Fiction By Paul Heidelberg
(c) Copyright Paul Heidelberg
All Rights Reserved
...like giants plunged into the years, they touch epochs that are immensely far apart, separated by the slow accretion of many, many days -- in the dimension of Time.
From the last sentence of the last volume of REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST also known as IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME by Marcel Proust.
Zawoosh
Back to Europa -- back to the Battle of the Bulge, near the spot where Capt. Homer and Sgt. Konstanz found the bodies of the three Luettge brothers.
There is still a lull in the fighting, and two weary American GI's are discussing the merits of bitter cold with snow vs. bitter cold with rain.
First Grunt: Christ, it's cold with this snow.
Second Grunt: Yeah, it's cold all right, but I like it better this way; it's way better than with that God awful rain, having you soaking wet all the time in this cold.
First Grunt: War is Hell.
Second Grunt: War is Hell all right.
First Grunt: Say, you know what this great European leader had for his motto a couple hundred years ago -- he lived in Germany not far from here.
Second Grunt: Nah, I don't know; what was it?
First Grunt: Victory through God or something like that. Ain't that a hell of a note -- you call on God so he can help you kill people.
Second Grunt: Yeah, that's a hell of a note all right. But he wasn't the first or the last to pray to God for victory in battle. Look at the Crusades: The Christians are praying to Jesus and the Muslims are praying to Muhammad to get help in wiping out each other.
First Grunt: And here we are in this God awful cold. If I was going to do any praying right now, I would pray for some warmth, not for help in killing someone.
Second Grunt: I'll say. Amen, brother.
Zawoosh
East of those frozen battlefields of the 20th Century's Second World War, in the previous century, it is Springtime, and Mallard ducks float on the River Ilm in a village south of Weimar, Germany.
On the top floor of a three story house overlooking the river, an eclectic group of thinkers has congregated -- some are from epochs that are immensely far apart. They are drinking Dornfelder red wine and are discussing music, art and life. As they speak, they glance out windows that overlook the river and the ducks.
The writer is Johann Wolfgang von Goethe; from his Time is composer Ludwig von Beethoven. From other epochs are composers Johann Sebastian Bach and Richard Wagner, and finally, from a far different time, singer Janis Joplin.
Joplin does not hold back in her discussion. She begins by confronting Wagner with these words:
"Herr Wagner, I really like some of your music, including the one episode where you were attempting to transliterate beautiful sex into beautiful music, but, quite frankly, your libretto, and your politics, suck.
"Did you have any idea of the evil that would come from your work, especially with the terrors that came with your one fan, the Little Corporal Hitler?"
Wagner replies haughtily, "My work is my Art. What others take from my work is no concern to me."
"But it should be," Goethe says. "Just as I would not want my tale of the devil in my work Faust being an impetus for the evils of witchcraft, and all the unintended consequences that might bring forth. By the way, of course we Germans have a great propensity for three things: Great Music, Great Philosophy and, unfortunately, the ability, and sometimes it seems, need, to wage, Great Warfare."
"Of course," Beethoven interjects, "we Germans aren't the only nationality with a propensity to wage Great Warfare. To me, at first, Monsieur Napoleon was a Godsend to the peoples of Europe. And then look what he did."
Zawoosh
To Be Continued...
Photographs: "The River Ilm"
"The River Ilm After Snow"
"The River Ilm After Snow"
(c) Copyright Paul Heidelberg
All Rights Reserved
