On the second day of the Feast of Exhalation, a traveler came to the Der Betrug Monastery. It was just after Vespers and the autumn light was fading into mist. No visitor was expected, so the abbot was summoned and the traveler kept in the warming room.
The traveler was a meager sort. His boots cracked, his hair uncut and his cloak in need of repair. He explained, in stammering accent, that he was a pilgrim from the Kingdom of Naples. He had come to Der Betrug in hopes of viewing its Wunderkammer, the glittering treasure-trove of scared and wondrous objects that had spread Der Betrug’s name from Rotterdam to Sicily.
The abbot refused. It was far too late for a tour and he had received no notice of the visit and after all, who would let such a muddy scrap as him to view the scared wonders?. The abbot offered him a cot and bread, but he could not under any circumstance, see the treasure trove. The traveler then took a box from under his cloak. He said it was a gift, a donation to the Wunderkammer. He had brought it across wind and rain to Der Betrug for a chance to witness the wonders. The abbot opened the box and gasped.
Inside where two lenses, oval and bound in careful wire. The traveler explained that were so finely and perfectly ground that, upon looking through them, sight was greatly improved. The abbot, who was developing a squint and near-permanent headache, accepted the lenses. For such a gift, the poor pilgrim should have his wish. He should see the Wunderkammer. He ordered the doors opened and the torches lit. They went in.
Housed under the chapel, in a barrel-vault built 60 feet wide, where innumerable treasures: silk vestments in shimmering heaps, ivory statues stacked in rows, racks of books bound in black and gold, and several crosses studded in moon-shiningpearl. A stuffed unicorn stood atop a towering gold reliquary surrounded by narwhal teeth and enough of Saint Peter’s hair to fill a pillow. The Wunderkammer was just as described. Shining like a bonfire in the dark, awesome and endless.
The abbot took the lenses and placed them on his nose. For this gift he would show the traveler the greatest
treasure of the monastery, an actual living Miracle. Given to them over a year ago by another such pilgrim. No outsider had seen until now. Would he honor the order by viewing it?
The traveler trembled and agreed.
The abbot unlocked a monstrous stone chest. He turned and with great reverence, presented the traveler with a large-mouth bass on a wooden frame.
The bass jerked to life.
It began to sing.
And as the fish’s tiny, tinny speakers belted out “Take Me To The Water”, the traveler closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead, and in his native tongue thought:
“I am going to fucking kill Bernstein when I get back.”
