Read Online Out of the Line of Fire by Mark Henshaw - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mark Henshaw
Tags: Classic fiction
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And if so, connected in what way? And what does ‘Heftigkeit der Gefühle’ really mean? Doesn’t it really mean she liked to fuck her eyes out, or is this putting it too strongly? I would like to put this question to Walter Abish. And, finally, what is the real significance for Wolfi of this quote from Berghahn? Isn’t the parallel obvious?
11
Wolfi reads me part of a letter his father sent his mother during their courtship:
I cannot explain what I feel as I write to you. I feel I am dreaming, and I can hardly believe myself, my heart. I think of you, of all the things that could give you pleasure, of the best ways to embellish the life we will lead together. I think of our nest –
Nest!
That’s what it says: nest. Ich stelle mir unser Nest vor—I think of or imagine our little nest.
But this doesn’t fit the picture I have of your father at all. Not from what you’ve told me.
I know, incredible isn’t it. But you haven’t heard anything yet. Just listen to this. Now where was I…ah yes, our little nest. I think of our little nest, of the house that will welcome us; I am building up a whole world of plans for the future…The dawn of my new life has put to flight forever the mists that were clouding my mind. Now the future appears clearly before my eyes. Now my sun is born! You are my sun, my peace, my purpose. I have your image present and living before my eyes. On the journey back I gazed for hours at the star you liked. I am awaiting your portrait impatiently. When will it come? As soon as possible, I beg you…Think of me, love me…You will love me, you must love me because I…
These last few words Wolfi delivers in a melodramatic parody. He clearly knows these lines well. With the piece of paper held in his outstretched hand above his head, he clutches desperately at the lapel of his coat with the other.
And to think that my mother was sucked in by this crap.
On Wolfi’s notice-board there is a postcard of a painting of an adolescent girl. The format is unusual. It is shaped like an open doorway or window. The girl in the painting is naked. Closer inspection, however, shows that she is still wearing a slipper on her right foot. She is half sitting on a bed and although her body faces us her head is turned sharply to her right. One leg, her left leg, is stretched out so that her foot rests on the floor, although this is not shown. The other leg lies along the bed and is drawn up under her. Against the darker background the soft flesh tones of her body appear almost orange, as though she is lit by the glow from a late afternoon sun.
She appears to have no pubic hair. Either she is too young, although this is unlikely because there are shadows clearly indicating her developing breasts, or the artist has chosen not to depict it. Her weight falls heavily on her right buttock and her torso is noticeably twisted upright in order for her to maintain her balance. Because of this one can feel the tension in the muscles of her right leg. Her arms are held high, as if she is using her hands to adjust a clip in her hair. Or perhaps she is merely stretching. This accounts for the title of the picture:
Nu aux bras lev
é
s.
In front of her is an ill-defined mass of crimson, while in the extreme foreground is the back and part of the seat of a simple chair.
It is only as you come back to view the composition as a whole that you realize that you, as viewer, are standing at the point from which the girl’s body would have been lit and that this is intentional. You are the picture’s illumination.
Why is it that having made this realization I can no longer look at the painting purely in terms of its pictorial content? What complex chemical reaction has taken place to effect this minute, but irrevocable, change to the overall composition of my self? Does Henriette Gomes, who owns the painting, also view it in this way?
On the back Wolfi had scrawled: ‘Was war die eigentliche Beziehung zwischen Rilke und der
11
Wolfi reads me part of a letter his father sent his mother during their courtship:
I cannot explain what I feel as I write to you. I feel I am dreaming, and I can hardly believe myself, my heart. I think of you, of all the things that could give you pleasure, of the best ways to embellish the life we will lead together. I think of our nest –
Nest!
That’s what it says: nest. Ich stelle mir unser Nest vor—I think of or imagine our little nest.
But this doesn’t fit the picture I have of your father at all. Not from what you’ve told me.
I know, incredible isn’t it. But you haven’t heard anything yet. Just listen to this. Now where was I…ah yes, our little nest. I think of our little nest, of the house that will welcome us; I am building up a whole world of plans for the future…The dawn of my new life has put to flight forever the mists that were clouding my mind. Now the future appears clearly before my eyes. Now my sun is born! You are my sun, my peace, my purpose. I have your image present and living before my eyes. On the journey back I gazed for hours at the star you liked. I am awaiting your portrait impatiently. When will it come? As soon as possible, I beg you…Think of me, love me…You will love me, you must love me because I…
These last few words Wolfi delivers in a melodramatic parody. He clearly knows these lines well. With the piece of paper held in his outstretched hand above his head, he clutches desperately at the lapel of his coat with the other.
And to think that my mother was sucked in by this crap.
On Wolfi’s notice-board there is a postcard of a painting of an adolescent girl. The format is unusual. It is shaped like an open doorway or window. The girl in the painting is naked. Closer inspection, however, shows that she is still wearing a slipper on her right foot. She is half sitting on a bed and although her body faces us her head is turned sharply to her right. One leg, her left leg, is stretched out so that her foot rests on the floor, although this is not shown. The other leg lies along the bed and is drawn up under her. Against the darker background the soft flesh tones of her body appear almost orange, as though she is lit by the glow from a late afternoon sun.
She appears to have no pubic hair. Either she is too young, although this is unlikely because there are shadows clearly indicating her developing breasts, or the artist has chosen not to depict it. Her weight falls heavily on her right buttock and her torso is noticeably twisted upright in order for her to maintain her balance. Because of this one can feel the tension in the muscles of her right leg. Her arms are held high, as if she is using her hands to adjust a clip in her hair. Or perhaps she is merely stretching. This accounts for the title of the picture:
Nu aux bras lev
é
s.
In front of her is an ill-defined mass of crimson, while in the extreme foreground is the back and part of the seat of a simple chair.
It is only as you come back to view the composition as a whole that you realize that you, as viewer, are standing at the point from which the girl’s body would have been lit and that this is intentional. You are the picture’s illumination.
Why is it that having made this realization I can no longer look at the painting purely in terms of its pictorial content? What complex chemical reaction has taken place to effect this minute, but irrevocable, change to the overall composition of my self? Does Henriette Gomes, who owns the painting, also view it in this way?
On the back Wolfi had scrawled: ‘Was war die eigentliche Beziehung zwischen Rilke und der
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