Read Online Strindberg's Star by Jan Wallentin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jan Wallentin
Tags: Suspense
Ads: Link
dissertation to Heinrich Luitpold Himmler’s organization Ahnenerbe, the research department that the chief ideologue of the Holocaust had set up in order to rediscover, or rather reawaken, the mythological legacy of the Germans. Don had followed every tentacle, every sick thread of an idea, to its miserable end: from the use of made-up runes to the idiotic ideas about the spear of fate; from the theories about a lost Aryan homeland at the end of the world, Ultima Thule, to the swastika itself. The symbol for the sun and the cult of Mithras that German romantics falsely linked to the Aryan people and thus equally falsely to the Germanic people.
After the shattering of each myth, it all seemed more and more absurd. It turned out that not even Hitler had believed in Ahnenerbe’s theories. Like everything else, Don could still recall the quote word for word:
Why do we call the whole world’s attention to the fact that we have no past? It isn’t enough that the Romans were erecting great buildings when our forefathers were still living in mud huts; now Himmler is starting to dig up these villages of mud huts and enthusing over every potsherd and stone axe he finds. All we prove by that is that we were still throwing stone hatchets and crouching around open fires when Greece and Rome had already reached the highest stage of culture. We really should do our best to keep quiet about this past. Instead Himmler makes a great fuss about it all. The present-day Romans must be having a laugh at these revelations.
In his continued research, Don had dissected the myths surrounding the S rune, the
Wolfsangel
, the sun cross, the SS honor ring, theThule Society, Karl Maria Wiligut, and so on, and then finally:
die schwarze Sonne
, the black sun, a crystal plate in a cupboard a long time ago.
In the end, he had been able to prove to himself rationally that every Nazi symbol had either been made up or used completely incorrectly: a set design for the masses that supplied made-up bloodlines in order to justify wiping out those who were different.
But the one who held the emotional core of his fear, the eight-year-old boy he had inside of him, didn’t seem to notice his discoveries and could never be reached by the power of argument. Finally Don had given up, because he couldn’t get any further, and he was left with agony and a rage that he still didn’t know how to shake.
A fter his dissertation, Don had widened his scope from Nazism to a critical study of symbols and myths in general. But his research had been misunderstood in an unfortunate way.
At first there had been only a few people who noticed that the Department of History had started to offer speculative courses on ancient legends. But once the rumor had started, the country’s most stubborn New Age students streamed to Don’s lectures. For them, this was a place where you could get financial aid to become absorbed in the occultism of the past. And what these incense-scented people could concoct about an ankh in a mine shaft, as a symbol for the keys to the underworld, was something that Don preferred not to think about.
H e blinked suddenly and shook his head. Then he got up from his chair and kept his eyes on the view.
Sheynkeit,
beauty.
There was beauty in what was simple. So what was the simple solution to the ankh in the mine? Presumably something much more ordinary than what that diver would like to believe.
Don pushed open the glass door of the motel restaurant and walkeddown the wheelchair ramp toward the parking lot. He stopped next to the old Renault 5 and took a few last breaths of fresh air. How much farther could it be up to Falun? Five hours?
Don opened the car door and lifted his black shoulder bag from the seat. After a minute’s search, he found the right box and pulled out the blister pack. Pushed out five light brown capsules, times forty: two hundred milligrams of Ritalin. Crushed them with his teeth to make them take effect more quickly.
It
After the shattering of each myth, it all seemed more and more absurd. It turned out that not even Hitler had believed in Ahnenerbe’s theories. Like everything else, Don could still recall the quote word for word:
Why do we call the whole world’s attention to the fact that we have no past? It isn’t enough that the Romans were erecting great buildings when our forefathers were still living in mud huts; now Himmler is starting to dig up these villages of mud huts and enthusing over every potsherd and stone axe he finds. All we prove by that is that we were still throwing stone hatchets and crouching around open fires when Greece and Rome had already reached the highest stage of culture. We really should do our best to keep quiet about this past. Instead Himmler makes a great fuss about it all. The present-day Romans must be having a laugh at these revelations.
In his continued research, Don had dissected the myths surrounding the S rune, the
Wolfsangel
, the sun cross, the SS honor ring, theThule Society, Karl Maria Wiligut, and so on, and then finally:
die schwarze Sonne
, the black sun, a crystal plate in a cupboard a long time ago.
In the end, he had been able to prove to himself rationally that every Nazi symbol had either been made up or used completely incorrectly: a set design for the masses that supplied made-up bloodlines in order to justify wiping out those who were different.
But the one who held the emotional core of his fear, the eight-year-old boy he had inside of him, didn’t seem to notice his discoveries and could never be reached by the power of argument. Finally Don had given up, because he couldn’t get any further, and he was left with agony and a rage that he still didn’t know how to shake.
A fter his dissertation, Don had widened his scope from Nazism to a critical study of symbols and myths in general. But his research had been misunderstood in an unfortunate way.
At first there had been only a few people who noticed that the Department of History had started to offer speculative courses on ancient legends. But once the rumor had started, the country’s most stubborn New Age students streamed to Don’s lectures. For them, this was a place where you could get financial aid to become absorbed in the occultism of the past. And what these incense-scented people could concoct about an ankh in a mine shaft, as a symbol for the keys to the underworld, was something that Don preferred not to think about.
H e blinked suddenly and shook his head. Then he got up from his chair and kept his eyes on the view.
Sheynkeit,
beauty.
There was beauty in what was simple. So what was the simple solution to the ankh in the mine? Presumably something much more ordinary than what that diver would like to believe.
Don pushed open the glass door of the motel restaurant and walkeddown the wheelchair ramp toward the parking lot. He stopped next to the old Renault 5 and took a few last breaths of fresh air. How much farther could it be up to Falun? Five hours?
Don opened the car door and lifted his black shoulder bag from the seat. After a minute’s search, he found the right box and pulled out the blister pack. Pushed out five light brown capsules, times forty: two hundred milligrams of Ritalin. Crushed them with his teeth to make them take effect more quickly.
It
Similar Books
