
Director of Operations – Bluenose II
My novel. Kafka In The Castle, fills in Kafka’s missing diary entries. This is how I imagine Kafka’s best friend, Max Brod, reacts to one of the many times Kafka burned his own manuscripts.
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19 April 1917
Max was horrified when I told him about last night.
“You burned your stories? Are you crazy?”
“I wrote them, so I must be.”
He smiled at that. Max’s anger can be easily deflected, for it is never deep. Max is a very good man, and cares for me more than I do myself.
“And the novel? The Amerika novel?”
I told him that many chapters of that must have been burned. Probably right from the start – they were no doubt the first things I grabbed from the chair. “Anything else?”
“There were a couple of plays. I remember pages of dialogue.”
Max’s voice became hollow. He might no longer be angry, but neither was he happy. “I didn’t know you had written any plays. You have secrets even from me.”
“I keep secrets from myself. Don’t be offended.”
“What else?”
I could picture him writing down an inventory.
“Some diary entries – those were deliberate.”
“And was that the end of your pyromaniac obsession?”
“Of my own work – yes.”
He looked at me questioningly – he didn’t need another secret.
“There were a couple of bundles of letters from Felice. Neatly tied with string. They burned slowly. I have not had such warmth from her for a long time.”
[image] https://quelibroleer.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/libo-quemandose1.jpg
First, is the letter I have written to him (as yet, unanswered).
Second, is the diary entry I gave him for his birthday, from my novel, Kafka In The Castle.
My Present / Your Future
Still in this World
A Life Away
Dear F:
You would find it perverse to be wished a “Happy” birthday, but your response would be gracious. Such is the reality you understand, and how you deal with it. I have found that your reality is actually real.
Although it will give you no pleasure – well, ‘little’ pleasure – you are correct in all your observations.
Governments become the tools of the bureaucracies which run them. It doesn’t matter what type of Government, from the monarchy under which you lived, to the right wing horror of fascists that called themselves socialists, to the inept socialism pretending to be ‘for the people’. All three governments held their sway over the city where you spent your life. All three oppressed the people they ruled. All three looked after themselves first.
Writers are either writers or they aren’t. The urge to write encircles one like a snake around its prey. Feed it and it won’t quite squeeze you to death. You can not ignore it – even at your peril. It is with you every hour of every day, ever inquisitive and (sadly) always looking for something better.
Love is a see-saw of extremes. Every high guarantees a low. Every low reaches for a high. Every high reaches for a high. When these hills and valleys are eventually levelled, they are still desired.
Sex is highly over rated. The thing of it is, even rated fairly ’tis a consummation devoutly to be had. Yes – I know – you appreciate Shakespeare. On a par with Goethe, even if you can’t bring yourself to say the words.
People are just one damned thing after another. Of course, so many people have brought you blessings, you throw up you hands to ward off the snake. And sometimes – some few times – it loosens its grip.
There is no castle with walls thick enough to hide against the perils of being human. Which is why you never tried.
Except the grave, of course.
Except the grave.
Yours,
D
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An Excerpt from my Kafka In The Castle, where I fill in all of his missing diary entries. Perhaps because the summer heat is getting to him, his patience is thin with those whose hope outstrip the realities of life and – particularly – death.
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17 June 1917
I am told that you can’t lose people, that “…they will always be with you in memory.” Max is heavy with this type of comment – as if the hand of sentimentality brushed off his coat before he set out on each day.
Both the intelligent and the slow of wit seem to be struck dumb by this nonsense. Emotion, I suppose – hope, I suppose – has no place for reason among its folds. But, if you can not touch, or have expectation of being touched, then the people and places are as gone as yesterday.
There is no way to travel back, and the future beckons with only an empty gesture and a hollow laugh. Bowing low at the open doorway to usher you in, but the room is empty. And will remain ever so.
When they are no longer there to hold their hand out to you – well, then they are no longer there.
“I wish to state before this assembled multitude;
“Before this packed house;
“Before this captive audience;
“That I have every right
“(As much as each of you)
“To be here and represent my interests,
“My justifications
“And my associations,
“Because I am a member in every day,
And, perhaps
“Even as the nights which are too cold
“And the elevators, as they so often do – stop.
“You look askance.
“Indeed, you look at me in That manner
“That indicates
“That
“The corners of your eyes are full of mistakes!
“Which proves to me beyond and above
“To heaven even,
“Even to the very Golden Gates
“Where the various saints
“Hang to the golden bars
“And swing to and fro in the Celestial breezes
“That cause clouds to scud across the sky,
“And there is barely time to think of a reply.”
[Image] http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MdKIWdDP1wI/TxCSAm2WKAI/AAAAAAAAEfs/z6pxZKrt1iE/s640/friday13th.png
In my novel, The Fifth Corner Of The Earth (which I class as a contemporary history) five people, decedents of five people through the centuries, must come together to decide whether it is time to end the Earth – the proverbial End Times. But this time, one of those chosen is a woman. And women’s power is described.
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She went along the hallway, turned down a longer, narrower corridor, and came to her brother’s room.
“Markos?”
She knocked on the door, but when there was no reply, she called again.
“Markos?”
“Please, Atropos. Come in.”
She lifted the latch and walked into the darkened room. She went down a few steps, and crossed the stone floor, until she came to the thick wool rug which covered the area beneath the bed. Her brother stretched his hand along the bedclothes.
“It is almost time for you to leave?”
“In the half hour.”
“You’ve been troubled.” He sat higher in the bed. “How are you feeling now?”
“That’s supposed to be my question.” She laughed nervously.
“I feel as I am – closer to death.” Markos pulled at the bedclothes. “We must not pretend anything different.”
“There’s always the chance – ”
“You’re talking to your brother – your younger brother to whom you have taught so much. Of course I know of `chance’.”
Markos started to cough, and doubled over as the sound filled the room.
“You see.” He forced a laugh. “As if on cue.” He held up his hand as she came closer. “They would have to give me new lungs, to do any good now. There is no place for `chance’.”
“Do you want a drink?” She reached for the pitcher of water.
“I want to talk.” As he again sat up, he pointed past the water on the table. “Get it for me, please.”
She stretched and took the black envelope in her hand. As she gave it to Markos, the sun insignia on the back glowed in the dimness of the room.
“Thank you, Atropos.” He lay it on the covers in front of him. “And thank you for the honour of asking my council.”
“Markos, I – ”
“It means a lot to me.” He held up her hand to stop her words. “You still have confidence in the advice I can give.”
“Of course I have – ”
“Ah, my sister.” He spoke slowly. “The dead and near dead have one thing in common. They no longer need to be humoured.” He touched her hand. “I don’t want to be a weight on your mind when you’re away.”
“How can I stop thinking about you?”
“I don’t ask that.” He smiled. “I hope I’m always in your thoughts. That’s how I’ll keep alive.”
“Oh, Markos.”
“You feel too much, sometimes, Atropos. Is that part of being a woman?”
“I don’t know.” She forced a smile.
“I think it is.” He pushed one of the pillows more firmly beneath him. “I think it’s because you can bring life into existence – you can actually feel a soul develop inside you. Women have a touch of God within them because of that.”
Markos hesitated, his breathing more laboured. He looked at his sister intently, his eyes hot from fever.
“Men will always envy you that power. We envy you the power to create life, and the feelings it must give.” He smiled abruptly. “Our duty done, we really become quite superfluous.”
“You surprise me.” Atropos spoke softly.
“What have I got to lose by letting you know of my primordial envy? My fears and inferiority mean nothing at death’s door.” He looked away. “I no longer dread you will turn them against me, and look upon me with contempt.”
“Markos. I would never have done that.”
“I am like all humans, Atropos. I have doubt of my own worth held within me like an insoluble capsule. Your words can’t dissolve it – even the knowledge of death leaves it untouched.” He stroked his chest. “Death just puts it in perspective.”
“I don’t feel that way.”
“No, you don’t.” His hand stopped moving. “And I suspect the others whom you are soon to meet are spared this most human failing.” He closed his eyes. “I want to make certain you understand. We humans are forced to carry this sense of worthlessness around like a curse. Remember that when you decide about us.”
“But where does it come from?”
“That question … ”
Markos turned his head. He opened his eyes, and looked out at the blue sky framed by the small window. Sunlight would soon be streaming through.
“I am not going to live long enough to answer that question.” He looked back at her. “Come closer.”
“What is it?” She leaned over the bed.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He clasped her hands in a strong grip. “I’m prepared for what it to happen to me – and accept it. Tell me you do the same.”
“I know you are going to die.” She searched for words. “I’m not sure I can accept it.”
“Then believe me, my honest sister, when I say I am content.” Markos stared at her face. “Tell me that my death will not cloud your mind on your journey.”
“I’ll keep you in my mind and heart.” She momentarily lost her breath. “Always. My sadness won’t distract me.”
Markos sighed, and his hands relaxed. He then picked up the envelope which had fallen beside him, and handed it to her.
“Here.”
She took it, then bent and kissed him.
“Good bye, Markos.”
“God guard you, Atropos.”
[Image} http://i.pinimg.com/originals/fb/48/ad/fb48adcbaf691feeb5b0c9484c44ff7f.jpg
For some reason, this observation (from – perhaps – an unreliable observer from one of my short stories) has been the most popular post of the last couple of years. Yes – even beating out Kafka. So I’ll give it another turn
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“Circles are the answer.
“Just look at any circle and you’ll see what I mean. Of course, no one else is to know about the circles. They must be very stupid if they can’t see something so obvious.
“Yet, you get hints, don’t you – all the time out there. And in your own life – the way things happen so you never get anywhere. Never change.
“The earth, of course, and the sun – well, that’s something you can see. Either way you look at it, the one goes around the other in a big circle that takes in the whole sky. And the earth and the sun and the moon are round – all circles in their own right. So you have circles which are going around in circles, if you get my meaning.
“And if you look further – reach out into the universe as far as you can go – they tell us that everything is going around everything else. Smaller circles and elongated circles which take in such large distances that numbers become forgotten.
“Now, this means that everything, eventually, comes back upon itself. The beginning is really the end. That’s what most people would think – and that’s where they make their mistake.
“You see, things don’t start by beginning – they start by ending. It’s the end which comes first in a circle, so, instead of going back to where it started, it comes back to its end.
“That explains it.”
(image) https:////g2.img-dpreview.com/5E9006CB86C3456BA85963CCC03183D9.jpg