I smiled.

“In the capital, Cartaphilus, my excellent friend, you are my guest. Meanwhile, we can travel at leisure. I have already sent several messengers at top speed to inform the Emperor of the good news. I have asked him to make Cartaphilus a Mandarin of the First Order.”

He presented me with a transparent red ruby, as large as a sparrow’s egg.

“The honor is too great.”

“It is not a question of honor, excellent friend, but of comfort…and elegance.”

XXVII: UNENDURABLE PLEASURE INDEFINITELY PROLONGED—THE LORD PROCURER TO THE SON OF HEAVEN—FLOWER-OF-THE-EVENING—THE PALACE OF PLEASURE AND PAIN—I SEEK PERFECTION—SA-LO-ME

“UNENDURABLE pleasure indefinitely prolonged?” To Fo smiled. His eyes closed, until only two thin horizontal lines shone between his lashes. “Cartaphilus is young.”

“To Fo is also young.”

He shook his head.

Our cups, lighter than lotus-leaves, were filled once more with tcha, whose perfume delighted our nostrils while its color soothed our eyes.

“Cartaphilus, I know who will best afford you what you desire.”

“To Fo is a peerless host.”

“The Mistress of the Palace of Pleasure and the Palace of Pain is my friend. She is beautiful and very clever. Since the age of ten she has been a profound student of the mystery of the senses. Because of her great talents, I advised His Majesty to appoint her the teacher of the Large Harem and also of the Small Harem, which must not be mentioned in public, under the penalty of death, and which is guarded by two regiments of giant eunuchs. I am the Lord Procurer of the Son of Heaven…”

I bowed profoundly. He clapped his hands. A slave fell on his face. “Go tell Flower-of-the-Evening that your master will visit her shortly.”

Flower-of-the-Evening raised her head, then bent over me, her small round breasts perfumed with the essence of two hundred flowers.

“Has Flower-of-the-Evening pleased Cartaphilus?”

I bowed assent.

“My pupils, gratified, plucked for you the fruit from the tree of pleasure that is within easy reach… In the subtler arts, where the line between pleasure and torture is finer than the wing of a butterfly, Flower-of-the-Evening trusted only herself…”

Flower-of-the-Evening unlocked for me the secret gardens of delight… Her hands, tiny as the petals of a delicate, yellow rose, caressed me.

“Has Cartaphilus known pleasure more delectable than my caress?”

“He has not,” I lied.

“We have exhausted the two hundred and sixty ways of love, Cartaphilus. I have revealed to you the thirteen ways that are known only to the Emperor…but I have not yet revealed the ultimate secret.

“Cartaphilus, Flower-of-the-Evening knows seven more ways of pleasure, ways that are unknown even to the Emperor himself—the secret of unendurable pleasure indefinitely prolonged.” She stopped to see the effect of her words upon me. “I have kept the secret as a nuptial gift for my lover.”

Her hands continued to caress me.

“Cartaphilus, no mere man could dwell unscathed in the Palace of Pain and the Palace of Pleasure uninterruptedly for seven months as you have done. A giant would have perished on the wheels of its pleasure; its pain, no less exquisite, would turn a demigod into a wraith of himself. Whence do you draw your strength? Who are you?”

“I am…Cartaphilus.”

“No…you are more than Cartaphilus…you are…a god…or a demon.”

I laughed.

“Cartaphilus, do you not desire to discover the seven ultimate ways of pleasure, the final essence of the perfume of joy? Flower-of-the-Evening shall teach you the secret ways of love…but Cartaphilus must initiate Flower of the Evening into his secret.”

“What secret?”

“How to remain young always, and always strong, and always beautiful.”

“How should he know all that?”

“He knows! He knows!”

I remembered how I answered the hetaera of Jerusalem, and how she fled out of the room, insulting and cursing me. The intervening centuries had taught me better. I was determined to learn the secret of unendurable pleasure indefinitely prolonged.

“I know, it is true, and I shall teach you how to remain always young, always strong, always beautiful.”

She clapped her hands, and pressed herself upon me.

“Flower-of-the-Evening will startle her master with unimaginable delight.”

We remained silent for a while.

“What is the drug, Cartaphilus?”

“Not a drug. Drugs are but man’s invention. A god needs no drugs.”

She listened, her mouth open.

I whispered mysteriously. “Every seven years Cartaphilus shall visit Flower-of-the-Evening at the first hour of dawn. Every seven years Cartaphilus shall renew with his caress the beauty and strength and youth of Flower-of-the-Evening.”

For seven days Flower-of-the-Evening taught me the seven ultimate ways of love and the meaning of unendurable pleasure indefinitely prolonged. Each day wrenched a sharper pain into a more exquisite joy…

To Fo congratulated me. “Flower-of-the-Evening is generally inclined to be cynical about men, but she speaks of you with unequivocal satisfaction.”

“Flower-of-the-Evening is the most perfect blossom of feminine loveliness…”

To Fo dipped his fingers in perfume, and twisted his mustache.

We smoked our pipes and drank the delicate tcha.

“Are there no other ways, of delighting the senses, admirable To Fo?”

To Fo laughed. “Cartaphilus is insatiable.”

“But do you not suspect some inconceivable pleasure beyond the delectable thirteen… ?”

“Impossible. They exhaust every possible source of pleasure.”

I smiled. Flower-of-the-Evening then had not lied to me. I was the only man to whom she had revealed the ultimate thrill of passion, the final essence of joy.

To Fo read a few poems. I watched him, my eyes half closed. His beard was becoming quite gray; his hand, as he held the manuscript, seemed a trifle emaciated and the knuckles too large.

“To Fo, your youth is dead.”

I praised his work, and we spoke leisurely about life and glory and happiness.

“Are you happy, Cartaphilus?”

“I am not, To Fo.”

“Perhaps it is my fault. Is there anything I have omitted? Am I a careless host?”

“You are the most perfect of hosts. My unhappiness lies within, not without. I still seek…”

“What are you seeking?”

“Something beyond pleasure and beyond pain. The technique of love, however perfect, still leaves unslaked the hunger of the soul…”

“What is the soul, Cartaphilus?”

“I do not know; I only know its hunger… “

To Fo shook his head.

“Perhaps you are seeking something for which the world has not yet discovered a name…”

“In my youth, To Fo, I had an incomparable love.”

“In youth, love is always incomparable.”

“If we drink the cup to the dregs, then we may be satisfied…but if the cup is snatched from our lips, our thirst is never afterward quenched.”

To Fo pulled gently the sleeves of his gorgeous robe, until they covered his hands up to his long, hooked nails, like the curved beaks of birds of prey. Was he conscious of his large knuckles?

“What joy does Cartaphilus seek that Flower-of-the-Evening and her garden cannot afford?”

“I seek unimaginable perfection…”

To Fo, playing with his beard, remained silent for a long while. Did he understand?

“In my youth, Cartaphilus, I heard of a woman, a goddess, who was perfection…the embodiment of all men’s dreams…”

“Yes?” I said anxiously.

“She was as old as the Black Mountain, and as young as the first ray of dawn. Witch or goddess, she passed from country to country. He or she who had the incomparable fortune of meeting her knew the meaning of heaven. But all this is merely legend, Cartaphilus…”