Nicholas Mosley - Hopeful Monsters

I am in a cafe and am sitting looking out across this lake on the other side of which is Germany. Is this why I have come here? To put myself close to what you physicists call 'potentialities'?

I feel as if I have put myself into one of those experiments of which you physicists are fond: will this or that potentiality become

actual. But as we know — does this not depend on the conditions chosen by the experimenter?

Talking to you. Talking to myself. Experimenting.

Later.

I was sitting in the cafe writing this to you in my notebook when Stefan turned up. He looked awful; he had pale gold hair; one eye seemed to be bigger than the other. He said 'I hear you were looking for me.' I said 'Oh Stefan, how nice to see you!' He said 'We thought you were dead.' I said 4 I wanted to find out what happened to you!' He said 'Well, here I am.' He sat down at my table. He seemed aggrieved: perhaps he was frightened of what I would want. It seemed that he had succeeded in turning his face into a mask. I thought — Well, this was always one of his potentialities. I said 'But what happened to you? I mean, in Morocco?' He said 'I came on later in the bus.' I said 'Did you find Rudi?' He said 'Of course I found Rudi!' I said 'He was in hospital?' He said 'I picked up both Rudi and the truck.' I said 'Oh Stefan, you are clever!' Then — 'Rudi was all right?'

I thought — One of my potentialities perhaps must be to wear a mask.

He said 'Yes, Rudi's all right.' Then — 'But what about you?'

I tried to tell Stefan the story about how I had got to Spain. But this came out wrong; I could not make it sound anything but chaotic. And Stefan was not interested; both he and I seemed to be waiting for something quite different.

He told me more about himself and Rudi in Morocco. He had come across in the bus the scene of what he called the 'accident'; he had learned where Rudi was in hospital; they had been told that I had been taken off by soldiers. In hospital Rudi had recovered from concussion; he and Stefan had retrieved the truck and what was left of the contents and then, because of the war in Spain, they had got to the French port of Oran and had taken a boat to France. I found that I was not much interested in this story either: I was thinking — Oh, but what makes anyone interested in this sort of stuff?

Stefan was saying 'We got hardly anything for the contents of the truck: it scarcely covered our expenses.' I said 'Oh what a shame!' I thought — He is giving reasons, I suppose, why none of the proceeds should come to me: then — But this is still not what is concerning him. Then he said 'Rudi wants to see you.' I said 'Is Rudi here?' He said 'He's not here now, but he's coming tomorrow.' I said 'I

suppose I know why he wants to see me.' Stefan said 'You know why he wants to see you?' I was feeling ill. I thought — Oh but I can see why this might not be boring.

You remember the diamonds that Rudi had been carrying when he ran the truck into a tree; that I had found when he was unconscious; that I had been carrying around with me in their small leather pouch ever since. Of course, it was likely that I had been reluctant to see Rudi or Stefan simply because I had not wanted to tell them (or to lie to them?) about these diamonds: but this was also why I had felt I had to see them now. But now I had begun to feel ill. It seemed that I was being waylaid by a business that had nothing to do with what I was properly involved in; that I must get it over with quickly. I thought — But at least I have kept the diamonds safely. Then — But it is diamonds that are boring: they are part of a pattern of self-destruction. Then Stefan said 'Rudi has been keeping a letter that was sent to you.'

I said 'A letter?'

He said 'It came to the polytechnic some time ago. They gave it to me, and I gave it to Rudi. We didn't know what had happened to you.'

I said 'What sort of letter?'

Stefan said 'Rudi will bring it with him when he comes tomorrow.'

I thought — You mean, he will give me the letter if I give him the diamonds? This is the point of this business?

I said 'You're sure he'll bring it?'

Stefan said 'Yes.' Then — 'The reason why I was travelling on the bus in Morocco, you know, was because I didn't agree with what Rudi was doing.'

I said 'I'm awfully sorry, I'm feeling ill, I must go and lie down.'

Stefan said 'But you'll be here lunchtime tomorrow?'

I am writing this in my room in the Gasthaus where I can look out across the lake towards Germany. A letter addressed to the polytechnic might well be from my father: so was this why I had made efforts to see Stefan or Rudi? You see how this is difficult. The way in which I am feeling ill is that waves seem to be breaking into my head; a white light coming down; you know the feeling.

Rudi must want to see me because I have the diamonds? And how else would I have ever heard of this letter! Would I have wanted to see Rudi if I had not had the diamonds? The speculations

are fruitless. What a style to have to learn, to be in a pattern with what is happening.

Testing. Testing.

Oh how interesting that I am feeling ill!

The gasworks may blow up, twenty minutes.

I have been to the landlady downstairs and asked her if I could use her telephone. I wanted to talk to you, but there was no chance of a line to England. I suppose everyone is talking about something boring like war. So I booked personal calls once more to Franz and to Walburga in Germany. One goes on, does one, casting lines, lifelines, over the water.

Don't you think we might settle down, one day, you and I, on the edge of some beautiful painted desert?

You remember when you said — There is no mathematical reason why messages should not come to us from the future -

— It is just difficult to imagine how we might be able to recognise these.

Practising.

The landlady came to tell me that one of my calls had got through: I hoped it was to Franz: it was to Walburga.

Walburga said 'How marvellous to hear your voice! I cannot wait to see you! Where are you?'

'I am just the other side of the Bodensee.'

'Then I am coming!'

'Tell me, have you any news of Franz?'

'Why do you ask that?'

'It is important that I get in touch with him.'

'Always Franz! But I will find out.'

'But do come tomorrow! I am longing to see you.'

'Where shall we meet?'

'At the Cafe Miramar, Romanshorn; it is on the lake. I will be there at lunchtime.'

'I will be there!'

I am now back in my room: I do not know what is happening: there are these waves coming in.

Do you think Walburga will have found where Franz is? Do you think I should try to see Franz? Do you think Rudi will bring the letter? Do you think it will be from my father?

Should I have asked Walburga to find out about my father?

I still am not used to this: testing!

Do tell me what you are doing.

I imagine you, yes, walking in a wood. You come to a cottage in which a beautiful girl is imprisoned. I cry out to warn you — This is a witch! My cry goes round the world like that of the kitten to its mother. You say to me — But it is children, not witches, who are imprisoned!

This is what the witches here call 'active imagination'.

Bodensee August 31st 1939 My Angel,

I went to the cafe today. There we were acting like people in masks. It does seem, does it not, that war will be declared.

Rudi was like someone whose mask has grown out from the inside: a skeleton become a shell: a lobster: a glove-puppet.

I said 'Oh Rudi! How good to see you! I am so glad you are all right! I had such guilt about leaving you!'

This is my mask — of Legba, the trickster?

Rudi said 'I imagined those people gave you no option but to leave me!'