Tomy and the Planet of Lies (25 page)

Alone again, I asked Tomy: “And what about Ercan? Why did he have to go?”

Tomy played back the next part in small fragments inside my head. It was the same scene as before: still in the commandant's house in Teheran. The room stank even more intensely of stale cigar smoke than before. Strange. I lay on my bed, in my own bedroom in my own house, and could smell the acrid aroma of cigars from a room thousands of kilometers away. And what made it even crazier: this meeting had taken place weeks before I experienced the rerun on Christmas Eve, 1987. I gave up trying to think about what kind of ethereal pathways were necessary to make all this possible and held on to Tomy's idea of the “holographic universe.”

In faraway Teheran—all those weeks ago—the commandant opened a window and threw the butt of his cigar into a gravel- filled container that was standing below. After taking a few deep breaths, he returned to the desk where he had been sitting a few minutes earlier.

“Yes, the episode with Ercan Güsteri,” he murmured aloud, seemingly talking to himself. “I didn't find out about it until Mr. Güsteri was already dead. A sickening affair, for which Chantal—indirectly, at least—was again responsible, even though she wasn't actually directly involved in his murder.”

“This Ercan and the whore Chantal,” he added a curse in Arabic, “had intimate contact with each other. Chantal told her new lover everything she knew about you, every single tiny detail. She told him of the events in the Intercontinental Hotel in Teheran and about how you had helped in the search for terrorists. She told him how she had been there while you had taken over the consciousnesses of other people, including an ayatollah and a wealthy oil merchant. She even told him about the experiment with the physicist. Ercan Güsteri—may Allah have mercy on his soul—didn't believe a word about your ‘extraterrestrial energy,' my dear friend, but he was convinced of the existence of certain parapsychological abilities, including psi factors. You have to realize, Tomy, that Ercan was a high-ranking member in an extreme right-wing Turkish organization. Well, anyway, there are informers everywhere, and thanks to one of ours we found out that they were planning to kidnap you, Tomy. They honestly believed that they could incapacitate you somehow and keep you captive. Not because you were an extraterrestrial, of course—nobody believed that story—but because of your abilities. Their aim was to make you compliant and use your talent to achieve their political aims by taking over certain politicians and turning them. Those idiots in Ankara didn't realize that trying to hold you captive was pointless: it didn't even occur to them that all you would have to do was jump into one of their leaders and turn
him
…”

Tomy smiled. “True indeed,” he conveyed to the commandant's mind. “My earthly body, that of Tomy, was certainly mortal enough, Chantal proved that. And if these people had tried to inflict pain on me I could have taken over the torturer in a nanosecond. I would have brought the whole group to their knees—from the torturer to the head of the group.”

Now the commandant laughed: a liberating experience. “You are good! Someone like you should be a friend for life!”

“My time here is almost over,” Tomy told him soberly. “Back home, everyone will be desperate to hear about all my news and experiences on this planet of lies.” He quickly changed the subject back to Ercan: “Couldn't the Iranian secret police have used some other method to make Ercan see sense? Did he have to die because of what he knew?”

“It was the committee's decision. Ercan was one of a group of fanatics who weren't particularly receptive to reason. In Teheran they wanted to make sure that you, my dear friend Tomy, were dead, and that your … erm, your energy form wasn't floating around somewhere out there. For that reason, as you already know, they decided on the plan with the electroshock weapon. If Ercan's group had gained control of your physical body, we would never have been sure that you wouldn't turn up here again sometime, wanting your revenge… not a nice thought, especially now that I know more about your capabilities.”

“Revenge” Tomy thought, “is something we do not know.”

I had dimmed the light in my room. Now I blinked into the weak light of the lamp and spoke to Tomy's consciousness:

“What a God-awful planet!”

Tomy managed a giggle, a form of expression he had learnt while here. He seemed to enjoy doing it.

“There's nothing wrong with the planet. It's fantastic. The human race is awful. But I have had the opportunity to meet some wonderful people.”

That was a comfort. He went on to tell me that the Iranians had wanted to deal with us while we were still in Turkey, but somehow they had managed to lose track of us. The trick with the fake airline bookings and the
Orient Express
had worked! Hurrah! I asked Tomy how long he was going to stay around. A couple of days, he explained, and then he was going to visit his friend, the Buddhist monk, one more time.

“Will you say goodbye before you go?” I wanted to know.

“Of course, my friend.”

I felt Tomy begin to pull away and then suddenly remembered: “Stop Tomy, stop!” I cried mentally. “The examining magistrate, Mr. Kellerhans, he wants you to take him over. Then all my troubles will be over.” A thought suddenly struck me: “Which reminds me: why didn't the police find your body?”

Again he giggled: “You can tell the examining magistrate I'd be happy to drop by. And my body? That body was put together in an extremely short time, not in a natural way either. When my energy, the vibrations that were keeping the molecules together, was removed from the body, the disintegration process began. Within three hours, all the elements that had been taken to construct my body had been given back to the earth.”

And then Tomy left. I didn't wait around; I went straight back down to my family. The candles around the Christmas tree were burnt down now. I uncorked a bottle of rosé champagne and said to the adults that I would tell them everything, but not until the children had gone to bed. Then I called Marc. His festive celebrations were also already over so he put himself in a taxi and drove over to join us.

It was already midnight, by the time everyone was gathered again around the table, this time filled with anticipation.

“I have an unbelievable tale to tell you all…”

 

January 1, 1988, was the last time I ever heard from Tomy. I was strolling around the meadow behind the Villa Serdang, taking deep refreshing breaths of the cold, crisp winter air and breathing out the residual alcohol from our New Year's Eve celebrations, when I suddenly perceived Tomy's giggle inside my head.

“Happy New Year! And while I'm thinking about it, may all your coming years be happy and successful, too! May you stay healthy and write even better than ever before!”

“Tomy!” I now talked to him as if he was a physical presence. “It's great to see you again!”

“You don't need to tell me! I can feel it! Quickly, Erich, bring us both to a room, where we can have a few minutes undisturbed.”

On the way to my library, Tomy told me that he had taken over Kellerhans. He was now a happy man and had even gone out and bought some of my books. He had visited others too: the chief of the Iranian secret police, and even the state president. He had convinced them that Tomy no longer existed and that

there was nothing to fear from the remaining participants in this strange story. All of the activities aimed toward us had been called off.

I sat down in the swivel chair in the library.

“I presume you have come to say goodbye. Is there anything

I can do to convince you to stay?”

I suddenly had a feeling as if I was being stroked gently, although I was completely alone in the room.

“I feel something that I suppose you would call homesickness. And anyway, I know enough about the human race, your history and your systems. But before I go, I want to give you a present, Erich.”

What happened next was simply indescribable. I raced away from the Earth and into the universe, saw even more incredible images than I had the first time during my fantastic journey in the Sheraton Hotel in Ankara, and then, suddenly, I was laying on a green meadow, even though my body was sitting on a swivel chair in my library. Tomy appeared before me as a beautifully shimmering light. This light bored into my soul and I heard a voice, though I had no ears: “The entire knowledge of this planet is stored in the electrons. Add a little energy to the atoms and the electrons will spring from one atom to the next. You subconscious can tap this knowledge in this way. You only need to be peaceful and calm. Look into yourself and the information will simply flow into your consciousness.”

My eyes flashed open and I found myself sitting back in my library.

“Tomy, wait! Thank you, thank you! I think I understand how it works. Will you come again?”

“That is not possible!”

“Why not?” I wanted to know.

“Because this planet is merely an infinitesimal part of a myriad of solar systems and I would never be able to find it again. Think about the holographic universe. And make contact with the Buddhist monk!”

And then something happened that even the best writer in the world—and I'm a long way off being that—wouldn't have been able to describe. A kind of collection of “soft filaments,” which were spewing out endorphins, caressed my consciousness. Tiny sparks of light, which tasted like the buds of wonderfully aromatic blooms, shot through the convolutions of my brain. This must have been the scent of heaven. Any attempt at description is doomed to failure, so I won't even try. What can you compare a smell to when there is no material in existence that is comparable? Tomy had taken his leave.

That same evening I wrote a letter to the monk, who lived in the Buddhist monastery in Ladakh in the highlands of “Little Tibet.” Six months later I took an airplane to Srinagar; from there I traveled by car to Ladakh. The meeting I had there with the monk is beyond my ability to describe. We simply held hands, even though this was not really necessary. Each one of we somehow knew everything about eachother.

The next ten books I wrote—between 1988 and 2006—seemed to just flow from my pen. Even
Der jüngste Tag hat längst begonnen
(
Judgment Day is Already Upon Us
), a book that was packed with references, took me only three weeks to write. And I was only writing for four hours a night! I suddenly started receiving invitations to lecture to societies where I would never have dreamed of having the chance to speak before Tomy's visit. The German TV channel Sat.1 commissioned me to create a 25-show series for which I not only wrote the scripts but which I also presented. Then I was invited to the U.S.A. by the
Discovery Channel
to make two TV series. Before I knew what was happening, the British TV company—20/20—did a biography of me, in which I made no mention of Tomy. Subsequently, the international press began treating this controversial author—Erich von Däniken—with much more understanding than they ever had before. I started getting invitations from various scientific circles and universities and even—completely out of the blue—received awards. Finally, I came up with the idea of setting up a park in Interlaken in Switzerland where all the great mysteries of the world would be collected together. I wrote explanatory texts for all of the exhibits and the shows in the pavilions.

And one more thing: I founded the “Non-Liar's Club.” Anyone who promises never to lie may join. The youngest member is just 17, the oldest is 87 years old. Many of the club members know each other and no one ever lies. It is an uncomplicated organization with no need for a written charter—just one of the many wonderful ideas that Tomy inspired.

 

 

Erich von Däniken's
first book,
Chariots of the Gods
, became a worldwide bestseller following its publication in 1968 and has been translated into thirty-two languages. It has since been followed by over two dozen additional books, including
The Eyes of the Sphinx
,
Odyssey of the Gods
, and
The Gods Were Astronauts
. Born and educated in Switzerland, Erich is an active researcher and explorer. His books have given rise to two full-length documentary films,
Chariots of the Gods
and
Messages of the Gods
, and he has delivered over 3,000 lectures in twenty-five countries. He lives in Beatenberg, Switzerland, with his wife.
Tomy and the Planet of Lies
is his first work of fiction.

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