by Tony Klinger
“We believe your son has an outstanding future as an artiste, outstanding, he has truly exceptional talent.” He watched Bertie closely for a positive reaction but it was in vain.
Bertie replied, “What you mean is that Arnie has exceptional talent for an artist who paints with his feet and his mouth.”
“Certainly not. “ replied Schiller, who was clearly angered and less inhibited than might have been the case had he not been steadily drinking through the afternoon. He calmed down and continued, “Personally we have a scientific and mathematical background but anyone, anyone with even half an eye can attest to the fact that your son has a talent that is both unique and wonderful. How he does what he does is immaterial to the result, which is wonderful. Don’t you understand Herr Hessel, your son, Arnie is a genius!”
Bertie was shocked by such a blatant affirmation of Arnie’s talent by a learned professor, even one who drank so liberally, Bertie respected authority absolutely, and Schiller represented it. “Arnie a genius, my son is a genius?” Bertie was unable to mask his sudden pride and genuine surprise.
“Surely you cannot be surprised Herr Hessel, you have seen his paintings, you are an intelligent and educated man, you must have known his work is very special?”
Schiller was bemused by Bertie who averted his eyes from the professor’s steady gaze, “ I think we should talk more about this perhaps?” the old man said quietly, trying to probe for the answers as gently and circumspectly as he could. Bertie’s iron self discipline began to unwound like the gas from a cylinder, quietly and steadily. “I have never looked at one of his paintings.” He said this almost inaudibly whispering the admission, ashamed of himself. Silence ensued, hanging between the two men like a safety net, “Perhaps I could join you in that schnapps now Herr Schiller?”
There were several more drinks and a long conversation between the academic and the military martinet. Bertie derived a special kind of comfort that a more religious man might find from a kind priest in a confession. He found the experience and cathartic and almost spiritual. He listened carefully to the professor’s advise before returning home to discover his son.
Arnie and Marlene were in the Hessel family pantry examining a large piece of rock clamped securely onto a workbench. A head was taking shape from the stone, although it was, as yet, impossible to discern whose face it would be when it was eventually completed. “Why do you do this, to punish yourself?” she asked. Arnie smiled enigmatically. He always did this, as if he knew something that someone else didn’t. Usually his smile actually meant that he didn’t know the answer to the question. “Don’t be my judge and jury,” he said, “Give me the mouthpiece,” he asked, she laughed as she placed the device in his mouth. “At least this will shut you up.”
It was a fairly comfortable device designed by Arnie and Brigittete that she had manufactured by a local dentist. Arnie had the idea for it after watching a film of a boxing match he saw at a cinema. It was between Germany’s superhero Max Schmelling who had fought a two-round exhibition with the American World Heavyweight champion Jack Dempsey in 1925 in the city of Cologne. The type of gum shield they wore formed the basis of the design. After repeated use he had become proficient with this contrivance but his jaws still ached, sometimes for days afterwards. He nodded to Marlene and she put the medium weight chisel into his mouth and he clamped down on it.
The veins and muscles of his neck stood out, as they were small steel chords beneath his skin. Arnie studied the piece of rock as if it were both enemy and friend, he willed himself to summon up the power and strength to finish his task. Nothing would stand in the way he decided. Suddenly he closed his eyes, his head reared back on his neck then with all the energy he could summon he lunged forward forcing the chisel to bite into the rock. Again and again his head snapped back then forward like a fist with eyes on the rock. Nothing deters or distracts Arnie’s almost manic focus and concentration.
He became only dimly aware of Marlene watching his self-inflicted torture at first, but then even she faded from the periphery of his mind as he was swallowed in his intense involvement with the unforgiving piece of stone. His eyes danced with both pleasure and pain as he battled with this, the hardest artistic discipline he imposed on himself. Now it was just him and the stone, and nothing else mattered.
He hammered his head back and forth, no feeling the sharp pain in his mouth and jaw with each terrible impact. He was only aware of shards of stone splintering off as I cajoled a shape into the rock. He ignored the chippings flying around his face as he unconsciously accelerated the rhythm of his work when he sensed his creation was becoming a living, vibrant face.
Unknown to Arnie his father had quietly entered the room. Marlene saw Bertie who signaled for her not to disturb Arnie’s work. She smiled to him and nodded her compliance. Bertie was stunned by his son’s manic devotion to his task. To his untrained eye it looked as if his offspring was torturing himself with an obscure but wonderful rite of masculine passage. Hardly daring to breathe the older man went deeper into the room and circled behind his son.
When he reached a position beside Marlene Bertie saw the shape of the face that Arnie had hacked out of the rock; it was a bust of him. Arnie had lovingly fashioned his father’s face.
Bertie was struck dumb when the realization struck him what love his son must have for him, and what sublime talent he had used to express this love.
Marlene turned to Bertie and saw the tears running down his cheek; with a tender entirely feminine gesture she wiped the tears away with her handkerchief and then kissed his cheek with her healing lips. “I didn’t know” he whispered to her, “I understand.” She said, and, after looking between the two Hessel men she left the room.
Arnie felt the currents of air shift as she departed and turned just in time to see Marlene leave. It was at the same instant that he saw his father.
Bertie was still clearly transfixed by the bust; it was so powerful, so full of love, at once primitive and dignified, a magnificent raw piece of imagery.
Their eyes locked, “I didn’t know, I never realized.” Said the father to the son. Arnie spat out the chisel and then the mouthpiece and stood up. He didn’t lower his guard; nothing was permitted to pierce his protective carapace of self-protection. He had been hurt too many times by this man.
“Hello father, what, you didn’t know I could sculpt?”
“No, that you cared for me enough to do that.” He pointed to the statue. “You like it?” Arnie asked incredulously. “One doesn’t merely like such art, I am engulfed by it, it’s not enough to simply appreciate it, it’s not enough to talk about such things, I love it, I am proud of it, of you, I love you, I am so sorry.”
Bertie suddenly rushed forward and embraced Arnie who had not felt any affection or physical contact from his father in all their years together. Their tears ran and mingled, their joining together a signal of a genuine newly discovered closeness. Something drew Arnie’s eyes back to the work that had served as a bridge across the yawning emotional chasm between them. The face he had created had, for him, a malevolent cast to it, which he knew he had engraved into the jaw line, mouth and eyes. Which was the true face, the one he had sculpted and known for a lifetime, or this new and suddenly loving father. He prayed to heaven that he was wrong, that it was the latter.
Chapter Eleven
Frankfurt
September 1931
The excitement of the drive to Frankfurt was only marred for Arnie by his having to say farewell to Marlene. But youth is the great healer; youth and distance can certainly help deaden such adolescent pain. Arnie’s acceptance as a student at the Academy of Arts in Frankfurt had been the culmination of so much effort over such a long period that he could scarcely believe the actual day of his enrolment had arrived.
The journey by road from Arnie’s home to Frankfurt was quite short in terms of distance but mill
ions of miles by any other form of measurement. Unlike the slightly claustrophobic atmosphere of his town this new town had streets that were broad and straight, the buildings taller and more imposing, the citizens milled busily about, and there were huge numbers of them. Arnie would treasure and measure of his own anonymity amid the louder, more rombustious. Everything was more, and Arnie loved its brash lusty arrogance.
Bertie and Bertha spoke to their son almost continuously on the drive but he barely heard a word they said. He sat in the back of the car hypnotized by the sights and sounds of this seemingly endless city. Finally the car pulled to a halt outside an imposing edifice, which he was soon to discover was the Academy. Bertie helped Arnie out of the car as his mother waited awkwardly. She was not used to her husbands newly found consideration for their son, and still couldn’t quite place her faith in it lasting.
The small group of three found themselves unsure of how to navigate the correct rituals for saying farewell. They had not been apart like this before and Arnie felt a combination of fear and trepidation for an unknown future and a wish to rush headlong into its embrace. As ever it was Bertha who found the words first, “I’m certain that all the arrangements promised for you will be in place, your father did write to them and explain the situation comprehensively, didn’t you father?” Bertie smiled patiently, he had reassured his wife on this issue several times. As ever his preparations had been methodical and meticulous. “Of course, they confirmed all the arrangements, remember, I showed you their letter.”
Bertha nodded her head, somewhat at a loss with nothing to worry about for every minute of every day. Arnie turned to her and also smiled reassuringly at his adored mother, “I’ll be fine mother, and you really don’t have a thing to worry about.”
Bertie spoke again, more hesitantly than normally when he was so certain of everything. “Son, if you want anything, anything whatsoever, just get in touch with me, and if it’s within the scope of our pockets we will arrange for it immediately, understood?” Money was not an issue that Bertie ever spoke openly about, and certainly never in front of his family. Arnie was immediately concerned, especially when he saw the same emotion flitter briefly on his mother’s face. “Is business that bad father?” Bertie avoided looking back directly at his son, pretending to look at the busy street traffic.
“It’s not good for anyone in Germany right now Arnie.” His mother answered for his father. “I shouldn’t be here if we can’t afford it.” Arnie said, appealing to their common sense, “Don’t you worry Arnie, you enjoy your time here, you will be living out our dreams for you.” She smiled radiantly at her son as she said this to him.
Bertie felt his son’s stare, “All we can ask is that you do your best, perhaps when Herr Hitler reaches his rightful position all our businesses will improve.”
Arnie bristled, “If Hitler comes to power then...” but before Arnie could conclude this thought his mother interjected, “No politics you two, you promised me today would be just about Arnie coming to the Academy.” Bertha had, as usual, managed to find a way to paper over the cracks.
A handsome young man, about Arnie’s height, with dark hair, but thinner, dressed immaculately in a perfect simulation of the clothes of an English country squire, a habit he would never break, whatever the circumstance. He bowed to Arnie’s mother with elaborate and courtly courtesy then saluted Bertie who liked him on site and returned the formal military greeting, everyone’s face were wreathed in smiles.
“You must be Helmut Von Thyssen?” said Bertie to the young man, “and you must be the Hessel family, welcome to Frankfurt and hello Arnulf,” He replied, turning toward Arnie. “You must call me Hynie, all my friends do and I will be distraught if not to be counted amongst your friends.”
Helmut shook hands with both Bertha and Bertie and as he did so Arnie took the opportunity to study his newfound friend. This charming, handsome young man appeared to have it all. Everything about him was engaging from his smile revealing perfect white and even teeth that for Arnie, appeared to twinkle with abnormal whiteness. Helmut was all Arnie could have ever aspired to, all he had ever wished to be. Helmut clapped Arnie heartily on the shoulder, a gesture he would learn to tolerate as a small price of his friendship over the years to come. Arnie and Helmut liked each other immediately, both appreciating the other’s apparent openness and candor.
“Hello,” said Arnie, quietly and with some timidity, “You must call me Arnie.”
“Arnie it is then,” he replied happily. “We’ll leave it to you chaps then” Bertie said. “We’ll be just fine I promise you. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, however brief. Don’t worry about Arnie. I’ll see to it that he doesn’t get in too much trouble.”
More handshakes were exchanged between Helmut and Arnie’s parents who then both hugged their son much to his embarrassment. Helmut picked up Arnie’s bags as if they were weightless and led him toward the building’s impressive main entrance. Arnie turned to look at his parents as they trudged the few steps back to their car, they seemed to have suddenly aged. It was a very sad moment for them all, somehow so terribly final.
Bertie and his wife watched their son disappear into the academy after Helmut. Bertha cried into her pretty lace handkerchief and blew her nose; Bertie self-consciously placed a protective arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry Bertha, our son is man to be proud of.” He put the car into gear and slowly drove away. Bertha looked back to the building as it diminished behind them.
“I’m simply being selfish, I won’t have anyone to look after anymore.” She said, “You can look after me.” He replied.
Helmut led Arnie up to their room up a broad and deserted staircase. The interior of the academy’s sleeping quarters was intimidating. Everything was of such epic proportions and magnificent works of art hung everywhere. Helmut pointed out facets of the places that he thought might interest Arnie.
After the grandeur of the public section of the academy Arnie was not prepared for the comparative squalor of the quarters that Arnie and Helmut were to share. The room was tiny and shabby, and clearly Helmut was not the most tidy of people, his clothes, books, sketches and unfinished projects spilled everywhere. “Be it ever so humble,” said Helmut, as ever without any sense of irony. Arnie was to find his ever-ready smile and unfailing good cheer impossible to resist. Arnie smiled as Helmut randomly unpacked and placed his cases carelessly tossing the contents into any available spaces he could find in the already crowded wardrobes and drawers.
“You shouldn’t feel you always have to do things for me, I’m quite self reliant,” said Arnie, “I’m sure you are, and believe me I wouldn’t dream of doing everything for you, but my mother would love to see me doing something for someone else for a change, it might do good for my immortal soul or such like.”
“I could pay you perhaps, or hire a nurse or such like,” Arnie suggested, although where the funds would come from for such extravagance he had no idea. Helmut laughed, “Pay me. You must be joking, my family own about half of Bavaria and if you were to hire a nurse that could cost my family a fortune.” Helmut saw the bemused expression on his new friend’s face, “I would feel honor bound to impregnate any nurse you might engage, it’s a family tradition, matter of honor, family motto, if it moves nail it, might have been referring to something else, result, knock up all the serfs, then parents would feel there was no alternative but to pay exorbitant rates to some back street doctor to relieve her of such a burden, so, result is, best leave matters as they are old chap.”
Arnie laughed at Helmut’s tortured and somewhat idiosyncratic logic. “I simply don’t understand why you’re being so decent to me.” “Decent I ain’t,” Helmut leered comically, “I’m selfish as all hell, but you’re a widely celebrated artiste Herr Hessel, quite the coming thing, your fame precedes and spreads before you like a magical cloak with which I might also enfold myself for warmth, comfo
rt and transportation since your reflected glory won’t hurt this very mediocre wielder of the brush, if not with the august academy then at least with the young ladies.”
“Me, help you with the ladies?” roared Arnie incredulously, “The sympathy angle dear chap, the sympathy angle never fails, and that’s if my charm, good looks, talent and vast fortune fail to entice.”
Arnie found himself laughing yet again, as Helmut collapsed on his bed and lay prostrate with his hands locked behind his head. “Now, before I adjourn for my vital afternoon siesta is there anything the maestro requires, pick your nose, scratch your back, light a cigar, I dare say I could even find a young lady, or chap if that’s your preference, after all we are broad minded artistes, to pull your plonker for a bit?” The more the laughter bubbled out of Arnie the more encouraged Helmut was to continue, but as he finished it was as if his energy was all used up.
“Must admit been burning the candle at both ends and middle...” before the last words were out of his mouth Helmut was breathing deeply and he began to snore with some determination. Arnie felt he had found a new best friend.
The next day, a Monday, found the pair in a large rectangular brilliantly white room that was to serve as their studio and classroom. It was lit by natural light that flooded in from the vast glass roof, which would serve to fry its inhabitants during the summer and freeze them during the winter. The place was only truly comfortable for about two months of the year, and unfortunately, six of these eight weeks were exactly when the students were to be on holiday. There were twelve other students arranged behind their easels and they all waited anxiously for the professor to appear.
The sole exception to this was Helmut, who had spotted two pretty girls who were seated close by. Arnie noticed that both the girls were very attractive, one a blond, the other a redhead and both giggled at Helmut’s outrageously lascivious attempts to attract them. Arnie soon found himself led down the same path as he copied the style of his new friend, with nods, winks and Helmut spoke to Arnie out of the corner of his mouth, “I don’t fancy yours much my friend, mine’s not too bad, and I could easily a arrange a paper bag for your young lady to wear.” Arnie made a loud kissing noise at just the moment a pocket sized little man marched into the room. His eyes seemed to bore holes into each student in the room, paying particular attention to Arnie and Helmut.