We talked for a long time. I think we talked about the weather and the nice views from the asylum. He would say: it looks like it'll be hot today. I would say: yes. Then we'd sit there in silence, or I'd sing to myself and he'd be silent, until all at once he'd say (for example): look, a butterfly. And I would say: yes, there are quite a lot of them. And after we'd gone on like that for a while, talking or reading the paper together (although that particular day we didn't read the paper), Álvaro Damián said: I had to tell you. And I said: what did you have to tell me, Álvaro? And he said: that the Laura Damián prize was finished. I would've liked to ask him why, why he felt the need to tell me in particular, but then I thought that many people, especially here, had many things to tell me, and although the urge to share was something I couldn't quite understand, I accepted it completely, since there was no harm in listening.
And then Álvaro Damián left and twenty days later my daughter came to visit me, and she said Dad, I shouldn't tell you this but I think it's best that you know. And I said: tell, tell, I'm all ears. And she said: Álvaro Damián shot himself in the head. And I said: how could Álvarito do such a terrible thing? And she said: business was going badly for him, he was ruined, he'd already lost practically everything he had. And I said: but he could have come to live at the asylum with me. And my daughter laughed and said things weren't that easy. And when she left I began to think about Álvaro Damián and the Laura Damián prize, which was finished, and the madmen of El Reposo, where no one has a place to lay his head, and about the month of April, not so much cruel as disastrous, and that's when I knew beyond a doubt that everything was about to go from bad to worse.
12
Heimito Künst, in bed in his attic apartment on the Stuckgasse, Vienna, May 1980. I was in jail with my good friend Ulises in Beersheba, where the Jews make their atomic bombs. I knew everything, but I didn't know anything. I watched, what else could I do? I watched from the rocks, sunburned, until I was so hungry and thirsty I couldn't stand it and then I dragged myself to the desert café and ordered a Coca-Cola and a hamburger made of ground beef, although hamburgers made only of beef are no good, I know that and so does everybody else in the world.
One day I drank five Coca-Colas and suddenly I felt sick, as if the sun had filtered down into my Cokes and I'd drunk it without realizing. I had a fever. I couldn't stand it, but I did stand it. I hid behind a yellow rock and waited for the sun to go down and then I curled up in a ball and fell asleep. I kept having dreams all night. I thought they were touching me with their fingers. But dreams don't have fingers, they have fists, so it must have been scorpions. My burns still stung. When I woke up the sun hadn't risen yet. I looked for the scorpions before they could hide under the rocks. I couldn't find a single one! All the more reason to stay awake and worry. And that's what I did. But then I had to go because I needed to eat and drink. So I got up, I'd been on my knees, and headed for the desert café, but the waiter wouldn't bring me anything.
Why won't you bring me what I order? I asked him. Isn't my money good, as good as anybody else's money? He pretended not to hear me, and maybe he couldn't hear me, that was what I thought. Maybe I'd lost my voice after keeping watch in the desert for so long among the rocks and the scorpions, and now I wasn't really talking, although I thought I was. But then whose voice were my ears hearing if not mine? I thought. How can I have been struck dumb and still hear myself? I thought. Then they told me to leave. Somebody spat at my feet. They tried to provoke me. But I'm not easily provoked. I have experience. I refused to listen to what they were saying to me. If you won't sell me meat then an Arab will, I said, and I left the café, taking my time.
For hours I looked for an Arab. It was as if every Arab had vanished into thin air. At last, without realizing it, I ended up right back where I'd come from, next to the yellow stone. It was nighttime and it was cold, thank God, but I couldn't sleep, I was hungry and there was no water left in my canteen. What do I do? I asked myself. What do I do now, Blessed Virgin? From far away came the muffled sound of the machines the Jews used to make their atomic bombs. When I woke up, I was unbearably hungry. The Beersheba Jews were still working in their secret installations, but I couldn't keep spying on them without so much as a crust of bread. My whole body ached. My neck and my arms were sunburned. It had been I don't know how many days since I took a shit. But I could still walk! I could still jump and move my arms like windmills! So I got up and my shadow got up with me (the two of us had been kneeling, praying) and I set off toward the desert café. I think I started to sing. That's how I am. I walk. I sing. When I woke up, I was in a jail cell. Someone had brought my backpack and tossed it beside my cot. One of my eyes hurt, my chin hurt, my burns stung. Someone had kicked me in the gut, I think, but my gut didn't hurt.
Water, I said. It was dark in the cell. I listened for the sound of the Jews' machines, but I couldn't hear anything. Water, I said, I'm thirsty. Something moved in the dark. A scorpion? I thought. A giant scorpion? I thought. A hand gripped me by the back of the neck. It tugged. Then I felt the rim of a cup on my lips and then the water. Then I slept and I dreamed of Franz-Josefs-Kai and the Aspern Bridge. When I opened my eyes I saw Ulises in the other cot. He was awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking. I greeted him in English. Good morning, I said. Good morning, he replied. Do they give you food in this jail? I asked. They give you food, he answered. I got up and looked for my shoes. I had them on. I decided to take a walk around the cell. I decided to explore. The ceiling was dark, blackened. Damp or soot. Possibly both. The walls were white. There were inscriptions on them, I saw. Drawings on the wall to my left and writing on the wall to my right. The Koran? Messages? News of the underground factory? In the back wall there was a window. On the other side of the window there was a yard. On the other side of the yard was the desert. In the fourth wall there was a door. The door was made of bars, and through the bars there was a corridor. There was no one in the corridor. I turned and went over to my good friend Ulises. My name is Heimito, I said, and I'm from Vienna. He said that his name was Ulises Lima and that he was from Mexico City.
A little while later, they brought us breakfast. Where are we? I asked the guard. In the factory? But the guard left us the food and went away. I wolfed mine down. My good friend Ulises gave me half his breakfast and I ate that too. I could have gone on eating all morning. Then I started to reconnoiter the cell. I started to reconnoiter the inscriptions on the walls. The drawings. It was hopeless. The messages were indecipherable. I took a pen out of my backpack and kneeled by the wall on the right. I drew a dwarf with an enormous penis. An erect penis. Then I drew another dwarf with an enormous penis. Then I drew a breast. Then I wrote: Heimito K. Then I got tired and went back to my cot. My good friend Ulises had gone to sleep, so I tried not to make noise so I wouldn't wake him up. I got in bed and started to think. I thought about the underground factories where the Jews built their atomic bombs. I thought about a soccer match. I thought about a mountain. It was cold and snowing. I thought about the scorpions. I thought about a plate full of sausages. I thought about the church in the Alpen Garten, near the Jacquingasse. I fell asleep. I woke up. I fell asleep again. I slept until I heard my good friend Ulises's voice. Then I woke up again. A guard pushed us along the corridor. We came out into the yard. I think the sun recognized me immediately. My bones hurt. But not the burns, so I walked and did some exercise. My good friend Ulises sat against the wall quietly, not moving, as I swung my arms and raised my knees. I heard laughter. A few Arabs, sitting on the ground in the corner, were laughing. I ignored them. One two, one two, one two. I worked the stiffness out of my joints. When I glanced at the shady corner again, the Arabs were gone. I got down on the ground. I kneeled. For a second I thought about staying like that. On my knees. But then I got down on the ground and did five push-ups. I did ten push-ups. I did fifteen push-ups. My whole body hurt. When I got up I saw that the Arabs were sitting on the ground around my good friend Ulises. I walked toward them. Slowly. Thinking. Maybe they weren't trying to hurt him. Maybe they were Mexicans lost in Beersheba. When my good friend Ulises saw me, he said: let there be peace. And I understood.