Josef Neumann smiled at the customs officer who was handing him his passport. He just crossed the Germany-Austria border. He hailed a carriage.
The year was 1900. He felt stressed, chased after by his publisher who demanded the draft of his new book. He needed a vacation, a refreshment. The new century would be a good time to start afresh, he had thought. He would visit an old friend, a doctor, in Austria.
While travelling to his destination, Braunau-am-Inn, a small town near the border, his mind wandered. He was always like that – liked to dive deep in his own imagination. After all, he was a novel writer: Was it not his job to imagine and make stories?
He particularly loved working out the lives of other people, foreseeing their destiny. He always pictured one’s destiny as a branched path: a path with so many junctions so intricate that his mind cannot comprehend. Every branch is a possibility, a choice one has to make to go on in life. Funny how people often make bad choices, he always said, but that is exactly what make lives so interesting, isn’t it? Life is not always rosy. There will always be tragedies as well as joyous moments in one’s life.
He liked to explore those possibilities, picking out and stringing them together to make a good story. He enjoyed his role as an author, the freedom and power he had over others’ lives. It was like fitting pieces of jigsaw puzzle in their place. Yet it was not: the pieces did not have exact positions like in a jigsaw puzzle. An author’s job is simply to arrange them – not necessarily fitting them – making them look good together. There is no right or wrong; everything is possible.
After finding his inn and checking in, he decided to go for a walk before meeting his old friend in the afternoon. It was a bright morning. The dews formed on the lush green leaves and grasses were beginning to disappear under the sun’s generous shines. A group of young boys were playing at the field. They were playing a war game.
A boy who gave the others orders intrigued him. Neumann sat under a tree, having found a new target for his imagination. He imagined the boy as a great leader in the future. No, he thought, Braunau is too small and rural. Okay, so the boy will go to Vienna, Germany – considerably a more reasonable place for would-be leaders – for secondary education after doing extremely well in primary school.
How about the background? Neumann began to work out his puzzle pieces. The father is an authoritarian, always ambitious about his son’s studies: he wants his son to become a civil servant like him, loyal to the Austrian Hapsburg Monarchy. The mother, as if trying to balance the situation, pampers her son, giving him whatever he wants.
The son, being rebellious, dislikes Austria – as if unconsciously contradicting his father – and will do badly in his secondary school then dropped out, deciding to become an artist instead.
Maybe a little tragedy here, he thought. His a-little-too-caring mother will die of cancer when he is only nineteen. This will be a great mental blow for him, making him temperamental for the rest of his life. The boy will blame the Jewish doctor who treats his mother for coming a little too late to save his beloved mother. Neumann gave this role to Edward Bolch, his doctor friend. So Bolch does his best, but still, the boy won’t hear of it. The hatred will be carried on for the rest of his life.
It was already noon. Neumann had to conclude his story soon otherwise he would be late.
The boy will soon discover that he has the gift of the glib. His fine oratory skill will bring him to power, but not before he has learnt about the bitterness of World War I and suffered temporary blindness caused by enemy’s poisonous gas.
A woman walked towards the field. She was probably the boy’s mother because he turned his head when she called.
“Adolf!” Maybe Adolf will be a great leader of Germany. There is no right or wrong; everything is possible. A dictator perhaps? Like his father? Possible.
“Adolf Hitler, come now!” The woman called for a second time.
Satisfied by his completed jigsaw puzzle, Neumann got up. He was looking forward to meet Edward.
PS: Here, Neumann’s predictions came true. Indeed this was the path Hitler treaded on. Yet not all of them are true. After all, aren’t they just possibilities?
The year was 1900. He felt stressed, chased after by his publisher who demanded the draft of his new book. He needed a vacation, a refreshment. The new century would be a good time to start afresh, he had thought. He would visit an old friend, a doctor, in Austria.
While travelling to his destination, Braunau-am-Inn, a small town near the border, his mind wandered. He was always like that – liked to dive deep in his own imagination. After all, he was a novel writer: Was it not his job to imagine and make stories?
He particularly loved working out the lives of other people, foreseeing their destiny. He always pictured one’s destiny as a branched path: a path with so many junctions so intricate that his mind cannot comprehend. Every branch is a possibility, a choice one has to make to go on in life. Funny how people often make bad choices, he always said, but that is exactly what make lives so interesting, isn’t it? Life is not always rosy. There will always be tragedies as well as joyous moments in one’s life.
He liked to explore those possibilities, picking out and stringing them together to make a good story. He enjoyed his role as an author, the freedom and power he had over others’ lives. It was like fitting pieces of jigsaw puzzle in their place. Yet it was not: the pieces did not have exact positions like in a jigsaw puzzle. An author’s job is simply to arrange them – not necessarily fitting them – making them look good together. There is no right or wrong; everything is possible.
After finding his inn and checking in, he decided to go for a walk before meeting his old friend in the afternoon. It was a bright morning. The dews formed on the lush green leaves and grasses were beginning to disappear under the sun’s generous shines. A group of young boys were playing at the field. They were playing a war game.
A boy who gave the others orders intrigued him. Neumann sat under a tree, having found a new target for his imagination. He imagined the boy as a great leader in the future. No, he thought, Braunau is too small and rural. Okay, so the boy will go to Vienna, Germany – considerably a more reasonable place for would-be leaders – for secondary education after doing extremely well in primary school.
How about the background? Neumann began to work out his puzzle pieces. The father is an authoritarian, always ambitious about his son’s studies: he wants his son to become a civil servant like him, loyal to the Austrian Hapsburg Monarchy. The mother, as if trying to balance the situation, pampers her son, giving him whatever he wants.
The son, being rebellious, dislikes Austria – as if unconsciously contradicting his father – and will do badly in his secondary school then dropped out, deciding to become an artist instead.
Maybe a little tragedy here, he thought. His a-little-too-caring mother will die of cancer when he is only nineteen. This will be a great mental blow for him, making him temperamental for the rest of his life. The boy will blame the Jewish doctor who treats his mother for coming a little too late to save his beloved mother. Neumann gave this role to Edward Bolch, his doctor friend. So Bolch does his best, but still, the boy won’t hear of it. The hatred will be carried on for the rest of his life.
It was already noon. Neumann had to conclude his story soon otherwise he would be late.
The boy will soon discover that he has the gift of the glib. His fine oratory skill will bring him to power, but not before he has learnt about the bitterness of World War I and suffered temporary blindness caused by enemy’s poisonous gas.
A woman walked towards the field. She was probably the boy’s mother because he turned his head when she called.
“Adolf!” Maybe Adolf will be a great leader of Germany. There is no right or wrong; everything is possible. A dictator perhaps? Like his father? Possible.
“Adolf Hitler, come now!” The woman called for a second time.
Satisfied by his completed jigsaw puzzle, Neumann got up. He was looking forward to meet Edward.
PS: Here, Neumann’s predictions came true. Indeed this was the path Hitler treaded on. Yet not all of them are true. After all, aren’t they just possibilities?
No comments:
Post a Comment