Bruce Bauman - Broken Sleep

Alchemy acceded. “I hope you can understand. If you need … Okay. See you.”

Moses and Jay stood five feet from each other, stranded in their living room, drowning in a sea of incomprehension and despair. Jay ended the silence, her tone defensive. “Like I said, we met briefly, twice in the last, what, five years. Once when I found out about Salome’s exhibition and I told him he needed to tell you or I would. And after he came back with the letter.” She stiffened her posture. “And you are still so wrong to mistrust me. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.”

“Where’d you meet with him?”

“The first time at Kasbah. The second at a private opening at Gagosian Gallery.”

“Did you tell him how to find Teumer?”

“No, Sidonna Cherry—”

“Did you tell him about her, too?”

“She worked for him and for Kasbah before she ever worked for us. Remember?”

“Now, I do.”

“You should read the letter before judging me.”

Moses stood at the dining room table and pulled out the pages. He shook out the envelope and the medal dropped on the table. “Jesus, what the hell?”

Jay frowned. “Never seen that.”

Moses sat down. Jay put a cup of water for tea in the microwave. She didn’t even bother to take it out when it buzzed. A saturnine heaviness settled in her chest as she leaned against the kitchen sink and waited.

Moses ,

Since you have found me and your half brother, I assume by now you have met or will meet your mother. I want you to know me from my words, not from a distorted portrait painted by your mother’s delusional accusations or Hannah’s bitter renderings. I began this missive when Laban informed me of your intrusion. When it became obvious that you were no longer pursuing a confrontation, I decided to withhold it. Upon being notified of your brother’s intent to meet me, this became the propitious time and manner to deliver it .

Inside every human, without exception, resides the essence of what moralists call evil. Herbert Spencer, in classic English linguistic perfidy, declared this drive to be the “survival of the fittest.” I witnessed this exhibition of spirit by the delighted participation of women and children in acts of murder and debauchery. This empowering drive to vanquish and control is encoded in our blood and far outweighs courage or human generosity, or, for Christ’s sake, loving thy enemy .

I hope (but doubt) that someday you will understand that the most profound gift I gave you was unlove. I revile the parsing of logic and language that is necessary to justify suffering as a corollary to unconditional love from God and for God. The supreme human drives are self-preservation and selfishness. Greed, lust, envy, and desire for control are all forms of feeding the self. Love of a mate is only a manifestation of base needs to fornicate and control. Altruism is the lie of the self-deceiving .

Moses, life is cruel. Failure is not acceptable, but it is also inevitable. It is your kneeling to failure that I find repulsive .

If your half brother’s reconnaissance mission was only a prelude to your own visit, you must know who you are before you come: Moses, you are 100 % Christian. Not a drop of Jewish blood flows within you .

I will tell you who I am and why you were left behind. I participated in the elimination of Jews and other putrid and inferior species. I served with honor as an aide to Hauptsturmführer Alois Brunner. After the war he and I worked in Major General Reinhard Gehlen’s OSS/CIA — sponsored anti-Communist network. During Operations Paperclip and Applepie, I seized the opportunity to salvage the dreams of the falling Reich. I supplied Lively and Bickley Sr. with identities of SS officers who were Communist sympathizers (as well as a cache of Jewish gold and jewelry) in exchange for “bleaching” my war record, my entire history. I assumed the identity of a once baggy-eyed sad sack Jew who evolved into an unfeeling and unforgiving “victim.” How clever, yes! I endured a defiling of my purity with a circumcision and tattooing. I traveled to America on a Red Cross passport. I strategically maintained my distance from Jews until my involvement with Hannah. Her childless predicament was fortuitous and left her susceptible to what I offered and the cover I needed. I always intended to leave her. It became necessary to expedite my plans when I was recognized. I resisted surrendering you until Laban and Bickley Sr. forced me to make that choice — only if I left you would they continue to assist me in evading those who wished to put me on trial .

I see now it was the only choice — the right choice. I have followed your life as I have followed the career of your mother .

Hannah reared you in such a manner that makes you unfit to bear my name. You did not inherit Salome’s beauty or tempestuous vigor. You are diseased of body and weak in spirit .

I heard you speak at the Skirball Center on a panel about the children of those who survived internment and their attitudes toward God. I asked you a question after the talk, “Where was your God then? Where is he now?” You could not formulate a cogent response. You circled around the question — as you must, because their God is not. He never was. These Jewish children have committed suicide or broken down because they are weak. Their parents were the strong ones. They survived without their God .

I was repulsed yet oddly proud when you went to Israel. The Israelis have earned my respect. They are more like Germans: They kill to preserve themselves. I wish you had remained there, enlisted in the army, and perished for your beliefs, as Israel will someday perish .

I saw you once more when we passed each other at the 3rd Street Promenade. You trailed a step behind your attractive wife. She is no doubt the lead dog. It is an affront to me that you have no children .

The first time I killed a man, I felt the superiority and triumph of my will. Murder and sex are inextricably tied together: Murder is a denial of creation and sex is the act of creation. True men live through our seed. The truest men understand the need to kill to persevere. Throughout history the powerful have taken the best women. I have taken many. After they have been taken, they are cast aside to lesser men. You are a lesser man who could neither kill nor procreate .

You have eight siblings. Two I left in Germany as I left you. Others live with me in Brazil .

Laban explained your disease and that you desired my help. I considered, but decided against introducing you to your half brothers and half sisters. They do not know you exist. I only agreed to see you to placate Laban, and because, at the time, I never believed you would survive more than a year. Yet, because of your brother, you are still alive .

I have no desire to meet you. But I do have one wish for you: Reward yourself with your newfound life and birthright. Be hard. Be my son .

I was in the studio Dad had built for me gathering photos of Orient and of Kyle. I found one when she, Art, and I were secretly smoking cigars outside Donnie Boyle’s. Alchemy was playing wiffle ball in the backyard with a friend when I heard him scream, “Mom!” Hilda was passed out on the back porch. Alchemy ran inside and dialed 911. I wrapped Hilda in my arms. I sensated this was her time to transmigrate to another world. I kissed her forehead, and even though she couldn’t hear me, I said, “I will miss you so damn much.”