Nicholas Mosley - Hopeful Monsters

I said 'Unbearable for ourselves?'

You said 'Oh, and for others!'

I thought — But, I mean, we have got some sort of code.

Then — We are like two people stuck on a rock-face connected by rope: cut the rope and one of us dies; don't cut the rope and both of us may die, or live.

I said 'Are you staying here long?'

You said 'We go tomorrow.'

I said 'Will you give me your address, so that I can write to you?'

You said 'Yes, and will you give me yours?'

I said 'I will put it on a piece of paper; then you can swallow it.'

You said 'Or you can put it down the lavatory. Or in a bottle to float on the sea.'

There was the faint sound of people acting, orating, further down the valley. I thought — You mean, other people might hurt us: we might hurt ourselves?

I said 'You know that image of Plato's about the two halves of something, that look for each other?'

You said 'Yes.'

I said 'That is too obvious — '

You said 'I can't think of anything better to say.'

There was the sound of clapping from further down in the valley. I thought — Perhaps it would be easier if one of us took a short walk. Perhaps it would be easier if we were in circumstances of danger.

I said 'What happens to Faust and Helena in Part II, do you know?'

You said 'They have a child.'

I said 'What happens to the child?'

You said 'It flies too close to the sun. It falls into the fire.'

I said 'I don't think I should have a child.'

You said 'You don't think you should have a child?'

I said 'Do you?'

After a time you said 'There are enough in the world.'

You seemed to have been listening to the sounds that were coming up from the valley.

I said 'But what is it that makes Faust finally say "Stop!"?'

You said 'I thought he never did. I thought he only said "If I were to say 'Stop!'-"'

I said 'I thought it was when he was reclaiming a new bit of land from the sea.'

You said 'Well perhaps we are reclaiming a new bit of land from the sea.'

I said 'I suppose what is interesting is what Faust said to those terrible beings when he got to heaven.'

You said 'Well what shall we tell them.' Then — 'I suppose we are in heaven.'

I said 'Sh!'

We began laughing.

You left your tree and crawled towards me. It was as if you were pulling yourself along by a rope. To preserve balance, it seemed, I had to stretch out towards you. When we met, it was as if we had to become enfolded.

You said 'It's like a line in a play — "I've got to go in the morning!"'

I said 'But we might just stick it out till then.*

It was as if we were on — not exactly a tightrope: rather a pole that was balancing the earth which itself was on a tightrope: we had moved to the centre of the pole and had to stay very still; to hold on tight, or the earth would tip over.

I said 'Are you comfortable?'

You said 'Yes, very.'

I said 'Do you think this is by chance?'

You said 'Oh, I think chance might be to do with heaven.'

We got into a position like that of a circle divided into two shapes like tadpoles: these fit into each other to make the circle whole. I thought — Or the world is on the back of an elephant, the elephant is on a tortoise, the tortoise is on the sea.

I said 'I am older than you.'

You said 'I know you are older than me.'

I said 'Hold on tight.'

You said 'Or shall we go over.'

When the others came back up the hill from the valley they were having their arguments about the meaning of the scenes from Faust, Part II: why was Faust saved? was it just because of his ceaseless striving? And what of Helena, who had appeared and disappeared; what was the point? People were talking about these things as if there might be answers in words.

We had been lying very still. Oh yes, of course, we had from time to time used more words.

When the others were back I said 'You've got my address?'

You said'Yes.'

I said 'And I've got yours.'

I thought — I suppose we have to go down, like angels, do we, to the cities of the plain.

Franz and Bruno and Minna had been joined by the boys who had been with you; also by a few of the Nazi boys. They all came and sat round our fire. They bobbed to and fro; they drank wine and beer.

You said 'We have to leave very early.'

I said 'That does not matter?'

You said'No.'

The people round the fire were not paying much attention to us. I thought — We are too embarrassing: we have been into and out of the fire.

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— Do not look at us and we are there: look at us and I suppose we go away.

Bruno was encouraging Minna to take off her clothes. The Nazi boys were clapping. I thought — She is like that child of Faust and Helena: she may be destroyed by the fire.

One of the Nazi boys put an arm round Franz's shoulders. Franz looked at me. Then, when I looked at him, he looked away.

You had gone back to your camp and were sitting on your own by your fire.

I thought — Oh strange and terrible world, you should not be destroyed! There are people whom you can love: who love you -

— Just let us know, every now and then, what might be an ark.

One of the Nazi boys picked a flaming stick out of the fire and held it out towards Minna. The stick seemed slightly to burn her. Minna was half naked, dancing round and round the flames.

Bruno called out 'Nellie, come and join us!'

I thought — Oh but I am happy sitting here with my head in my hands, my cage -

— Or am I a child in a pram looking up towards the leaves, the sunlight?

The next morning you and your group had gone. I did not know whether or not I had heard you leaving. I had been having a dream. We were in the courtyard of a castle. There were ladies and gentlemen on the grass. Then the ground flipped over, and there were huts and watchtowers.

I thought — The dream leaves the dreamer: what is left to the dreamer of the dream?

I had the piece of paper with your name and address on it.

That next evening there was going to be a performance of a play by Brecht. I did not know at the time much about Brecht. I had been told that he was a left-wing anarchist, that he mocked left-wing anarchists, that he was a scourge of the bourgeoisie, that the bourgeoisie were still flocking to his Die Dreigroschenoper which had opened in Berlin the previous year. The play of his that was going to be put on had at one time been called Spartakus because it had been about the Spartacist rising in 1919 in Berlin: I thus had a special interest in the play because, of course, some of my earliest memories were of this rising in Berlin. Also I wanted to see a play by Brecht because people talked about him in a way that I had come to associate with what might be life-giving: they suggested that his plays were original and disturbing without being able to say why. I

thought — But you, could you not have stayed for this play by Brecht?

I tried to imagine what you might be doing. We had not yet got the image, had we, of those particles that if you do this to this one here then that happens to that one there -

I thought — I am mad to have let you go!

I went down to the castle that evening with Franz and Bruno and Minna and the Nazi boys — I was, I suppose, feeling somewhat demented: why indeed had you gone away? I thought — Should I after all commit myself to someone or something practical: to Franz or to Bruno; or to a battle with the Nazis in Berlin? But still I seemed to be part of something leading a quite separate life around me — lungs, veins, heartbeat — and from this there seemed to be some thread pulling me through the maze. I was watching myself being pulled; was my watching the thread pulling me? (Well, where were you?) I was a child left lying on the edge of a bed. I was going to a play by Brecht.