Be Who You Are: Friedrich Nietzsche’s Eternal Return to Sils Maria in the Engadine and his Vaunted Zarathustra Stone

By Robert Ensor Copyright Robert Ensor September 2026.

Hello. I am Orson Mitford. Writer. Struggling. I’m currently staying in a little Gasthof called the Zur Post in Sils Maria, a small village in the Upper Engadine valley of Switzerland, not far from that playground of the superrich and the not so rich, the famous ski resort of Saint Moritz. Sils is best known for the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, who summered in a house just down the road from my Gasthof in the 1880’s. It’s a twee little alpine haus, painted light green, with flower baskets hanging from the windows. Right next to the post office. Lovely spot. Gurgling canal across the road. Snow-crested peaks visible from the front door. Looking at it for the first time, I immediately thought of Stefan Zweig, the turn of the c Austrian novelist. Funnily enough, Zweig lionised Nietzsche, visited the haus and wrote a biographical sketch of him. Ever since 1959, when Nietzsche’s thought was more or less disentangled from the Nazi’s, the haus has been a museum. I, Guy Playfellow, am one of the many ironic ‘pilgrims’ to visit the self-proclaimed antichrist, Friedrich Nietzsche.

I suppose this is an appropriate place to embark upon a potted biography of Friedrich, or ‘Fred’, as he is affectionately known by his acolytes. Nietzsche was born in the small German parish town of Röcken, in Saxony. His father was a pastor, who died of a cerebral haemorrhage when Nietzsche was five years old. He grew up with his mother, sister and other female relatives in a relatively sheltered environment. In accordance with his own wishes, he went to Pforta, a school for Germany’s elite, run on classical lines with monastic-Spartan discipline. For Nietzsche was already beset by that unfortunate affliction of the fatherless…ambition. After several years of stern Christian pedagogy, one senses young Fred had begun to champ at the bit. The plan was for him to study the church fathers with a view to becoming a priest like his father. But our lad Fred soon tired of theology and spurned it for the study of that most pedantic of ologies, philology. No, it’s not the study of Phils, it is the love of logy itself – that is, language. Specifically, classical languages. The Word was forsaken for mere words. It was a decision Freddy would come to regret, though he was quite the linguist. He thought in Latin, preferring its clean logic and aristocratic vowels to the organic windings of his mother tongue. If Latin was a neatly symmetrical temple, German was a thick forest of gnarled, old roots. The dichotomy of civilization and nature, classical and German, ancient and modern, would haunt Nietzsche his entire life – and he always sided distinctly in favour of the old. He had a lifelong affinity for the classical, like many of his 19^th century countrymen. As a boy, he would re-enact the Trojan war with his playfellows (pun most definitely intended) and wrote a play with a Grecian theme. He was a living anachronism, a serious, odd little German boy with the soul of an Achaean. The strangest thing about him, the thing that made him stand out as strange in a country of strange little boys, was that he inspired an odd protective devotion in some of his schoolchums and in consequence, was not bullied too badly. I myself had no such luck. You see, Fred always evoked pity in those around him, which in later life was to protect him from the sharp end of polemic – but not, alas, the throes of madness.

Nietzsche soon abandoned his former faith altogether and won a reputation in Leipzig as an interesting young student. Indeed, it was in this period that there arose in him a profound aversion to virtually everything conventional, from beer to nationalism. He followed his professor to the university of Basel, where he was appointed the Chair of Philosophy – at the tender age of 25, he was that venerable institution’s history. He soon attracted the attentions of one Richard Wagner. They were fast friends, and enjoyed many splashy frolics in Lake Lucerne. An odd duo ­– one the one hand, the most famous, hailed man in pre-Hitler Germany, who elicited heaving bosoms, blubbering sobs and spasms of overwrought emotionalism from women and old men alike wherever his hallowed foot deigned to tread, and one the other, the most widely ignored and underrated individual of his generation. The lion and the mouse, an odd soil for bromance to flourish, but flourish it did. It is a testament to Nietzsche’s redounding and peculiar unpopularity in life that this longstanding intimate relationship with the towering presiding genius of German music and culture yielded no success in his own fledgling literary career. His first significant work, The Birth of Tragedy Out of the Spirit of Music, sold a paltry 600 copies. This ‘dreaded silence’ was to become a recurring theme in Fred’s career. It inspired in Nietzsche, who one suspects was never the most gregarious of chaps, a haughty reactionary scorn of the plebeian rabble that he would take to the grave. If he could see grubby fingered publicans like myself gawping at his lodgements, Nietzche would doubtless respond with a shudder. But he always knew he would be a success, so he probably foresaw the museum, too. Around this time, old Dicky Wagner recommended a Doctor to Nietzsche, whose eyesight was failing. Wagner, naturally, believed this ailment was due to excessive masturbation. He really believed it, too. Oh yes. He was quite insistent upon that point. Wouldn’t shut up about it. At any rate, rumours of syphilis contracted from a brothel followed Nietzsche around all his life, probably due to a leak from someone in the Wagner camp. There was probably fire beneath that particular smoke cloud. These revelations, combined with Wagner’s increasingly Christian operas, precipitated one of those infamous bromantic break-ups that characterise the history of German thought, and as to be re-enacted forty years later by Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung.

At this juncture, a word about Nietzche’s health, which was always nothing short of appalling, but had taken a turn for the worse during his military service during the franco-prussian war. He took some crappy medicine for dysentery and wound up burning his insides. Over the years, he suffered from a formidable list of ailments: ghastric cramps, lumbago, rheumatic pains in the arm, arthritis, severe debilitating migraines, myopia. He tried an all-meat precursor of the paleo-diet.

Fred’s next ill-conceived dalliance was with his friends, the atheist philosopher Paul Ree and Lou Andreas Salome, a young German-Russian girl whose striking figure, austere beauty, keen, rebellious intellect and beguiling coquetry were fated to make her an enchanting Circe to our wayward philosopher’s Odysseus. But he was no Odysseus; despite inconsistent flattery for his intellect and work, she had no interest in him romantically, abandoning him to abscond with Ree. They were an unlikely couple of love birds, as they shared a horror of sexual intercourse, although that did not prevent them from causing a scandal by living together unwed. Nietzsche was tarred with the same brush, and his sister, doubtless jealous of Salome’s imposing decollete, stepped in to rouse her mawkish, lovelorn brother to action. Under her imprimatur, they tried to have the sex-hating flirt Lou evicted from Germany for immoral behaviour! Then Nietzsche turned on his sister, accusing her of playing him off against his sweet innocent Lou, and cut off relations with her as well. She promptly fucked off to Paraguay to found a German colony with a proto-Nazi, where she tactlessly lorded it over the colonists like a South American Marie Antoinette. There were numerous accusations of fraud, but Elizabeth Nietzsche was an extremely self-righteous woman and blagged her way out of it.

Nietzsche started renting a house in Sils-Maria in the 1880’s, it was coloured green, and Nietzsche had a small room with a small wood-framed bed, and a writing desk. The curtains were green. Orson visited Nietzche’s old house, paid the entrance fee for the ticket, looked at the Nietzsche titles in the bookshop, saw the old room, and was hit by a wave of memories of gastric cramp and migraines while working at his desk. Nietzsche walked around lake silvaplana and lake sils frequently, thinking about how certain events tend to repeat themselves in the lives of countries, individuals and the structure of existenceee. Then he saw the large pyramidal stone by the lakeshore. He walked on the lakeshore stepping over the pebbles and removed his boots and dabbled his toes in the blue waters of lake silvaplana. Then Nietzsche generated his idea of the eternal recurrence of the same, the notion that everything repeats itself, and he reflected upon the superman, his idealised future man who is free of all extant moral conventions and able to make his own values. He realised the superman would live his life in such a way that he has no regrets and come to truly love his inevitable fate. In any case, there has been no proof of the idea of eternal recurrence, and Nietzsche himself didn’t make it overly clear if he believed in a literal interpretation of this idea, but it certainly has limited applicability as it pertains to the repeating cycles of human life. During his final summer at Sils-Maria in 1888, Nietzsche suffered a bout of insanity and then travelled to Turin and in Turin 1889, Nietzsche saw a horse being flogged on the street and suffered a complete psychological collapse. Nietzsche was the best German prose stylist and his writing flowed extremely well, and was obviously inspired. He wrote in Thus Spake Zarathustra: A Book For All or None, ‘if one had the the smallest vestige of superstition left in one, it would hardly be possible to set aside completely the idea that one is the mere incarnation , mouthpiece or medium of a higher power.’ He had repressed pity so thoroughly, including self-pity for the loss of his father, and the various illnesses he had suffered, that seeing the horse being flogged almost led to these emotions surfacing, and he struggled with the inner conflict and simply broke down. He spent the remaining ten years of his life as a psychotic, dependent on his mother and sister. His books were extremely obscure during his period of sanity, but gained popularity after his psychotic break and even more so after his death, and following the Second World War when the culture slid into nihilism and increasing amounts of people stopped believing in God.

Orson flew into Zurich Airport from London Heathrow, rented a flat in Sils Maria for a few days. He was 28 years old and had just recovered from an acute bout of stomach pain. He was a gaunt, sickly lad with a shock of wavy blond hair. He had studied philosophy at the University of Oxford and was an extremely thoughtful person who wanted to progress philosophy. Orson had come to Sils in search of inspiration. He believed that progress in philosophy effectively ended with Nietzsche, but wanted to generate new values. He had also recently converted to Christianity after reading the Bible and discovering that numerous Bible prophecies had been historically fulfilled, such as the Crucifixion, the collapse of Nineveh, the fall of Babylon, but still retained his old interest in Friedrich Nietzsche. He came to realise Nietzsche’s prophecy of the Superman, which he had formerly been fascinated with, had already been realised by Jesus Christ in the first century AD, but in a very different way, that stood up for the weak, the meek and downtrodden, whereas Nietzsche’s superman was envisaged as a morally ambiguous artist-tyrant, like Cesare Borgia, if he were a good painter.

He walked down the quaint high street, past the burbling canal, took a look at Nietzsche’s old house, then walked to the lakefront, overawed at the impressive view of the bleak shale-clad slopes and crag of Piz Lagrev. Orson also studied German at school, took a few German language modules at university and picked up more of the language from his many holidays to German-speaking nations. Then he walked through the winding forest trails of the Chaste peninsula, found the Nietzsche stone in the chaste peninsula, looked out over the lake at the view of the surrounding peaks and the distant lakeshore, read the inscription, returned to Sils for lunch at a restaurant, and then walked around Lake Silvaplana. He turned left and climbed the mountain slope a little way, dodging tree roots, and passed a roaring waterfall. Then he returned to the lake walk and found the Nietzsche Gedenkstein, the pyramid-shaped rock on the edge of the lake that inspired Nietzche’s idea of eternal recurrence of the same, because Nietzche passed it so many times on his circular hikes. Orson saw the stone, touched it, and saw a torrent of images from his past life as Nietzsche, most of them relating th that final summer in Sils Maria. Despite his sickliness, and obscurity, orson had nurtured a few strange thoughts that perhaps he was the superman Nietzsche envisaged.

While staying at his flat in Sils Maria, late one night Orson received a beautific vision of the archangels Gabriel and Raphael, who urged him to travel with them in the spirit to heaven to speak with God the Father. Orson experienced theosis because he had been sharing the gospel message in his local area and risking his neck by uncovering some of the deeper hidden meanings of the Bible, he was rewarded with the secret to contacting historical persons and was explicitly instructed to talk to Nietzsche in that crucial summer of 1888 before he went insane. The first to say, “God is dead” must be the one to correct his error and proudly declare that God lives!’ The philosophy of destruction and error must be replaced by a philosophy of creation and truth!

Chapter 2: A Difficult Conversion

So Orson decided to spiritually contact Nietzsche, and he intercepted him on one of his walks around Lake Sils. There he was, with his brown jacket billowing in the wind, his head bent forward and his eyes squinting. Thanks to Yahweh Father’s power, Orson took on physical form, and walked along the lakeshore, listening to the sighing waves of Lake Sils. He took on the form of a priest, and established an identity as ‘Father Mitford’ an English Catholic priest on holiday in the Engadine. He walked towards Nietzsche on the path to the chaste peninsula, greeted him, and engaged him in conversation.

Nietzsche had studied rthe Bible extensively at Pforta and while studying theology at the University of Leipzig. Having established that Nietzsche held Christianity in some contempt, the pastor asked Nietzche about the many Bible prophecies that were historically fulfilled and how he could explain them. Nietzsche smiled and shook his head, and made some comment about the law of averages, and the innate ability of man to predict the future, which he himself had experience of, despite not being a prophet.

‘Isn’t prophecy the ability to predict the future, when it is inspired by God?’

‘But I do not believe in God,’ said Nietzsche, ‘at least, not your kind of God.’

‘What kind of God might you believe in?’ asked Orson.

‘A God with contempt for humanity, or at any rate, the ordinary run of humanity, who sees the human race as a chrysalis for some higher being.’

‘A superman?’

‘Yes. Have you read my book, Thus Spake Zarathustra?’

‘Yes, I have.’

Nietzsche was taken aback. He covered his reaction by scoffing. ‘I thought barely anyone had read it.’

‘Well, I found a copy.’

‘And you are from England? The book has not been translated!’

‘In Basel.’

‘What did you make of the idea of the ubermensch?’

‘The Superman is Jesus Christ, and he is not your kind of superman.’

‘I have respect for Christ.’

‘Yes, Jesus defied many conventions to preach his message. He went against much of the prevailing morality of Judea.’

‘That is how I thought of him. But his morality…love thy neighbour…’

‘And you are wondering how exactly one can love his neighbour, when you have contempt for your neighbours and their mediocrity?’

Nietzsche blinked.

‘How did you know?’

‘You are quite forthcoming with your opinions, Herr Nietzsche.’

Nietzsche laughed, nervously.

Orson gestured for him to continue to the chaste peninsula.

‘Do you deny that there is a spiritual component to man?’ asked Orson.

‘No. I do not. I myself have experienced numerous dreams that have come to pass, I have received communications from the spirit world. At times I believe my intuitions, that inform my writing, come from spirits. Possibly from God. I believe…’

‘You believe in the gods (or demons) of Ancient Greece.’

‘I do, at times. I love the Hellenic world. I wish our time were more like theirs…’

‘The gods of Ancient Greece exist. But they are beneath God.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Have you studied the miralces of Jesus Christ in the Bible? The healing of the blind men, the paralytic and the raising of Lazarus.’

‘Yes, I struggle to believe them.’

‘What about the miracles at Lourdes? They have been medically verified.’

‘I..haven’t thought about them.’

At that moment, Nietzsche winced and clutched his stomach.

‘You suffer from gastric spasms?’

‘I do.’

‘I could heal them. Better yet, pray to God, and he will heal them.’

‘But I do not believe in the Christian God.’

‘Perhaps that is the cause of your malady. Like the paralytic, to whom jesus said, ‘Your sins are forgiven.’

Nietzsche scoffed. ‘So you think my sin is not believing in Christ?’

‘I do.’

Nietzsche blinked, this time with anger.

‘I believe the atmosphere down in Germany is to blame. The atmosphere, and the food. I have been experimenting with a diet of meat and vegetables, and it has helped quite a bit.’

‘Yes, but your symptoms remain. The only reason it has worked is because you believed it would.’

Nietzsche was taken aback. ‘You are referring to health and sickness as a matter of belief?’

‘A matter of will and belief, yes, since what we believe is a question of will.’

Nietzsche nodded slowly.

‘I am not used to such intelligence from a priest.’

Orson smiled slowly.

The two men took a last look at the sun glinting on the face of the mountain slopes

‘I am striving in these mountain airs to recover my health.’ And my sanity, he thought. The dark oppression of anxiety and melancholia had been creeping into nietzsche’s thoughts recently.

‘You believe health is the yardstick of values? That if an idea or an ethic tends to strengthen one, it is good? And an ethic that weakens you must be evil?’

Nietzsche thought about this. Uncertainly, he nodded.

‘I do. As a general principle.’

‘But your values have made you sick.’

Nietzsche shook his head in violent opposition. His jaw set in defiance.

‘Absolutely not.’

‘At any rate, you cannot deny that you are ill, and your philosophy doesn’t seem to be helping.’

‘Imagine how sick I would be without my philosophy.’

‘Judge a tree by its fruits.’

‘So you are saying my philosophy is spoiled fruit from a bad tree?’

‘Yes, I am. For the most part. You make some interesting points about national character, conformity and the idea of a superman, but your notions about Christianity are almost completely incorrect.’

‘But people were much healthier back in Ancient Greece. The Homeric heroes were embodiments of rude health. It was a time of violence and bravery, of seizing what one wanted.’

‘That may be so, but the life expectancy was a damn sight shorter.’

‘Yes. They did not have inoculations or modern medicine…but they had more vigour.’

‘In any case, Christ healed two blind men.’

‘How?’ asked Nietzsche, wondering about his own myopia.

‘He had the Spirit of God, and was God incarnate. The blind men believed in him too; Jesus said, “your faith has made you well.”’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means they had faith Jesus could heal them, and that they were going to heal, because the spirit controls the body.’

‘This is a religion for the sick and the weak…’ said Nietzsche, lacking conviction.

‘It’s a religion for people with the strength of character to see the truth, to know what is right and act on it boldly, even if it means enduring the persecutions of the crowd.’

They entered the forest of the Chaste peninsula. The path was shady, and the sunlight filtered through the pines. Every now and again, they caught a glimpse of blue lake or a distant, snow-capped mountain.

‘I never saw it that way before.’

‘It is obviously stronger to resist temptation than to yield to it.’

‘But there is strength in pursuing your own way, against the will of the masses and their cant.’

‘There is, I’ll grant you that.’

‘And the masses of Europe are Christian.’

‘They won’t always be. And most of these Christians do not know Jesus and do not practice his ways. It is written, ‘Not everyone who says to me, “Lord, Lord” will enter into the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of my father who is in heaven. Many will tell me in that day, “lord, lord, didn’t we prophesy in your name, in your name cast out demons, and in your name do many mighty works?’ Then I will tell them, ‘I never knew you. Depart from me, ye who work iniquity.’” (Matthew 7:21).

‘So most Christians are not saved?’

‘Too many are not, regrettably.’

‘So you are saying there is a mystery religion, a secret teaching, and that the masses of Christians, the majority of priests and churches are getting it wrong, so to speak?’

‘Wrong or partly right. But not wholly right.’

This set Nietzsche to thinking. This was a more appealing religion…a religion for the intellectual and moral elite, rather than one for the masses.

Cathching those thoughts, Orson commented, ‘Yes, it is a religion for the few. “Narrow is the way to life, and few are those who find it.”’

‘Jesus did say to his disciples that ‘to you has been given the secret of the kingdom, but to those who are outside, all is hidden in parable, lest they turn and be forgiven.’

‘The implication being, most people do not deserve salvation, but if the hidden meanings of the parables and the Bible were explained, many more would convert. Including some sinners, who would perceive that it is smart to be good, and kind, because that is the path to eternal life, even if it leads to some losses and self-denial in the short term.’

‘What is the hidden knowledge of Christ. The truth that sets one free?’

‘The spirit must be united with the body and soul for salvation to occur. That is why the body is called the new temple of the Holy Spirit by Saint Paul, and the Holy Spirit is called a pledge and guarantee of eternal life; because when it is present in the body, you know it is there, you can feel it as a tangible presence in the skull, the inner sanctum of the body-temple where God’s glory resided. The parable of the grain of mustard seed hidden in the field that grows into a mighty tree of many branches is a metaphor for the kingdom of heaven, which began as a spirit in a single body and grew into a large kingdom on the earth (the tree of many branches), supporting birds. The parable of the prodigal son is about this hidden truth: the son is the soul, incarnated in the world, lost in sin, and reunited with the Father, representing God, who is spirit. The return of the master from a far country, who punishes the bad servants and rewards the good servants, represents the Second Coming of Christ. ‘Now again the kingdom of heaven is like a treasure which a man hid in the field. In his joy, he goes and sells all he has, and buys that field.’  (Matthew 13:44). The treasure is the spirit, the kingdom within, gained by making material sacrifices (such as selling all one has), and buried or hidden from view in the field (which represents the body). I can give other examples if you wish.’

‘What about the ten virgins waiting for the bridegroom?’

‘The bridegroom is Christ. The wise and foolish virgins are believers in the End Times, near the time of the Second Coming. The oil in the lamp is the spirit, that keeps the lamp burning (the perception clear), and those believers who did not bring enough spirit or were not saved missed their chance to enter into the wedding feast and meet the bridegroom, because they were not prepared. Then there is the parable of the tares, in which a farmer burns the weeds from his crop, and then removes the tares from his wheat crop and burns them in the barn, which leads to the kingdom of God. In other words, the weeds are sinners, and the crop represents saved Christians.’

‘What is the proof of God?’

‘Miracles. There have been many recorded miracles; the catholic church has quite strict criteria. Salvation – the Holy Spirit is felt as a tangible presence in the head, when you ask for it, and it is received. Rebirth – the experience of being born anew by visiting heaven ‘in the spirit’, leaving the body. Visions, providing information that was subsequently confirmed. The historicity of the gospels. Empirical vindications of the Bible and its practical wisdom.’

Nietzsche was quite shaken by this formidable roster of arguments.

‘Provide an example of an empirical vindication of the bible.’

‘The miraculous virgin birth in the house of david was predicted by Isaiah in the 8^th century BC. Bethlehem as the origin of the Messiah was foretold by Micah centuries ahead of Christ’s birth. The prophet Daniel correctly predicted the course of world empires, from Babylon, through Persia, Greece and Rome. Jonah anticipated the fall of Nineveh. Jeremiah foretold the Babylonian captivity in advance, and the fall of Babylon. Daniel even predicted the death of alexander the great, his triumph over the Persians and the division of his empire between his generals…from the 7^thcentury BC.’

Nietszche kept his head down. He did not know how to respond. The priest marshalled his facts and arguments in such a way that they seemed blindingly obvious. They continued walking through the trees, dodging gnarled tree roots and nodding to hikers headed in the other direction.

‘I have studied the historicity of the gospels. It is fairly strong.’

‘Indeed. There are so many ancient manuscripts saying roughly the same thing, some of them dating to within living memory of Christ’s ministry, Mark’s gospel has been dated to 75 AD, and Paul’s letter of 50 AD quotes from the olivet discourse, suggesting a gospel predating that time.’

‘You have pain now?’

Nietzsche nodded. ‘Migraine. Stomach cramps. Rheumatism in the left arm.’

‘You believe God can heal you?’

‘I do, actually, based on all you have told me.’

‘Your diet only helped because you believed it would. A change of air only healed you because you believed it would. It all comes down to your beliefs, the power of your will, as you would say.’

Nietzsche nodded. ‘Agreed.’

‘You have pain now?’

Nietzsche nodded. ‘Migraine. Stomach cramps. Rheumatism in the left arm.’

‘You believe God can heal you?’

‘I do, actually.’

‘Friedrich Nietzsche, you are healed.’

Nietzsche looked down…his stomach was no longer bloated and racked with violent stabs of pain. His arm and wrist were fine. He could wirte all day now, if necessary. His headache had disappeared completely, and he had amazing mental clarity for the first time since childhood.

‘What…how did you do that?’

‘I asked for, and received the Holy Spirit, which has conferred the miracle working power of God upon me.’

Nietzsche was shaken.

‘This feeling – will it last?’

‘Of course. It is the will of God.’

He exhaled, and smiled.

‘Thank you.’

‘This is my job. Makes it hard to disbelieve, doesn’t it, when you have been the beneficiary of a bona fide miracle of God?’

Nietzsche retreated into silence.

They reached the end of the peninsula, emerging into the bright sunlight. They looked at the view across the lake and the bare slopes and the imposing peaks. The jagged, wind-riven Piz Lagrev looked so astonishingly bleak, that Orson truly believed he was at the edge of the world, or on some alien planet.

‘Can you deny that Christianity is a slave morality like Judaism, a religion for the weak?’ asked Nietzsche, touching his moustache.

‘Do you want to arm wrestle? We can do it on this rock.’

‘I have some rheumatism in my right arm,’ said Nietzsche, temporarily disarmed by Mitford’s charm.

‘My point is, I’m Christian, and I’m not weak.’

‘Is it not stronger to face and smite your enemy than to turn the other cheek.’

‘It depends on your nature. It is very tempting and easy for the strong and wrathful to strike back, and for them, meekness requires more self-control. Turn the other cheek is a good general ethical principle to avoid trouble and sin, but it is not always valid.’

‘So there are instances where we should punch back?’

‘Of course. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. And then there is the wrath of God, in which God wreaks vengeance upon his enemies during the day of the Lord.’

‘Yes. There are some differences between old and new testaments.’

‘The wrath is there in the Revelation.’

‘The revelation is my favourite book of the Bible. I am fond of the idea of a blood-soaked messiah treading the winepress of his enemies and unleashing the force of his rage upon the earth.’

‘You cannot deny that the prospect of eternal life, and the moral clarity, and meekness of Christianity is appealing to a fearful character.’

‘Of course. It is appealing to many different types of people.’

‘All of them weak.’

‘You think I’m weak? I challenge you to climb Piz Lagrev with me, right now. If I beat you to the summit, I am not weak. And whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger, right?’

‘I do not have the proper mountaineering equipment,’ said Nietzsche.

‘Are you afraid? You enjoy climbing mountains, don’t you? In any case, that is where I am headed, and I lack the proper equipment too.’

Nietzsche nodded his assent to the challenge.

‘The issue with Christianity is that there is little room for individuality. It is all about subjection to God’s will,’ said Nietzsche, panting, as he scaled the bare scree-riven slopes of Piz Lagrev.

The priest laughed.

‘Obedience to God’s will is the height of wisdom. God knows what is best for all of us. Followng our own way merely leads to misery.’

‘For the majority, perhaps. But for the superman, for the higher man…his own way is law. He cannot disobey it. His character, his very being revolts against it. He simply must do his own will, or he will perish from turmoil and conflict.’

Orson considered this point.

‘You may be correct.’

‘In any case, you have identified a religion of two parts: a religion of obedience, and a religion of knowledge. And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. The thought of western civilisation is an ouroboros that began with Christianity, took a detour into atheistic materialism and hedonistic decadence – kickstarted by Nietzsche and reaching its nadir with the French postmodernists – and will return to its origin in Christ through the very rationality and desire for self-fulfilment that was developed in the Age of Enlightenment.’

‘The religion of knowledge may be bolstered by love. Love underpins both.’

‘Yes, that is possible. But for he who pursues knowledge, and is ready to martyr himself for knowledge, is it not true that one’s character is one’s destiny? That one cannot help but walk the path of one’s fate? That fate is a railway without any junctions, a straight line we must tread?’

‘Humanity does possess free will. It is the freedom to choose, to obey or disobey. To be or not to be. However, this freedom is predestined according to character; we are in agreement on that point.’

‘So sin cannot be blamed on man, because man is helpless to change his course.’

‘In a way. In another way, a mad dog needs a muzzle and a leash or it will savage passers-by.’

‘So punishments and judgements are pragmatic.’

‘Indeed they are.’

‘This idea of a two-tier religion…is it not possible for the Christian elite with access to the hidden teachings of Christ, when they are higher men and true individuals, to pursue their own way?’

‘Only when it is for the best, and their will is to do good.’

‘Did christ not do this at times, when he overturned the tables of the moneychangers, healed on the sabbath, confronted the pharisees and broke Judaic law on several occasions?’

‘Indeed he did.’

‘But Jesus was an exceptional individual.’

‘He is. He also denied and sacrificed himself, took up his cross. He not only sacrificed his life, he gave up his identity, to become God incarnate.’

Surely there must be higher men who are able to do good in the world, and break a few rules.’

‘There are. Some would also be willing to serve god.’

‘So…have we arrived at a new ethic?’ said Nietzsche, smiling.

Orson considered this, blinking.

‘I believe so.’

‘But the church, the priests, they would never respect such an individual.’

‘Christ would. And at the end of the day, Christianity is about the individual’s relationship with Christ. The priest is merely an intermediary to make the introduction and provide continuing guidance when god’s will is unclear to certain people.’

‘The Superman pursues knowledge and his own way. He could be this kind of Christian.’

‘It’s possible…’

‘I despise most priests. They are hypocrites and liars or worse still, ascetics. They provide an ascetic ideal of self-denial, that denies the will to power and the will to life inherent to man’s higher nature. Such men have weak constitutions. They withdraw from life out of fear. They torture their flock by forcing them to confess, by reprimanding them for sin, making them feel worthless, and destroying the impulse to life and health, all in a bid for dominance. You though…you are different.’

‘Asceticism is not only necessary to some extent, it demonstrates the conquest of sin and weakness. And not all priests are sickly…some are healthy. I myself have recovered my health with Christ’s help. Christ is the ultimate healer so of course his followers can be healthy. But they need to have faith.’

‘Asceticism is self-conflict, turning the impulse to fight and blame inwards – in other words, a manifestation of guilt, and it does untold damage. It is anti-life.’

‘And how would you define life?’

‘I define life as the will to Dionysian, the will to power, sex, chaos, and raw ecstatic experience!’

‘Life is the spirit within, without which we would not draw breath or be alive, that is above all such material urges of the lower soul, and the fruits of the spirit are patience, love, joy, kindness, faithfulness, peace and temperance.’

Nietzsche shook his head. We have different definitions of life.

‘Mine is derived from the Hebrew Bible. Yours, from a German with a bad haircut.’

Nietzsche chuckled. ‘Arthur Schopenhauer, yes.’

‘In Schopenhauer’s the The World as Will and Idea, the will to live is equated with an irrational instinctual drive or desire. The equation of life with irrational desire was a wrong turning in German philosophy; in the Gospel of John, Christ makes it plain that the divine spirit is life (‘my words are spirit and are life’)^[i] and matter is ‘dead’ without the indwelling of the spirit.’

Nietzsche retreated into gloomy silence. Suddenly, a jagged dagger of blue lightning struck the slope about fifty metres away, triggering a rockslide of fallen scree. The priest did not flinch. ‘Your problem, Nietzsche, is that you are a good man trying to be bad, an ascetic priest going against the grain of his nature. All such types destroy themselves through inner conflict, lest they turn and be forgiven.’

‘What should I be forgiven for?’

‘For blasphemy. For turning against God, and attempting to turn others against God, for betraying the memory of your priestly father, and for betraying your own nature, which is the nature of a prophet.’

Nietzsche bristled.

‘I will admit, I share some traits with the ascetic priest…’

‘You are an ascetic priest in denial. You took a wrong turning when you read too much Schopenhauer, lost faith and stopped studying theology at Leipzig.’

As they struggled up the bare slope of Piz Lagrev, the priest marched on ahead, and his lead widened, and they stopped talking. Nietzsche was panting and sweating. He was shivering in the winds. The scree made the path treacherous. Stormclouds gathered over the lake, and the peak was almost submerged in cloud. Some of the crags across the lake were buried in thick grey cloud, jagged daggers of lightning shot forth from the clouds. Near the peak, a crater emerged, with snowdrifts and a small blue puddle. The jagged crag of the peak jutted forth.

A black thundercloud loomed over the peak, which the priest was scaling with amazing vigour. There was a terrific thunderclap, Nietzsche started with a jolt, and the priest reached the peak, having scaled the sheer, almost vertical crags without any rope. At the summit, he declared, shouting through cupped hands ‘Christ is supreme! He overcame all weakness by sacrificing himself, his mind and his life, for the sake of God. He paid the blood price for humanity’s sin, and by uniting with him, we may share in that eternal life and that atonement, finding forgiveness for sin. Christianity is for the strong, the way of sin is for the weak!’

Nietzsche was taken aback. ‘Why did Christ need to die for sin to be forgiven? Why did god not simply forgive sin without a sacrifice?’

‘Where would be the justice in that? If there is no justice, the sinner can simply go around butchering raping and killing and get away with it. There had to be a sacrifice, but humankind being too poor in was unable to pay the price of sin, so God, he who is rich in spirit, had to incarnate and pay the price himself.’

Nietzsche grumbled.

‘Without that forgiveness, you are treading the road to ruin.’

‘God will smite me, an obscure writer?’

The priest shook his head. ‘Your philosophy will drive you insane and kill you; it is an elaborate structure designed to repress of the truth.’

‘What truth? Christ. His teachings. Love thy neighbour, be a good Samaritan to those perishing on the roadside.’

Nietzsche stopped and confronted the priest, getting red in the face.

‘What sin have I committed? I have been honest with myself, I have pursued my own will, the will to truth, to knowledge, and have defied all social conventions and the will of the masses to carve out a life for myself that is above that of the common herd!’

‘You have hidden grief – you haven’t fully mourned your father the priest, and are unwittingly going the same way as hom, and you have a self-destructive urge as a result of sexual immorality. Put plainly, you are torturing yourself for sin, and living in denial of that sin!’

‘What sexual immorality?’

‘Masturbation. Sleeping with prostitutes.’

‘You have also hidden your anger, which is massive, and evident in your writings... Your anger against Lou Salome and Paul Ree for betraying you, Wagner for calling you a masturbator and your sister Elizabeth for manipulating you. You learned to hate authority at Pforta, didn’t you? Those sixteen hour days of spartan discipline and study. The school was too strict for your nature. Ever since, you craved freedom. That is why you pursued this freewheeling lifestyle, roaming around the beauty spots of Europe writing subversive books.’

Nietzsche was gobsmacked.

‘Spoken like an ascetic priest!’

At this, Nietzsche turned around and headed down the mountain, taking care not to slip on the loose scree.

Chapter 3: Recurrence

The following morning, the sun illuminated the crags on the mountains surrounding the lake, and the great monoliths cast their awesome shadows. Orson intercepted Nietzsche on his walk around Lake Silvaplana, a seven-hour trek.

‘Oh, you again.’

‘Yes, me again.’

‘You haven’t bothered me enough? Leave me be, I prefer solitude.’

‘I just wanted to apologise. Perhaps I was too harsh.’

Nietzsche, somewhat mollified, accepted the apology a bit too quickly with a nod.

‘You raised some interesting points. Points I had not considered before.’

The two men discussed the classics, particularly the Iliad of Homer, and the apollonian and Dionysian in greek culture.

When at length they reached the pyramidal stone, and gazed art the green-brown slopes of the adjacent mountains, and the sheer forested flanks, Nietzsche reached his hand out and touched the stone.

‘Do you believe in the eternal recurrence?’ he asked Orson.

‘I believe that there are motifs built into the structure of our universe. That patterns and types recur, but not in precisely the same way as before.’

Nietzsche reflected on that. ‘That was part of my inspiration. I feel like I am going round and round in circles, making no headway. People do not heed my ideas.’

Nietzsche sighed as he listened to the wavelets lapping against the lakeshoree.

‘In any case, the world does not repeat itself indefinitely. Time moves on. There are merely variations on a theme or type, culminating in the antitype, the crescendo.’

‘The superman must be capable of loving his fate so intensely that he would not only have nothing differently, he would in fact love his past, and his fate, even though such an independent nature must suffer grievously at the hands of the jealous and the mediocre. Eternal recurrence demands amor fati, otherwise it is a crushing nightmare of endless pain.’

‘You love Sils and the Engadin.’

‘I do,’ Nietzsche said, stroking his moustache.

‘You love this place so much, you will return here, to your favourite stone.’

‘What do you mean, return? I come here every summer.’

‘In your next incarnation.’’

‘You are referring to the Buddhist doctrine of reincarnation? Christians do not believe in reincarnation.’

‘This one does.’

‘Why?’

It’s in the Bible. When Jesus healed the man born blind, the apostles asked Jesus if he or his parents sinned, for him to be born blind. The only way someone could sin before they were born is if they had a previous incarnation. And Jesus referred to John the Baptist as “Elijah, who is to come”. Elijah lived in the 9^th century BC, hundreds of years before John, and the prophet Micah predicted that Elijah would return before ‘the Day of the Lord’, the Hebrew term for the Second Coming, which lies in the future.’

‘Why did the church reject belief in past lives?’

‘Well, the Gnostics believed in past lives, and the church hated them because of the bizarre ceremonies and sexual immorality that some of them indulged in. They also misunderstood the scriptures and wanted the focus to be on this life. Perhaps some of the fathers believed that Christians would be too sinful and lax if they knew that they would have another chance at salvation in a future incarnation. They wanted people to be saved in this life.’

‘Hmm, that makes sense. I have often thought about reincarnation, but never really believed in it. Too spiritual, and ethereal for my taste.’

‘There’s evidence. People who remember previous lives and know about places and people they never met in this incarnation.’

People have recurring patterns, and encounter the same group of souls in different lifetimes. This is another influence on your idea of eternal repeating of the same.’

‘What should I do? I have thought about what you said, and I am torn. I was troubled all through the night by visions and dreams and rheumatism.’ Nietzsche sighed. ‘What should I do?’

‘Make this stone your cornerstone’, Orson said, presenting his crucifix to Nietzsche. ‘The stone the builders rejected. The cycle of recurrence, of repeating the same old patterns of suffering, is finished by Christ. The wheel of recurrence is broken on the stone of Christ.

‘And if I refuse?’

‘That way lies madness.’

Nietzsche received a vision of himself in the marbled streets of Turin, collapsing on a horse, choking on tears, suffering a violent pain in the centre of his forehead.

‘Why madness?’

‘You already feel the darkness closing in. It is a result of not using your talents properly, of holding back what is within you, of denying your true self. Be Who You Are!’

‘And that is?’

‘A prophet.’

‘I am a prophet, of sorts.’

‘You prophesied the superman, the next step in human development, someone capable of creating new values. Values cannot be created anew. They are what they are. Truth is objective, not subjective.

Looking for the higher man in atheistic philosophy is like looking for fish on dry land. To find the fish, you must go to the lake. I tell you, you looked to the future for the superman. You looked in the wrong direction. You should have looked to the past. The God-man is Christ and the next phases of man’s development, the thousand years of peace and the glorified body, are attained through Christ.’

Nietzsche nodded. ‘Yes, I see that.’ A strange smirk stole across his features. ‘But are you sure that I was not prophesying some future figure? I have such inner conviction about this superman…’

‘You do.’

Nietzsche looked at the priest shrewdly.

‘How do you have knowledge of the future?’

‘I am the future,’ Orson said, abruptly. ‘I mean, your future.’

‘My future self?’Orson nodded, warily. Should I be revealing this?

‘How have you contacted me? Are you a real flesh and blood man, or a vision?’

‘Let’s say I’m a vision.’

‘Are you the Superman?’

Orson blinked. ‘At any rate, that is beside the point.’

‘The superman is the point. A completely autonomous individual, a strong man who rejects herd morality, climbs his own mountain, and forges his own values on tablets of gold and iron!’ Nietzsche here lost his composure entirely and bellowed across the lake. His wild shock of brown hair jerked backwards, and his moustache bristled. Nietzsche wheeled around on Mitford, pointing his finger, his eyes flashing with sudden clarity: ‘You are the Superman, and I am your prophet!’

‘But I have not created my own values. Such a task seems impossible.’

‘Impossible is a word in the dictionary of fools!’

‘I must obey my God!’

‘You must obey yourself!’

Orson thought about that. He’d had a very hard time stomaching the ascetic side of Christianity, the fasting, the church attendance, the strict moral code, resisting temptation constantly…

‘You cannot turn the will to power inwards, it will lead to confusion, indecision, and self-sabotage. This is what happens in late, decadent periods…society and its rules and its desire for safety become overwhelming, and the instincts for mastery are denied so much that the people become weak, nervous and enervated.’

‘But Christianity demands the will to power be sacrificed!’

‘Yes! But at what cost! Truly, I have considered all you have to say about Christ and his teachings, and I am tempted to convert…but the one reservation I have about Christianity is – what about the individual? IS he to be a mere bondservant to God? Was he not created to be a unique person? Otherwise, what was the point of making him so truly original and different?’

‘God wants people to serve him in their own way. The writer writes his prophecies and gospels, the rich man donates to the poor, the cook feeds the homeless, the caring mother raises the abandoned foundling.’

‘But there is a demand for obedience. It is the overarching message of the Bible. I cannot bear such a degree of obedience and subjection. I was made to be different!’

Orson had to admit, Nietzsche had a point. They turned right and walked up the winding path, over slick stones and tree roots, to the waterfall. They could already hear the relentless roaring of the waters. Mitford paused and reflected. They turned and departed from the waterfall, wandering the gravelled track that ran around the lake. Finally, orson spoke:

‘The way I see it, there are three competing sets of desires. The individual’s will, the world’s desire, which other people seek to impose upon the individual, and God’s will, which God wants man to follow, whilst respecting his ability to choose.’ Orson, reflecting on Nietzsche’s writings about warring instincts, said, ‘The way to clear the war of instincts is to pursue one predominantly, whilst following another sometimes, since some concessions must always be made – the world’s will, God’s will, or the individiaul’s will.’

 ‘For the majority of Christians, it is better to strive for obedience to God's will, in defiance of the world, and denial of the self. As Jesus said, “If anyone desires to come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross and follow me.’ For a minority, however, who are able to understand the hidden teachings of Christ, or are very wilful, and yet want to be useful, it is possible to pursue their own desires beneficially, if their will is generally to serve God and do good, but in a unique manner. It’s like the kid who doesn’t need the threat of detention, deadlines, a classroom, a teacher or a structured curriculum, he just wants to teach himself and produce good work anyway, so he does, and he does it better without a bunch of jealous peers and teachers breathing down his neck. The more he tries to obey the school’s standards, or fit in with his peers, the more he compromises his work. He needs to be set free to follow his own way, provided he can be trusted to produce good work independent of the school.’

‘There are students and there are autodidacts,’ noted Nietzsche. ‘One can render headstrong types useful by informing them in no uncertain terms that, in the long run, it is in their interests to serve God, and explaining precisely why – as you have with me…’

But who would follow such a teaching, such a law?’’

‘Such an ethic would be highly compatible with westerners, since one of the cornerstones of western christianity is individuality – always rooted in Christianity, the personal relationship between the individual and God – and the American Dream is all about personal freedom; via globalisation, the American way has spread throughout the world to some extent. Americans also love a maverick and a philosophy that lets them be mavericks. Such an ethic would also appeal to eccentric, nonconformist, and intelligent people everywhere who are not ttypically drawn to Christianity. Priests should improve their skills at identifying the two types of Christian, and permit greater latitude to those who are able to do it their own way whilst being useful to the Lord and to others. For such people, church would be optional, provided they could find some other way to help people and perform God's will. Inevitably, there will be some occassionswhere conflict arises between the individual's will and God's will, and God's will would have to take priority, bearing in mind the mercy and leniance of Yahweh and Christ, particularly with supremely talented and original people who can do more good by following their own intuitions to some extent. The precise ratio of how many actions would be undertaken on the basis of 'may way' and God's way would be determined on a case by case basis by Jesus and God. Bizarrely, Nietzsche's philosophy, of being who you are, doing what you want, and of the superman who makes his own law (always held in reserve for the few), which underpins so much of the modern world, can be partially synchronised with Christianity according to the latter ethic. Church attendance would not be as imperative for such people. Though such people are few in number, they have an outsized influence on the world and are disproportionately geniuses. A proven religion with more latitude for individual freedom than is thought to be the case, would be more appealing to geniuses than conventional Christianity. This teaching follows the general progression from many rules to fewer rules, from strict Mosaic law, to Christianity's two commandments, to an even more permissive and simple moral code.’

Nietzsche nodded along. ‘Now this is a religion I can endorse.’

‘Have I won a convert?’

As they walked, they passed a pack mule that was being violently whipped by its owner. The animal had such a look of frightened distress in its eyes, and made such a hideous noise, Nietzsche could no longer bear it.

Then he turned to orson.

‘I BELIEVE YOU HAVE.’

And as Nietzsche wept, the scales fell from his eyes, and he could see.

Chapter 4: Behold, The Man!

The next day, Nietzsche took the eucharist with Orson at the Public Church in Sils Maria. Rebuilt in 1597, The Public church in Sils Maria was a quaint and picturesque church with a clocktower. Nietzsche knelt down to eat the bread and drink the blood. The wine soothed his aching stomach.

‘Thank you, you have helped me a great deal. Now it is my turn to give you some advice.’

‘Oh?’

‘Be more assertive. Serve God, in your own way.’

‘Right.’

‘IS there a woman in your life?’

‘There is. She doesn’t seem interested.’

‘Take my advice. Be done with her. We are not made for marriage.’

‘So, what will you do now? Disown your body of work, burn your books.’

‘No. I will let the record stand. I regret nothing. I love my fate. Everything, all the pain, suffering and wrong turnings, led me here, to a reunion with my father.’

‘But you cannot keep writing books like Zarathustra, now you are a Christian…’

‘No. I will write a prophecy.’

‘What sort of prophesy.’

‘A prophesy of the Second Messiah, whom I have just met in a vision. A Messiah who came to save the world from the herd instinct, shortly before the swine were about to bolt for the cliff.’

‘Oh really, and who is this second messiah,’ said orson, with due gravity.

‘I think you know.’

‘What will this book be called?’

‘The Superman.’

‘Well, good luck. I wish you all the best in your new life.’

Nietzsche took a long, deep breath of the mountain air and said, ‘yes. This is better.’

2026. Orson walked out of the church. The spectral outline of Nietzsche in his brown suit faded from view. He had successfully completed his mission from God and finished his vision of the past, which he was given to understand by the archangel Gabriel to have become a separate timeline. Nietzsche’s Christian books were far more popular than his atheistic musings during his lifetime, and he became fairly well known in European intellectual circles, but his earlier work sold better later on in history…there was no psychotic break, no Turin horse. Lou Salome made overtures, but Nietzsche did not reply to her letters, nor did he marry anyone else, but he did enjoy a dalliance with his friend Meta von Salis.

Orson walked down the quaint high street to Nietzsche’s old house, or rather, the house where he rented a room for several summers in the 1880’s. Yellow and red roses hung from window boxes, the architecture was classical Biedermeier. It was a museum open to visitors now. He bought his ticket, wandered around the German language exhibits, saw some American students reading them with misplaced reverence, walked up the narrow, rickety stairs, and peered into Nietzsche’s old room. The sad little wooden chair, the desk, and the solitary window with frail green curtains. Orson remembered the pain, struggling against gastric spasm and crippling hand pain and burning migraines and severe myopia to write even a single sentence. That is where the talent for aphorisms came from. He recalled that last Indian summer of 1888, when the weather was perfect, the skies were clear, the winds were cool, the mountains were crisp, and the pines were fragrant, and he wept silently in the doorway. As he prepared to leave the house, Orson saw the American philosophy students wandering around. One of them descended a flight of stairs to read an exhibit on Karl Kraus, then turned to go through a door on his left. It was locked and marked private. They had to turn around.

Then he turned, walked down the stairs, and saw a guest book. People from Singapore, Japan, Australia, France, Britain, Belgium, had all visited. Most entries were in English. ‘You are at the beginning of a very long journey, and not all of you will make it to the end. The way to the truth begins in error. Nietzsche was wrong, but it is necessary to learn what is wrong, to know what is right. Always judge a tree by its fruits. When you realise the journey is actually a pilgrimage, you are within sight of the end. God lives. Recurrence – ends.’

Walking down the path, past the eagle and snake sculpture, with a clear view of the awesome peak of Piz Lagrev, outlined in stark relief against a bright azure sky, the meaning of ‘amor fati’ or love of fate, a Nietzsche concept that the superman must love his life his fate so much, embrace it so totally, that he would want to relive the whole thing again and again, that he must truly be a superman to vindicate all the suffering, because looking back he sees that all the suffering was worth it, that the whole thing even the wrong turnings was a pilgrimage, a labour of love for Christ.

When you understand that your journey is actually a pilgrimage, then the end is in sight. Amor fati is only possible when the suffering ends in immortality, knowledge of God and of heaven.

Chapter 5: Operation Saint Moritz

Lying in his narrow wooden bed at night, Orson received a vision from God, in which he was told by the Archangel Gabriel that he must get to saint mortiz, stay in Badrutt’s Palace and prevent a massive terror attack that might spark world war three, by spying on the rich men who gather there. Orson rode the bus to Saint Moritz, where he checked into Badrutt’s Palace. The spectacular waterfront castle had excellent views of the beautiful, ovate, blue waters of Saintmoritzersee, the rambling pine forest beyond and the jagged, bare, snow-streaked mountains. His corner room was airy, with amazing mountain views, a marble bathroom, spacious bathtub, and shower cubicle. In the outdoor swimming pool one morning, Orson overheard talk that there would be a conference here.

Down the hall, Orson saw a phalanx of men in suits, with suspicious bulges. He thought, ‘maybe some world leader or tycoon is staying here?’

A cavalcade of rolls royces and Bentleys descended on saint moritz, and the conference centre was occupied by a bevy of elderly oligarchs from around the world. He recognised a few of them as industrialists and emirs from Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, America, France and Bahrain. Most were men, over the age of forty, wearing white robes and keffiyeh. One day, after some routine surveillance, orson realised that they met in the conference centre around 3pm daily. The rooms were guarded day and night by armed bodyguards with translucent earpieces that weren’t fooling anybody. Orson rode the train to Chur, a beautiful old town surrounded by vineyards and mountains intersected by the blue river plessor. There he purchased a directional microphone, a large microphone that could be pointed at a target from a distance of up to 500 metres and provide clear audio. He simply took up position in the garden, hiding behind some topiary, pointed his microphone at the conference centre, and listened in with headphones on.

‘Gentlemen, welcome,’ said a gruff, middle eastern voice. ‘We are gathered here today to discuss a certain operation. In 1961, a Soviet scientist called Kolya Zarbayev defected to Switzerland with an experimental suitcase nuke intended by the Russians to be deployed in the UK and USA, buried in underground caches in London, New York, Washington D.C and other major cities, and left as leverage and as sleeper bombs, to be used in case of world war three, or as leverage to gain territories and advantageous terms in any future dealing. One of these devices was buried hastily somewhere in the grounds of Badrutts palace. Rumour has it, the device was buried by in an attempt to prevent it from falling into the hands of the western intelligence services, or returning to the clutches of the Russians by a CIA officer known as Richard Adler.’

Orson’s ears pricked up at the name. Dick Adler was my previous incarnation…this should be interesting. Adler was a World War Two veteran with all manner of colourful escapades under his belt.

‘In any case, we believe the nuclear device to be safe and secure, buried on these grounds. Once we have control of the device, we can pass it on to our brethren and they can detonate it in Zurich. The act will be blamed on the Russians, and given existing tensions, there is a good likelihood that world war three will begin as a result. The only issue is, we do not know the exact location. So, you must split into teams of two and reconnoitre the whole garden and the hotel.’

Mitford continued to listen, but he’d heard enough, and went downstairs to the bar, there he prayed and received a vision of the bar as it was circa 1961, with ghostly figures and period décor superimposed over the modern lounge. Dick Adler was there, leaning over the bar in his bomber jacket, with his boxer’s physique, solid jawline and leathery skin, looking a little the worse for wear at the age of fifty. Stood next to him was the elegant Grace Kelly, wearing one of her signature white dresses. Alfred Hitchock was sat down in an armchair looking completely immobile, nursing a White Lady.

‘Hey Dick,’ said Orson.

Adler was startled.

‘What in tarnation?’

‘It’s me, Orson. Your future incarnation.’

‘Future incarnation! Well, I’ll be.’

‘Yes, you will be me.’

‘Gadzooks!’

‘Listen to me, Dick. I need to know where you hid that suitcase.’

‘What suitcase? I have two in my room.’

Orson leaned in close and whispered.

‘No, the one with the nuclear device.’

‘How the blazes do you know about that?’

‘That’s why I’m here contacting you. I’m on a mission from God to find this thing. Where exactly did you bury it?’

‘I don’t have it yet. I have to intercept Kolya Polkadot or whatever his fuckin’ name is.’

Adler scanned the lounge, clocked a thin bespectacled man with a suspicious looking suitcase and made for him slowly. He saw a tall gaunt man reach inside the pocket of his trenchcoat and covertly slipped a knife inside his ribcage while restraining the arm that reached for the gun. Kolya saw what was happening and fast-walked out of there. Adler gave chase down the corridor, bundled him into a storage closet, beat him up and left with the suitcase. He made for the exit, but there were too many heavies: Russian, American, maybe French. The place was swarming with intelligence officers and hired thugs. Adler had to turn around and try the side exit, but the place was too hot. In the end, his only exit was via the terrace. He considered jumping off the terrace and escaping, but the hotel was on a bluff, and the drop was too steep, and there appeared to be operatives down by the lakeshore, eyeing the hotel with binoculars. Orson followed Adler outside where he found a quiet spot with a nice lake view, hidden in an olive grove, and dug a hole with a trowel he had brought. Orson looked for a groundskeeper’s shed, jimmied the lock, grabbed a shovel, and dug up the grass.

At that moment, a middle eastern man in jeans and leather jacket saw what he was doing and said something to his friend. They were moving rapidly to Orson’s position. In the end, he would have to evade them. The worst part was, the timer had been activated during the process of digging up the bomb, and there was only 2 hours left. He jumped off the terrace, ran around the lakeside path, dove into the lake, swam underwater to shake his tail, emerged on the far shore, ran in sodden clothes through the pine forest. Orson could notify the authorities but thought the risk of interception was too great. How else could he defuse the bomb though? Then he glanced across at the mountains with their snow-capped peaks and an idea came to him. It was cool, 10 degrees Celsius, cooler on the peaks, and saint moritz was 1800 metres above sea level. If he got the device clear of the resort that was good, but maybe he could freeze the detonator and timer, preventing an explosion? Orson’s heart was pounding with terror. He scaled the sheer slopes of the mountain, scrambling over scree, making his own switchbacks to handle the gradient, and finally, as a sweat-soaked blithering wreck, he reached a level where there was a dirty snowdrift, and buried the device in the snow, which froze the detonator. He took a moment to catch his breath, then headed back down the mountain to inform the authorities.

^[i] John 6:63. World English Bible.