I said 'You're a physicist; perhaps you will be able to obliterate the world soon.'
He stretched out a hand towards the lights of the town. He said as if quoting - 'I am Lazarus come from the dead.'
I lay back. I thought - Well, why should not something new be happening on this strange planet?
Franz said 'In our home village, which is near Munich, during the street-fighting that happened just after the real war, the White faction took some of the Red faction prisoners. There was one prisoner, a ringleader I suppose, who had been wounded; he was in pain, he kept on yelling; he would bang his head against a wall, trying to die. So his captors got a carpenter to build a very small cage into which they packed him so that his head was down by his knees and he could no longer bang it; he could hardly scream. He made small noises like a bird. They put him in the courtyard of the police station and people came to look at him. Sometimes people pissed on him. When they did this, he was almost peaceful.'
Minna was bent over in the light of the moon. She was like some huge queen bee, an egg. There were some cows or bulls or bullocks in the field; they were coming towards her; they were black shapes, breathing.
I thought - I will try to imagine the man in the cage.
Franz said 'But this is not really the strangest part of the story. Afterwards, when the man was dead, some of the guards, when they were drunk, would play a game in which one would crawl into the cage and some of the others would stand on top of it and
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piss on him. Perhaps they got some sort of peace like this. Perhaps they needed it.'
I thought - But like this, you do not get peace!
Franz shouted 'Minna!'
Minna was walking forwards, with her arms out, towards the herd of cows, or bullocks, or perhaps a bull. I thought - You mean we are all like that man in the cage? Then - It is true that the world is so awful that I would not want to have a child!
There was an enormous black animal that had come to sniff at Minna. She stood facing it, naked, with her arms by her side. I thought - Oh but there is still something that we can learn, if we are brave, we humans.
I said 'But there is a different sort of honour now. Don't we have to start again? I mean the whole human race perhaps start again - '
He said 'Can we?'
I said 'You can tell that story - '
Franz laughed and said 'Nellie!' Then he turned and shouted 'Minna!'
Minna had put out a hand as if to take hold of the horns of the cow or bullock or bull. She seemed to be talking to the animal, stroking its horns.
I said 'Don't we have to become participants in our stories?'
Minna had got hold of the horns of the cow or bullock or bull. The animal jerked its head back. Minna was pulled up and half onto its neck; she was kicking her legs as if to get up on its back; she was like someone scrabbling on a rock face. The animal tossed its head and whirled away; Minna clung on, half dragged, her feet touching the ground every now and then; she and the animal were like some sort of Catherine wheel. Franz got up and ran after her. I stayed where I was. I thought - Oh yes, to participate in our own stories, we would be like gods coming down.
Minna had fallen off the cow or bullock or bull. She was lying like a white hole cut out of the dark grass. Franz was kneeling at her head. He was like a satyr. He had taken his shirt off. With it he was dabbing at Minna's face.
I thought - They have had their duel. How could one explain this? They are the children of Achilles and Penthesilea?
There was a stampede of cows, bullocks or bulls, in the distance; black shapes rushing as if to the edge of a cliff.
I lay back. I must have slept for a time. When I woke, the moon was still full.
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I had had a vision (how does one tell the difference between wakefulness and dreaming?) of Franz kneeling over Minna and Minna kneeling over Franz: they were as huge as the earth and sky: they were entwined; they were interchangeable; they made a circuit. Minna's breasts hung down; Franz's arms hung down; Minna was the earth, Franz a firmament. I thought - There are seeds falling on the ground by which we are all fed. My own head was like the sky on the ground. After a time, I slept again.
Duels fought by The Corps customarily took place at six o'clock in the morning at an inn about an hour's walk from the town. Serious duels were of course illegal, so they had to happen at this place and at this time. I could not remember exactly what arrangements had been made about the duel: it seemed that we had to be at this place the next morning. I thought - But anyway, this or that will happen. Franz and Minna were coming walking towards me across the grass. They were holding hands. They were naked. The moon had gone, and there was a thin watery light. I thought - We will see, won't we, what happens.
Franz said 'You are all right?'
I said'Yes, I'm all right.'
I thought - The earth has been fed, and watered -
- There was that man in the cage: in the end he died.
There was a path along the edge of the forest towards the inn where the duel might be fought. We set off, Franz and Minna and I, in the half-light of dawn, in some sort of procesion. Minna led the way; Franz followed; I came behind. Minna was naked; Franz had put on his trousers; I wore my clothes. I thought - We are like people carrying something sacred in a litter: some god perhaps who is ill; who has had a look at the world, and so now perhaps he will help people to die. Minna carried the branch of a pine tree in her hand; it bounced and waved as she walked, like the wings of a bird. I carried Minna's clothes. I thought - But perhaps Franz will no longer want to die.
We passed close to a farmhouse where there were the sounds of cows being milked. I thought - If people see us they will not believe us: they will think we are some sort of gods come down.
When we were close to the inn, Minna stopped and held out her hands for her clothes. She was bespattered with bits of grass and mud and smelled of dung. She put on her skirt: She did not put on her blouse. Franz went on to the inn: I followed him. There was an annexe to the inn where fraternities met and where their duels were
sometimes fought: it was like a village hall, hung with arms and banners. There were a few people already there from those who had been in the beer-cellar the night before: they were sitting round the walls and were once more smoking and drinking beer. A space had been cleared in the centre of the hall. Albrecht was there; he had taken his shirt off; his chest was being bandaged ready for the duel. The boy whom Franz had asked to be his second was there; he carried two swords. Franz was already stripped to the waist, so that it was as if he had been preparing for the duel. I thought - And so what will happen when Minna comes in? Franz went up to the boy with the swords and took one of them; then he turned to the door; he seemed to be waiting for Minna. I noticed that Franz's body was also flecked with mud and grass and what smelled like dung; people in the hall were watching him. The boy who was Albrecht's second went up and talked to Franz; Franz did nothing; Albrecht watched them. There was a shaft of sunlight coming in through one of the windows of the hall: it was reddish, and there were bits of dust floating in it like stars. Franz held out his sword and seemed to touch the light. Then Minna came in: she was not wearing her blouse, so it was as if she too were ready for a duel; she went and stood in the shaft of sunlight; it was as if she were in the water of a river. Everyone in the hall had stopped talking. They were watching Minna. Minna had closed her eyes. The light splashed over her. Franz pointed his sword towards Minna; Minna turned so that it almost touched her breast; then Franz put the sword down on the ground. Minna bent to pick it up. Then she straightened and held the sword pointed to the ground.
There was a banging on the door of the hall. Someone seemed to have locked the door. Then people broke in: there were two policemen and people who seemed to be from the town; a man and a woman who looked like farmers. The policemen wore black and shiny hats: they came halfway across the hall and then stopped, staring at Minna. Minna was standing half naked in the rive
r of light, holding the sword. I thought - Now, now, will this image rest in people's minds, when the light of the stream has gone over them? Then both Minna and Franz turned to me and held out their hands for their clothes. I gave them to them. Then people in the hall started talking. It appeared that someone from the town had seen Franz and Minna and me at night in the field; the farmer and his wife had seen us walking in our procession in the early morning. And so they had called the police because they had seen us naked;
not because we were going to fight a duel; but now, presumably, we could not fight a duel. Franz and Minna were putting their clothes on: the boys who were Franz's and Albrecht's seconds had taken charge of the swords. There was still a faint smell of grass and dung of the early morning. People kept breaking off from their talking to look at Minna. Franz went over to Albrecht and put his hands on his shoulders and bent his head: after a time Albrecht lowered his head and put a hand to the back of Franz's neck. The shaft of sunlight had turned into a rather pale thin colour like that of a dream. I thought - Well there are sometimes nuggets of gold that are found at the bottoms of rivers. There were all these people gathered around the policemen opening and shutting their mouths, but it did not seem to matter much what they were saying. I thought - We have done what we wanted to do; whatever it was; perhaps we can all now leave the theatre. Then - But oh, can this never be repeated? I waited for Minna and Franz. No one was paying much attention to us now. I thought - One day there may be no more men in cages who need to die. Eventually the police did come and question Franz and Minna; but neither they nor Franz nor Minna had much to say. I thought - Indeed about this there is not much to say: there was something of a goddess about Minna.
At the end of 1928 Husserl retired as Professor of Philosophy at Freiburg and Heidegger, who had once been a favourite pupil, took his place. Husserl had apparently expected that Heidegger would carry on his work of trying to find certainty through the so-called 'scientific' investigation of ideas; but during the time that Heidegger had been away from Freiburg he had published Being and Time and had become famous in his own right at least amongst students; although no one seemed able to say very clearly what the book was about. Indeed Heidegger seemed to be saying (so I gathered) that 'certainty' could not be put into words: it was to do with an attitude, a state of mind, a performance: words were good for saying what things were not; they were not good for saying what things were. I thought - Well, yes, certainly, I have come across this sort of thing before.
Heidegger was due to give his inaugural lecture at Freiburg in July 1929. (The events I have been describing took place slightly earlier in this year.) There was excitement amongst students at the prospect of this lecture: it was felt - as it had been about Einstein ten years previously - that there was something liberating about
Heidegger's vision of what was beyond the bounds of conventional thought. I said to Franz, who had tried to read Being and Time, 'But how will Heidegger lecture if he does not trust in words! Will he come on and be silent? Will he make noises no one understands?'
Franz said 'People seem to feel they understand. Perhaps this also says something about the nature of words.'
Bruno wrote to say that he was coming from Berlin to hear the lecture: Heidegger's fame had spread. I thought - Bruno and Franz will meet! What I feel about this cannot easily be put into words.
The auditorium of the lecture-hall was a semicircle of wooden stalls rising steeply in tiers. I thought - This is like that cafe-theatre in Berlin: will Heidegger's message be conveyed by coloured lights and splashing music? When he did appear he was a short, sedate-looking man with a huge head. He peered amongst the audience as if there might be someone there he might recognise - not someone he already knew, but someone (it seemed) who might understand if not his words then still what he would be saying. When he spoke his voice was lilting, almost caressing: as he looked amongst the audience he seemed to be asking - Is it you? Is it you?
What Heidegger said in his inaugural lecture (or what I imagined him to have said: I have kept my notes) was roughly this -
Science takes us to the limit of what we can know about objects: beyond science there is nothing. But this nothing is postulated by science, for how can science be aware of itself except from a standpoint of what is beyond it? Facing this nothing we experience dread: but we also experience rapture, because it is what gives us a sense of our own freedom from the tyranny of things. It also gives us the possibility of being in a knowing relation to things. Without this nothing, we would ourselves be just things.
Heidegger spoke this stuff in his quiet, melodious voice: he peered amongst his audience. It was as if the riddles that he posed were not of the kind that required answers, but of the kind that go round and round and by which things are sifted, either remaining or falling through.
After the lecture I looked for Bruno, who had come straight to the lecture-hall from the train. I wondered - Will Bruno be someone I still recognise? who has not fallen (or has fallen?) through.
When I found Bruno he seemed more guarded and watchful. He lifted me with his arms round my waist and whirled me round. I thought - He is giving himself time to see whether I have changed.
He said, quoting from the lecture ' - Nothing is that which makes possible the revelation of what is!'
I said 'Do you think it matters if one doesn't exactly know what it means?'
He said 'But of course you know what it means!'
I said 'What?'
He said 'It means nothing, that's what it means!'
One of the reasons why Bruno had come to Freiburg was because Franz and Minna and I had planned to go on a walking trip through the Black Forest and on to a castle on the shores of a lake where there was to be held a Student Congress. I had suggested to Bruno when he had telephoned me from Berlin 'Why don't you come too?' He had said 'What about your boyfriend?' I had said 'What about my boyfriend?' He had said 'I am very well, thank you.'
I had, of course, by this time slept with Franz; and Franz had slept with Minna, and once or twice I had slept with Minna. All this was in accordance with the customs of the place and time - at least amongst those students who had broken away from fraternities. But Franz was now sleeping with Minna. And I was finding it quite liberating, the uncertainty.
So I had asked Bruno to come and make up a four on this trip: but when I saw him I felt that this might have been a mistake. I thought - He will feel that I am committed to him: and have I not learned that humans are happiest when they are, as it were, nothing; on their own?
Bruno said 'What is it?'
I said 'Nothing.' I laughed.
Bruno said 'I expect you feel trapped.'
I thought I might say - Bruno, you are a genius.
Bruno said 'Don't worry. I can't wait to meet the beautiful Minna!'
I said 'Bruno, I love you! I don't feel trapped!'
Bruno said 'And Franz. The beautiful blue-eyed Franz!'
When Franz and Bruno did meet they acted charmingly, courteously, like people who might be accustomed to fighting duels. (I had heard, in fact, that Bruno had become a notable fighter of duels in Berlin.) Bruno flashed his eyes at Franz: Franz, when he held out his hand, glittered. Bruno said 'Ah you do give satisfaction to Jews!' Franz laughed and said 'Oh I am too modest!' I thought - Of course, why should they not be homosexual? Then - What will now happen if I am free?
We were in the town square by the cathedral. We were waiting for Minna. There were the stalls for the market; the spire of the huge building above. I thought - It is as if we are on a stage: perhaps I am waiting for someone to come on from outside.
When I introduced Minna to Bruno, he bowed over her hand and dabbed at it as if he were a bird. When he straightened he kept hold of Minna's hand and turned it over and looked at the palm.
Minna said 'What do you see?'
Bruno put a hand on his heart and said 'Don't ask me!'
Minna said 'Death?'
Bruno said 'My own!' He dropped M
inna's hand as if it had burned him.
We set off the day after the lecture on our trip over the mountains. We each carried a rucksack, a blanket, our share of cooking equipment and food. Franz led the way with the maps: I came next; then Minna, with Bruno behind. I thought - I no longer have to imagine that I am in control: Bruno has always been something of a magician.
We went past the rock where the path went off towards the cave. I thought - But let us not go round and round: let me go on to something new.
Among the Wandervogel of those days there was the feeling that one could go into the mountains and become free: could look down like gods, perhaps, on people in their cooking-pots on the plains. There was a sense, certainly, of rapture: occasionally of dread. It was as if one had the chance of coming across some lost civilisation in a hidden valley; or of creating such a civilisation oneself - in which people might feel neither superior nor inferior, but in harmony with themselves. I thought - But would they not then be different from gods - who like fighting amongst themselves; who take it out on people on the plains? Then - Do humans have to be morally superior to gods?
Franz wore leather shorts, I wore a skirt, Minna wore thin cotton shorts, Bruno wore trousers. Bruno from time to time muttered under his breath as he walked behind Minna. Minna said 'What are you saying?' Bruno said 'I am making calculations about the gyrations of the heavenly spheres.'
When we got to the high ground there were narrow winding paths going up and down between trees. Routes were marked at forks or crossroads by colours dabbed on rocks or trees. I thought - We are being guided here: there are threads through the maze.
Sometimes there was a gap in the trees through which could be seen a green and fertile valley laid out as if in a painting. Red-roofed houses clustered around a church: stacks of hay were set up in fields like some primitive form of message. I thought - This is the sort of landscape that humans have put into paintings.
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