Nicholas Mosley - Hopeful Monsters

Love from Max

You had put no address at the end of this letter. I thought — You are angry with me? Well why should you not be, if I did not give you my address: but how could I, when I was suggesting that you meet Franz?

The envelope that the letter arrived in did look as if it might have been tampered with. I thought — But at least not by the people in the Rosa Luxemburg Block.

Then — But if you are angry with me, cannot I, even from hundreds of miles away, make you better?

I went skiing. I was on my own. I was in southern Germany. In the mountains there were these shapes, bumps, curves, that I sped down. I thought — All right, yes, these slopes are like that image of the pitted inner surface of a sphere: the four-dimensional space-time continuum of the universe. Such an image might not be a metaphor for scientific reality; science may be a metaphor for the reality of such an image. So — Who said that? My father? You? I am confusing you with my father, my mad angry English boy?

Then — Or perhaps your letter is telling me that you have a new English girlfriend.

I loved the mountains: I seemed to be in touch, indeed, with what was called 'gravity'. I was pulled: there was a force pulling: because of this I myself could steer — this way or that. But the bumps, shapes, curves, told me which way to choose. It seemed that one day, of course, I might go over the rim of the universe.

And so, at last, find what might be called 'objectivity'?

Of course your experiment made no sense! If the particles had anything to do with one another, then affecting the one would of course be affecting the other.

I thought — But if with enough style, elegance, on these mountains, one remains upright -

— With another there would be the same force by which the one might survive?

By the time I got back to Berlin Hitler had become Chancellor. There seemed to be some sort of hiatus, gap, in the streets. People had been holding their noses and had now toppled over: they were falling, falling.

I found that Bruno was not at the Rosa Luxemburg Block. People said that he had left. He had left no note for me. I thought — It is impossible for him to have gone and left no note for me! People in the Block said that he had just gone out one evening and had not returned. They seemed to suggest — Perhaps because Hitler has become Chancellor. I said 'What — ?' Their eyes slid away. He has got out? Gone over? This was not worth saying. I thought I might say to them — 'Bruno might have wanted to survive; it is you who have wanted to betray him.'

I thought I should ask my mother if she knew what might have happened to Bruno. Then — When I am in trouble, I still go to my mother?

In the streets the Nazis were setting up loudspeakers on street corners. Lamp-posts were hung with wires: they were like the umbilical cords of whales. I thought — These people are arranging so that they will be forever tied to their mad shouting Nazi mother; with luck, their lifeblood will run back to their destruction.

My mother was in her office with the machinery whirring next door and her cough and cigarette smoke rising up like spirits to torment her. There were people burning what seemed to be documents in the basement; the smoke from this too came up to plague my mother. It was as if she were some witch at a stake above a fire: I thought — Perhaps witches want to be pissed on to help them with the fire.

I said 'I wondered if you might have heard anything about what has happened to Bruno.'

'You think I might have heard something about Bruno?'

'He's disappeared.'

'So I hear.'

'Then you have!'

'What?'

'Heard.'

'I haven't said anything about knowing what's happened.'

I thought — But I can feel my own lifeblood running back! I will die if I don't get out, O my mother!

I said 'I saw Franz the other day. He said we should get out, you and I.'

'You have been in touch with Franz?'

'I went to have tea with him at the Adlon Hotel. I thought I might learn something from him, and I did.'

'You go to see Franz and you ask me if I know why Bruno has disappeared!'

She looked so pleased, my mother. I thought — But I do not need to be tied to a stake and pissed on by you, my mother!

I said 'Bruno wouldn't have gone of his own accord without telling me. You were all suspicious of him. Why?'

She said 'Didn't we have reason to be suspicious of him?'

I thought — Do you have reason to be suspicious of me?

Then — There are myths, in fact, about daughters wanting to kill their mothers: Electra, Clytemnestra. But Electra had to get her

brother to do it for her: perhaps women know that they only tighten the cord by wanting to kill their mothers.

I said 'You were always suspicious of people in the Rosa Luxemburg Block! They were suspicious of Bruno. They were suspicious of you. You all live on suspicion. Without it, you might have time to fight the Nazis!'

My mother rocked backwards and forwards in her chair.

I said 'You don't really think Bruno and I had contact with the Nazis?'

My mother said 'You've just admitted that you had tea with Franz.'

I said 'That is unforgivable.'

I thought — But of course I should never had told her about my seeing Franz!

Then — Dear God, perhaps I should never had told her about the raid on the cafe-brothel.

As I went out of the door my mother shouted after me 'He was never any good for you!'

I thought — Don't give me that stuff now: the caring mother!

Then — This is not ridiculous, it is evil -

— You think it might even have been my mother who was responsible for the tip-off?

As I walked through the streets it seemed, yes, that my lifeblood was draining away. I thought — But in so far as it is her blood that has run through me, let it run back to her destruction!

The streets were hung with wires like entrails.

I thought — Will I always be that child lying on the edge of a bed while people tend to the dying earth, its mother?

— Oh cut the cord: tie the liberating knot! Can the child do this itself? It can re-create its own blood, from that of its mother.

I found myself walking in the direction of the Adlon Hotel. I suppose I was going there on the chance of seeing Franz. Of course I knew that there was almost no chance of seeing Franz — he had taken that room in the hotel only for one day — but then, what is this operation of chance? You put yourself in the way of it. I wanted to see Franz because I wanted to ask him about Bruno: also I needed a friend. Then coming along Unter den Linden there was a squad of motorcycle outriders and behind them a car and in the car, Hitler. It was an open car, although this was in the middle of winter; it was as if Hitler had to be on show, as if he were some sort of dummy. I mean a perfect dummy, all-of-a-piece, to be admired. Well, humans

are not all-of-a-piece, are they? Hitler was like something made of cloth, waxed and polished; you can walk all round a dummy and examine it. Human beings react: but a dummy is an object. I thought — But what is this waxed dummy for? It is some huge candle to light an ultimate bonfire? It is something into which pins are stuck, to make humanity suffer?

Hitler whisked past in his car. I thought — Or perhaps he will go round and round like a Catherine wheel until he goes out and is dumped on someone else's bonfire.

Franz, of course, was not in the Adlon Hotel. I walked straight through and out of the side door into Wilhelmstrasse. I thought — You have to go on putting yourself in the way of chances if you want to survive.

Then — But why didn't you come to Berlin instead of going skiing -

— It is you I am so often talking to, isn't it, my English boy? There had been more Nazis than before in the hallway of the