Hopeful Monsters

by Nicholas Mosley

  I said 'That's my father?'

  Franz said 'No, that's me.'

  I said 'Then why should I not know what to believe, in talking to you?'

  Franz leaned forwards and tickled the ribs of the black dog. He said 'Your father has been put in charge of a department at the Institute which correlates the activities of other scientific departments. He has no direct powers. He is useful because he can get people to work for him who otherwise might be reluctant.'

  I said 'Did he have to repudiate my mother?'

  'Your mother's dead.'

  'I know.'

  'And you were in another country.'

  I said 'So now what will he be able to do? I mean, you and he, what will you be able to do?'

  Franz picked up the gun and held it with the ends of the barrels under his chin. The dog stood facing him with its back arched, its teeth bared.

  Franz said 'I do not want to be a traitor to my country.'

  I said 'In what way would you be a traitor to your country?'

  Franz said 'There are certain circumstances, it is true, in which a patriot might not want his country to be a hundred percent successful in an area of scientifc enquiry over which its wartime leaders would wish to take control.'

  I said again 'So what will you do?'

  He said 'Ask your father.'

  I said 'I'm asking you.'

  Franz made a sound like an air-gun going off; like air being let out of a balloon. He took the gun away from under his chin and held it upright in front of him pointing into the air: he bowed his head down in front of it.

  He said 'Of course one can always do nothing: I mean, try to see that nothing occurs.'

  I said 'Yes, nothing: that was what I was going to ask you.'

  He said 'You have not been in touch with your father? He has not been in touch with you?'

  I said 'No.'

  He said 'Then how did you know?' Then he said quickly, as if to stop my answering this question - 'Oh how did you know, how does one ever know, that is the question.'

  I thought I might say - But Franz, we have known each other so long, of course you and I both do and don't know!

  Then - We have known this ever since that time of the Reichstag fire in Berlin.

  Franz stood up. He brushed at his clothes. He was wearing knee-breeches and a short corduroy jacket. The dog heaved about in front of him. He said 'Come to the house.' He set off along the path through the forest. I followed him. It seemed that it might be easier to talk now that he had his back to me. He said 'What exactly is the work that your Max is doing in England?'

  I said 'You know more about it than I do.'

  He said 'I've been working in the laboratory in Berlin.'

  I said 'And you can go back there?'

  He stopped and turned and wagged a finger at me. I looked at the ground and poked a toe amongst the pine-needles, acting as if I were contrite. Then we went on through the forest.

  I said 'Were you thinking of shooting yourself?'

  He said 'Oh I've always been thinking of shooting myself, as you know!' Then he laughed and said 'That's something that one can talk about!'

  When we got to the house we went in and there was heavy wooden furniture and photographs in frames: thick green-and-yello w curtains framing the darker green of the forest. Franz picked up the glass and bottle and ashtray from the floor. He went to a desk and rummaged through its drawers. He said 'We used to talk

  about its being aesthetic, what can't be talked about, you remember?'

  I said'Yes.'

  He said as if quoting ' - How do I trust you: how do you trust me-'

  I said'Yes.'

  Franz seemed to find what he was looking for in the desk. He held a bit of paper in front of him, reading.

  He said 'Not something moral?'

  I said 'Oh of course something moral.'

  Franz said 'This is the statement that your father made after he had been released from detention; before it was announced that he was to return to the department at the Institute.'

  I said'I see.'

  He said 'How do you tell what is moral?'

  I said 'Can't you tell by the style?'

  Franz handed me the piece of paper on which there was pasted a press-cutting. At the bottom of the cutting there was a photograph of my father. I skipped a few paragraphs which did not seem to be interesting; then I read -

  I myself am of Aryan descent. My late wife was Jewish. While my wife was still alive I made no statement on this Jewish question. Now, however, I feel free to say that in my opinion all adult human beings - except those suffering from mental incapacity - have to believe that they are responsible for themselves. To suggest otherwise is to suggest that certain persons are not human. This statement about responsibility, of course, I believe applies to the Jewish people.

  I laughed and said 'Well dear God, how awful, but this is all right!'

  I handed the piece of paper back to Franz. He said 'You recognise the style?'

  I said 'My father used to say, as a matter of fact, that Jews were somewhat like gods.'

  Franz said 'And gods, to be operative, have to be somewhat hidden: that is what you have come to say?'

  He put the piece of paper back in the desk. He closed the drawer.

  I said 'Yes.' Then - 'And you will be all right?'

  He said 'Ah, what you want of a poor mortal!'

  He walked round the room. It was as if we, and indeed the whole room, were balanced precariously on a tightrope.

  I said 4 I don't think they're getting anywhere very quickly in England.'

  He said 'Oh well, indeed, why should we be getting anywhere quickly in Berlin.'

  I said 'It's very good of you.'

  He said 'Have you noticed how embarrassing scientific words are - "heavy water"; "isotope" - they are not aesthetic!'

  I said 'It's the context.'

  Franz came and put his hands on my shoulders. He said 'But you must escape! My Little Red Riding Hood: come to visit her grandmother wolf in the forest!'

  I said 'That is aesthetic!'

  Franz left me and walked round the room again. It was as if there were a crowd somewhere watching us. He said, as if he were an actor rehearsing a speech -

  '- Of course, from our point of view, even if there were the knowledge how eventually to build such a weapon, what a waste of time! There are more pressing tasks! What would be the need for such an effort if the war is going to be over in months if not weeks -'

  I said 'That sort of thing.' Then - 'And, as you say, the Nazis are unimaginative.'

  He acted - 'Oh I did not say that!' Then he stood still and looked at me. He said 'You believe this?'

  I said 'What?'

  He said 'That good may come out of what might be called betrayal -'

  I said 'But we've always known that one can't say much about this.'

  He walked round the room again. He murmured as if quoting ' - Huts, watchtowers: ladies and gentlemen on the grass - ' Then he stood by the window looking out.

  After a time I said 'So you will go back to Berlin?'

  He said 'And you'll go back to your husband.'

  I said 'I'll tell him I saw you.'

  Franz said 'As a matter of fact I do see something of your father. We sometimes have tea together at the Adlon Hotel.'

  I said 'Tell him you've seen me.'

  Franz said 'What on earth shall I say?'

  I said 'He'll know.' Then - Tell him that to humans gods have always seemed morally ambiguous.'

  Franz said 'Ah, it would be a help, like gods, to have no country!'

  He went to the wireless and turned it on. There was a voice buzzing like a trapped fly: it gave the latest news of the advance into Poland. Franz twiddled a knob and then there was a sad voice in French talking like a stone falling through space; it was saying that unless Germany set about withdrawing its troops from Poland forthwith then the French and British governments would fulfil their treaty obligations to Poland and so F
rance and Great Britain would be at war with Germany. Undertakings had been given about this: there was a deadline the following day. Franz switched off the wireless. He said 'So what undertakings have we given. You have got what you came for?

  I said'Yes.'

  Franz said as if quoting ' - We are to be actors in this drama - '

  I said 'We are actors anyway - '

  Franz said ' - In what Nietzsche called "The great hundred-act play reserved for the next two centuries in Europe" - '

  I finished the quotation ' - "the most terrible, the most questionable, the most hopeful of all plays" - '

  Franz said 'We may just die of the absurdity.'

  I said 'Oh we die anyway. What use might we make of the absurdity.'

  Franz came and put his hands on my shoulders again. He said 'You make me believe this!' Then - 'Goodbye, my little one.'

  I said 'Goodbye.' I put up a hand and touched his face.

  Then Franz put his head back as if he were listening. I could hear no noise. But then he said, as if he were acting now specifically for the benefit of some audience ' - Oh we disgusting little band of brothers, who think we can manipulate - '

  Then I heard, yes, a car arriving in the drive outside.

  He said 'Quickly, once more. I can talk with your father?'

  'Yes.'

  'What shall I tell him from you?'

  'Give him my love.'

  'Is that all?'

  'And my love to you.'

  'And what will you tell your husband?'

  'What we've said.'

  'But we've said nothing.'

  'And he'll say nothing.'

  4 Yes.'

  There were the sounds of the doors of a car slamming on the drive outside. It did seem suddenly, yes, that there might be people coming to arrest us: even perhaps that Franz might have summoned them. I thought - One never completely knows in this strange territory.

  Franz made a noise like the black dog sneezing.

  He said ' - A mountain path, a stone, a bird - ' Then - 'And my love to both of you.'

  There was a banging on the front door. Franz went to open it. A man in army uniform came in. He was followed by two men in SS uniform. When the man in army uniform saw me he stopped. The two SS men remained by the door.

  Franz held out his arms to the man in army uniform. He said 'Hans!'

  The man called Hans took hold of Franz by the arms. He said 'My old friend!' Then looking at me but speaking to Franz - 'We have come to make sure you get to Berlin!'

  Franz laughed and said 'Am I under arrest?'

  The man called Hans laughed and said 'We have come to ensure your safety!'

  I thought - But I can tell the style: they know they are actors.

  Franz turned to me and said 'You remember Hans.' Then to Hans 'Eleanor. Frau Ackerman.'

  Hans put his hand on his heart and said 'Frau Ackerman! For how many years was I in love with Frau Ackerman!'

  Franz said 'Hans met us in the forest. You remember? He was with Max. All those years ago!'

  I said 'Oh yes, of course I remember!'

  Hans said 'How is Max?'

  I said 'He's very well, thank you.'

  Franz said 'Hans is one of my colleagues at the Institute.'

  I thought - Yes, I see! Then -But there are the two SS men standing by the door.

  Then - Oh dear God, now let us give beautiful performances!

  Hans walked round the room. He had been holding a hat under his arm; he took it in one hand and he flapped it against the palm of the other. He said 'Max was an extraordinary little boy! He was more interested in biology than physics at that time. He did an experiment with salamanders.'

  I said 'Oh yes, he told me about the experiment with salamanders.'

  Franz said 'What was that?'

  Franz had been tidying the room as if in preparation for leaving. I thought - Oh please God, let me go home!

  Hans said 'As I remember it, he tried to encourage some mutation, or the emergence of what had been a potentiality, by a rearrangement of the environment.'

  I said 'Of the aesthetic environment.'

  Hans said 'Ah, the aesthetic environment!' He stopped by me. He said 'Is that correct?'

  I said 'Or the moral environment.'

  Hans said 'The moral environment. The mental environment.' He watched me. Then he turned to the two SS men by the door and said 'We will go in two or three minutes.'

  Franz said 'I am ready. I have my luggage in the hall.'

  Franz had tidied the room and put his gun away. He had the dog on a lead. Hans and I were by the window.

  Hans said to me 'And where will you be going?'

  I said 'To Switzerland.'

  He said 'Max used to call them "hopeful monsters".'

  I said 'I know.'

  Hans turned to Franz. He said 'But in fact, if such things were to live, how would you know them? They would have to have very few distinguishing marks, or others would know to destroy them.'

  Franz said 'One of their distinguishing marks might be that they would not want to destroy.'

  Hans said 'Oh they would not want to destroy themselves.'

  I said 'I'll go now.'

  Hans said 'Give my love to Max.'

  I said'I will.'

  Hans said 'What was that phrase Max used to say "Meet you behind the gasworks, twenty minutes" - '

  I said 'He said that then? I mean, to you?'

  Hans laughed. He said 'Yes.' He went to the door. Then he said 'And what was that other thing he used to say: "Flowers are the flowers that grow at this time of year."'

  I said 'I've never heard him say that.'

  Hans said 'I suppose he meant - everything happens in the right order, if you let it.'

  I said 'You have to have luck.'

  Hans said 'Oh don't you think we're lucky?'

  Franz said 'I don't know when we'll see each other again.'

  I said 'We'll see what flowers grow.'

  which he had been evacuated: then when America entered the war he crossed the Atlantic with other British physicists and joined in what became known as the Manhattan Project. He stayed in America till the first practice Bomb was exploded in the Nevada desert in July 1945; then he resigned from the project, saying that it seemed to him that the necessary work had been done. He stayed long enough to argue that a demonstration Bomb should be exploded in an uninhabited area and observers from as many countries as possible should be invited to attend; only after this should consideration be given to a Bomb being dropped on a still persistent enemy. By the time the two Bombs were dropped on Japan in August 1945 Max was in New York trying to get a boat back to England. For a time he came under the suspicion of the American security services and was taken in for questioning. Under interrogation (Max himself used to tell this story) he said that personally and from a military point of view he felt relieved that the Bombs had been dropped on Japan since it was likely that this had shortened the war by months if not years, also it would serve as a ghastly warning for the future: it was as a scientist that he felt that it was his responsibility to make a protest. When his interrogators argued that there was no sense in his suggesting that there should be different moralities for different individuals or groups or indeed within the same person, Max replied that, on the contrary, he was convinced that for a proper working of society such an attitude of mind was essential; courses of action could only be said to be right if there had been a genuine interplay of what indeed might be conflicting moral inclinations. Moreover, it was some such complexity of mind within an individual that was necessary if there was to be the existence of the Bomb without the use of the Bomb - a situation which he, Max, saw as being likely to be necessary for the human race if it was to survive or evolve; human nature having evidently such a propensity for evil that with all the technological advances it was only the existence of something so shocking as the Bomb that would prevent the evil from going into runaway, out of control. While he was explaining these ideas
to his interrogators, Max used to say, they seemed to understand him and even have some sympathy with him: but after he had gone they must have felt that he had tricked them, for they had him back for further questioning. This sort of thing became typical of what was apt to happen to Max: as he developed and formulated his ideas he intrigued but also alienated people by the unexpectedness of his

  thinking; he seemed to be saying that experience could be best dealt with not so much by reason as by a style - a style of mind involving trust in a connection between it and an organising spirit in the outside world.

  Regarding the Germans and their building or rather not building of the Bomb - much of the story is well known. The Germans had been months ahead in theoretical work in 1939; then after the outbreak of war not much in practice was done. The British and American authorities did not know this at the time, so that the driving force behind the enormous resources eventually provided in America for the production of the Bomb continued to be the fear, as it had been from the beginning, that the Nazis would get the Bomb first and would use it if not to conquer the world then to blow up everyone including themselves. Without the impetus of this fear, Allied scientists and governments might never have embarked on the doubtful and expensive enterprise of building the Bomb. And when they did, the skills they used were those of refugees from Nazi Germany who in other circumstances might have been working in their homeland - so this indeed was an example, Max used to say, of the Nazis scattering the seeds of their own destruction. When British and American observers entered Germany at the end of the war they were amazed to find that although much work had been done on the production of nuclear energy for peacetime purposes, almost nothing had been done about a Bomb. There were, of course, some straightforward explanations for this. At the beginning of the war it had indeed been thought that the military conquest of Europe could be achieved so quickly that there would be no sense in Germany diverting resources from the production of tanks and aeroplanes to such a long-term risky project - especially one about which, to Nazi fanatics, there had always been a whiff of 'Jewish physics'. Then towards the end of the war the Nazi hierarchy seemed anyway to have become less interested in winning the war than in the killing, before defeat, of the maximum number of Jews. This had begun to seem to some top Nazis even a justification for the war - and by this time it was too late to embark upon a project that might otherwise have seemed attractive to them: that of killing, before defeat, the maximum number of everyone. But with regard to the middle years of the war there were strange stories that began to come to light - of chances missed, of experiments wrongly reported, of false trails laid and followed. So it did seem sometimes, yes, that there might have