time! Oh, Lords, how blind I was!
I cried, sweating, and I fell before the muzzle of the boiler, roaring hell of heat, exhausted,
On the dirty old steamship, I reached to the very depths of humiliation and a terrible thirst for knowledge at the same time.
But Sign of Mole kept me in the sands of Egypt, near the Pyramids, under the gaze of the Sphinx, in the Australian mine,
In Mexico, where bloody shamans fed me that mescaline, where the Ice Angel showed me the Eagle
And I tried, like Faust, to give the wings myself and grasp the fundamentals of the Universe.
And yet, the first hint of a Path of the Mole I got in the far Australia. With strangest pattern
Drown on the sand a naked aborigine told me: The rumor are there, that Moles will compete with Best
And after the decisive fight, they will come here, tired,to our world. In cities and countries I gathered bits of knowledge
Of devoted, by pieces, dust particles, words.
And all these years I was forced to be just silent about the Path. Who I could say to? Blunt stormtroopers? Loose amphetamine doll?
Cursed poultry farmers? They would've understand me never. Thanks though I was not killed, whether now I hardly can be grateful.
Despicable Yasha Blyumkin, a spy and an adventurer, who asked me here in Turkey, for help
Is gunned down in Moscow, in stinking basement, by some Barbarian's hand, and his finale was more worthy than I have.
Georgy, cunning Persian, or Gypsy, or Georgian perhaps lives in his castle in Neuilly-sur-Seine, near Paris, horsing around with his women.
And me?...
Today, the only and unique, the only mine secret of the Mechanism, of the Machine of Moles, will be covered by these dirty waters forever.
Like idle Torpedo useless I'll fall down to the bottom of the of the strait of ancient Argonauts, I'll be food for fish and crabs, and sea worms.
The Eon ends. The greatest Gods died before the Ragnarok - they died of fear! Moles are coming!
[Throws himself into the water and drowns]

Istanbul, the next morning.
Schaeffer: [rummaging through things in the room of Glauer]
- ...a rope with knots, a mole paw, an owl claw, a glass bead, a dried plant. Old bastard really went crazy. Better it would be if he continued to plant nuts. The nut kernel, as you know, resembles the brain. Why would I come into the room of nothingness? The boat is waiting. My nice guys, my crew, all of you will be awarded with medals. I'll gather it all and I'll take it. I'm not alone in this room, stuffy as after the attack with depth charges, when our glorious shark remained for days under the surface. We are like Jonah in the belly of the whale, the sound of the hatch shut is not the most pleasant, but we tremble, when we are in the top of the square wolf pack. Old mechanic Franz, the one that stands on the eighth tap, predicted that some day they will write the play about it and will perform it in the houses on the tiny screens, such as our radar. Well, is this eccentric Franz! Goodbye, dirty Istanbul, cold water of Antarctica should wash wrinkled old lady's sides . And these belongings of the unfortunate crook I will take with me.
[Leaves]