Nicholas Mosley - Hopeful Monsters

the chance of being immortal? From the bottom of an alleyway, in the shadows of which I could see without being seen, there was the front of the building facing me in which my mother lived and worked; lorries were parked outside it; Brownshirts were standing around the lorries. The windows of the building were lighted so that it was like the backdrop to a stage: I thought — But I have seen this before — where? — in that courtyard of the ruined castle: they were playing Faust, yes, about what good can come out of evil: then there was that play by Brecht in which two people were wandering through a town in which there is a bloody revolution; they meet, wander away, meet again; and so there are patterns. Through the lighted windows of the building I could catch glimpses of Brownshirts swarming like invading ants; they were capturing files, stores, secrets; they appeared beyond the windows here and there with their arms full of papers. I thought — And now my mother will feel justified in her feelings about betrayal! Then — But surely I should be thinking of something more useful. The inhabitants of the building were being led out in ones and twos to the waiting lorries; they were being held by the arms; some were protesting; some were half-collapsed between Brownshirts. I thought — But I cannot be just an observer of this: can I not get at least some message through to a suffering world. There was still the red glow above the rooftops. I thought — Dear God, but what are the images I have myself harboured about this: about bodies being carried to the bonfire. I saw my mother being led out into the street between two Brownshirts; she was like a doll; she had her head down. I had an image — She has been hit on the head like Rosa Luxemburg. Then — Oh but now must I not rush out and be heard to cry Mother! Mother! What else can I do, even if I get myself arrested: did I imagine that I could escape the bonfire? I began walking across the road towards my mother. My mother was dangling like some out-of-use puppet between the arms of two Brownshirts. She looked so small: she was like some bird caught on a hook: I was being pulled by some line from my insides towards her. Or was it that my mother and I were two climbers fastened together by rope on a rockface; she had fallen; either one of us would die or, unless I cut the rope, both of us would. But still, was there not something practical to be done? I went up to one of the Brownshirts who was holding my mother and I said 'Where are you taking them?' My mother still had her head down so that I could not see her face. I could see — Nothing. I said to the

Brownshirt That much you can tell me!' He had a rough, wet face like the inside of a rubber ball. I thought — Perhaps I should smile and put a hand up and touch his face: then — Probably he is homosexual. I was standing quite close to my mother. She did not lift her head up. The Brownshirt whom I had spoken to said 'You get out of here.' I thought — My mother may still think I am betraying her: or by not acknowledging me, is she trying to help me? The other Brownshirt said 'The Reichstag's burning.' I said 'The Reichstag's burning?' I thought — I am acting like my mother. My mother still would not look at me. The two Brownshirts lifted and pushed her into the back of one of the lorries. I said loudly 'I will find my father and perhaps he will be able to do something.' When she was in the back of the lorry my mother did turn and look at me: the hair on one side of her head was slightly matted; she frowned, as if she wanted me to go. I was holding my hands against my stomach and I opened my mouth: it was as if, after all, I might scream. There were more people being led out of the building and brought to the back of the lorries. I thought — After all, my mother must love me! One of the Brownshirts stretched out a hand as if to grab me. I said 'She is my mother!' I thought — Well I have said that: what more can I do? I turned and began to walk away. I thought the Brownshirt would come after me. He did not. They were pushing people on to the lorries. I thought — But this is no trick: I am just walking away from my mother. Then — Is this just everything I have ever been or done? But I am going over the rim of the world to where there might be no gravity.

I had begun to walk in the direction of the Adlon Hotel. This was my usual round. I thought I could try to find Franz: I would telephone my father: what else was there to do? There was nothing, nothing. Then — At least I will see the Reichstag burning! There were indeed sparks like souls flying up over rooftops. I was walking through streets, keeping away from the sound of lorries. I wondered if the Reichstag had been set on fire by some of the people in the Rosa Luxemburg Block; or by those with my mother, and so they were being put on to lorries. But I had gone forwards, in some sort of style, hadn't I, crying Mother! Mother! But had I not cut the cord? and now was I seeing what happens when there is no gravity. There is indeed nothing, nothing; you are just falling. My father had said once (or was it you?) that the only emotions worth having are ecstasy and despair. I thought — Well yes, but there is also a terror at this nothing. I was walking towards the Reichstag and every now

and then I could glimpse the outline of the huge dome which was lit like the mantle of a gaslamp; I thought — Indeed it might be some message: we are dying! I had wanted to arrange a meeting between you and me and Franz and Bruno at the Adlon Hotel. I was walking in the direction of the Adlon Hotel. I thought — But you used to have an image of the whole world burning; or will these sparks settle down like light that comes from a painting? I was moving along streets on the north side of Unter den Linden. There were people in the streets now moving in the same direction as me: they were going to watch the bonfire. I thought — What you and Franz and Bruno and I would have talked about is physics: the transmutations that might go on in an atom; in the sun; some secret like that behind the closed door in a courtyard. Or that which connects this particle to that across the universe. I had reached a place from which, if I was to get to the Adlon Hotel, I had to go down and cross Unter den Linden; there were sure to be lorries with Brown-shirts there: I thought — With one great leap — what? — there can be mutation? On each side of Unter den Linden there were, yes, lines of police and Brownshirts: crowds were piling up; they were settling to watch the bonfire. I could see it quite clearly now; the whole of the enormous building was on fire. I thought — It is a construction like a nest: what monster will arise from the ashes? It did not seem possible to get across the road: I had pushed my way through the crowd and was standing at the back of the line of Brownshirts. I thought — And anyway, why do I want to get to the Adlon Hotel? Because there is nothing else to do? Because I used go there with my father; with Franz? Because if there is nothing, you find yourself drawn to where you have once or twice felt at home? I said to one of the Brownshirts 'Can you help me get through to the Adlon Hotel? It is urgent.' He too had a round rough face like the inside of a rubber ball. He looked at me and then looked away: I thought — Dear God, are they all homosexual? There were cars going past in the road with motorcycle outriders: it seemed that this might be Hitler, being carried home to a bonfire. A policeman turned to me and said 'You want to get to the Adlon Hotel?' I said 'Yes please.' The policeman took hold of me by the arm as if to help me; then the Brownshirt spoke to him and he let go. I thought — Well, what trick did Josephus do: his people were homosexuals? Then I saw you on the other side of the road. I mean I saw you beneath the trees in the middle of Unter den Linden. I was sure it was you. I