by remembereringgiap
an extract of my piece for theatre ‘terrible knowledge’ which would seem to constitute the nightly dreams & sweat of mr karl rove:
All this time. I have expected them. When the political winds change. I know they will not forget Heimmann. There have been times when I have expected them to pluck me out. To take me to their sanctuary. To examine me. Like some specimen. They want to hold me up. Hold me up to the world like some ventriloquist’s doll. Heimmann will not do that. He will show this good for nothing scum what he is made of. They will think they have a prize in their hands.
No. No. They will have a bomb. A bomb that will explode into their
money lending hands. That is certain. I know they follow me. Do they
think for one moment that it is possible to fool the man who controlled
Europe with an intelligence network the like which had never and has
never been seen in human history. In the same hour I could have a man
picked up in Lodz. Another in Brussells. A woman in Prague. A teenager
in Paris. They could all end up in my office the next day. They could
be dead the day after that. That is power. That is strength. Every
morning at my desk I would have reports from each of the occupied
countries. From their cities. From their towns. From their villages. I
had comprimised . I had corrupted. I had debased key individuals If I
wanted information it was on my desk. The next morning. The next hour.
Looking back it seems I had half of Europe in my debt one way or
another. I had corrupted them. They had corrupted themselves. They are
still here.Some of them doing very well. Key people. I cannot touch them. In this
world who would believe Heimmann. He is not to be believed I can hear
them saying. I’ll tell them many things they don’t want to hear. I’ll
not end up on the scaffold praying to smaller gods than I am myself.
I’ll not tell them I was only following orders. I am not frightened by
their puny justice. They’ll try to shut me up but I will speak until I
have no more to say. They want to know how such a man is made. I’ll
tell them. They needn’t ask. I’ll tell them at once. I’m a man they can
only imagine. They all live in my shadow. I know them already. I will
know their faces. I will have knoxn their fathers. Mothers. Uncles.
Sisters. Brothers. I will have known their relatives. Their friends. I
will have taken whole families on my train to their final departures.They do not frighten me. Where are they now ? I can hear them. I have
seen them. I am sitting here alone waiting for them. When will they
come ? I am not going to run anymore. When we left the railway station
Eckstein made no attempt to speak to me. To explain his action. I made
no attempt to speak to him. My mind was rushing with many thoughts.
There were moments when I felt like I wanted to pull out my pistol and
end it there and then. I wanted him. He was simply one more man that I
had control over. That was the truth of the matter. He could expect no
grace from me.He sat in the carriage as if nothing had happened. He passed me some
papers that I had given him earler in the day. This man. His sons will
try to do business with me but they have another thing coming. I am not
an old man they can intimidate like they would an arab in the desert.
I’m no savage they can beat into submission. They will feel the sharp
whip of my toungue crack them across the face. Who do these assassins
of Christ think they are dealing with ? They are not dealing with some
flunked doctor now.In a forest. Somewhere on the outskirts of Paris. My men gathered
up the entire staff of a particular lycée in Paris that we knew to be
the centre of resistance against us. They were gathered up in the
middle of the day when they least expected it. It was in full view of
the locals. Everybody pretended not to notice. We gathered them on a
truck. The entire staff. There were Israelites amongst them. I am
certain. They had changed their names but the lycée would have been a
natural home for them. Packed off into a truck and driven to the
outskirts of Paris. In a forest. They pleaded with us. demanding to
know why they had been taken. From their beloved lycée. An old man – a
professor came up to me. A Jew of long standing I would have thought.
He came to talk to me. He wanted to know why they were here. I told
him. Because you serve no purpose. I pushed him back into the throng
and my men fired upon them until no one was left standing. An officer.
A middle-aged man who was not involved in the shooting came up to me
and asked brusquely why we had shot these people. I pulled out my
pistol and shot him point blank. I told him – that’s because you don’t
understand our purpose. He fell on his knees as if in prayer. We got
back in the truck leaving this mess.They think they know why they want me. I am a sinister man – they
say. Do they think people have long memories ? People were forgetting
as soon as we had done these actions. After the war people’s memories
got very distorted. Some of the young do not even know there was a war.
They do not want to know. No one wants to remember. I remember
everything. People want to move towards a future. What a future we left
those we conquered. No sooner had the war finished than the French were
in Vietnam. Then in Algeria. Employing the same methods that we had
taught them. They were unflinching in their brutality. The English were
no sooner out of the Blitz and they were putting the boot into the
colonies and giving their own population some punishment. The Americans
were in anywhere they could get a fight going so that they may profit.
By brutality Israel was founded and by brutality it was maintained. A
litany of the occupied becoming the occupier.Their methods were no different except they were less efficient.
They followed our rule book as if they had written it. Yet they
presented this mimicry as if they alone were saving civilisation. The
Russians never pretended civilisation and they renewed their savagery
with a fervour with their new satellites. Living here. Watching the
globe. I have laughed until my sides split to think that these men
think they can judge me. By what laws ? We are the ones that developed
those laws. They mirror our every action. They sit on high and tell me
Heimmann this world cannot live with a man like you in its midst.
Humanity has to rehabilitate itself – they will say. Humanity has to do
away with people like you. They will insist. These liars. These frauds.
Any one of these countries including Israel would benefit with the
service of a Heimmann working for them. Ministering to their needs. No
doubts about that. They would do well to employ me. They could not
secrete me behind a door in some office. They know they would have to
show others their naked face. This they cannot afford. They hide their
face behind two penny brutes that they keep on a chain in countries
like these. They keep their hands clean. They forever wash them.That’s your trouble Heimmann – they would say — you got your hands
too dirty with your tasks. We cannot be contaminated by you they would
claim. They are drowned in their own filth. They cannot clean up the
filth they have accumulated. They want the benefit of my methods but
they do not want to pay the price. Perhaps they think they can make a
public spectacle of me then they can go about their business without
reference to my deeds. To do away with me is to pretend to do away with
the deed. This is the thinking that made America.They will not forget Heimmann and his deeds. They will live on. In
both books and life. This world cannot forget Heimmann. He is the door
through which they constructed the post-war world. It is to him that
they owe a debt. While they destroy town after town. City after city.
Country after country. They can always point to the misdeeds of
Heimmann to detract from their own deeds. They are without culture.
They are without intelligence. Their reign will not last.When I was a young man. After the First World War. I would look at
maps and know that what was there today might not be there tommorrow.
That empires were doomed to collapse. That one country would become
another. That whole continents would be transformed. I drew on these
maps. I imagined new boundaries. The creation of new borders. I
imagined this then. Behind every change I saw the chosen ones or some
other inferior race that needed to be extinguished. Now every day the
world is faced with this reality.It was in the last days of the war that I visited the camp where
Eckstein was held. He was still working in the chamber commando. Many
of those he might have called colleagues in his task had already gone
to join their number. Not Eckstein. He was skin and bone with a sack on
top but he was still there. He would go soon. He had been a lucky man.
He had seen day turn into night. He had seen the future. I went up to
him in the camp. He did not seem to recognise me. I tapped him hard on
his arms. He looked up for a moment. Continued with his task except now
he was almost unconciouslly mimicking me. He was following my every
movement and gesture. The look on my face he mirrored. It was as if he
was passing through me. I spoke to him but he could not answer. The man
in charge of the camp was about to strike him but I fended off the
attack. The weather will finish him off I said. They are the last words
I spoke to him. We walked away from him but as I went into the main
block I could still see him mimicking me. That’s the last I saw of him.I am alone sitting in my office. I have been told the Red Army are
nearing Berlin. They are not far away. I can hear them. In the
distance. The others are in a frenzy. There are already some who have
deserted and others who have gone to Switzerland to make a peace. There
are orders going everywhere. Orders are not being followed. This very
day I have seen full uniforms left in piles all over the place. Left
there. As if the owners had stripped off and just walked naked from the
uniform. Ghosts. This city is a madhouse. I cannot believe this is
hhappening.All the shops are either closed or ransacked. My men are staying
loyal. They at least give this appearance. I do not know. The means of
communication are nearly all gone. Fourteen year old boys travel the
city with messages from one leader to another. These boys carry news of
what is happening on the front. Without them it would be impossible to
get information from one place to another. The leadership seems to be
everywhere and nowhere. The radio has gone and rumour has become the
deadline.You hear everything. Men I have known throughout our struggle run
pass me in the street. No one greets one another anymore. Fear within
the nation is greater than I have ever felt. Those who have their wits
about them still fear me though they do their best to bypass me. I am
not being noticed. Who are these orders for ? Who am I issuing them to
? An order has a short lifespan here if you can find someone to
delegate it to. All around me. They all want to save their skins.
That’s the politics of our days and nights. We have night no longer.
Every night we are being bombarded and light fills what is left of the
sky. You cannot believe what I am seeing.Yesterday after the Russians had hit the zoo with mortar fire you
could see wild animals prowling through the city. Wild animals. I am
situated in the middle of a nightmare. It is happening so fast. There
doesn’t seem enough time anymore. I cannot breathe. I need air. The
cage is closing in. Why can’t I breathe. My body feels as if it is in
convulsion. I go through my files searching out names. I pore over
schedules. I seek out names and numbers. Places. It’s falling apart.I’m looking at reports I made in 1934. They are detailed and
precise. They speak to me now. My memory serves me well. The whole city
is falling apart. These are my people. This is my country. What are we
doing? The camps should be burnt to the ground. Lock stock and barrell.
I have sent the order. I don’t know whether it’s been acknowledged.
Whether there is anybody to acknowledge the order. Our cities look like
a collection of rubble. Few buildings are left standing. They’re
pummelling our city to ash. We who have brought culture to the world
now see that culture smashed to pieces. Opera houses. Theatres.
Cathedrals. Galleries. Museums. Rubble. Eckstein and his sons have
folloxed my scent though I will smell them first. They are very close.
I hear and see. I am not imagining them. I can hear them. I can see
them. They are close. So close.I will know them. They will listen to me. I have a story to tell these
stamp collectors. They will hear more than their ears can bare. They
will hear a word or two that they may have not thought possible to
utter. I will utter them. Eckstein will have told his side of the
story. That’s certain. A sob story. I would be a large figure in that
landscape. No doubt about that. Eckstein will have his lists. My name
will be at the top of them. I’ll not hide that fact. That’s what they
expect me to do. Hide the facts. I am sitting in this office in a burnt
out Berlin while mty men are going to the wall. I am powerless to do
anything at all. They would expect my assistance. I have none to give.
These were days that I thought all was gone. I hung on to the fact that
all men are open to corruption. This is my talent. Our days were not at
their end. Someone would do a deal with us.The situation is still open I thought. I am at my best when I am
confronted with adversity. I was working without break. Alone. I was
surrounded by a building full of information and it was useless. I felt
helpless. I have lived in this jungle of a country for too long.
Without contacts. Without any network. To have lived in this cesspit
and calle dit home has made me feel disgust. I cannot breathe. I
imagine this city as it had once been. Ten years ago.The beauty of Berlin had the power to oppress those of limited
imagination. It still made all the cities we conquered look
insignificant. To be in Berlin was to feel a man again. A man better
than other men. Now it was in flames. As far as they eye could see. The
buildings I had loved since I was a child ripped apart as if some great
giant had held the city in his hand and shaken it all over the place.
Emptying it of everything. Including people. It was an unimaginable
sight. I cannot see his face. I saw him not long ago. I’m certain. I
can’t sleep. I am continually disturbed by all sorts of sounds.I cannot hear myself. The heart is irregular. Covered in sweat. I
was put to good use. I put myself to such good use. Ten years. A
mammoth task. In ten years I had done to the chosen people what no man
order or nation had ever had the strength to do. Not one of their
number on the continent would have been untouched by my hands. I had
entered their homes. I had emptied their families. A father here. A
mother there. A grandmother. A daughter and son. Whole generations and
families perished. I closed the door on their future. I turned their
past against them. I turned them against each other. I chopped every
branch of their culture from the tree and left them on the ground to be
collected as firewood to burn the heretics. It will take a million
years to rebuild their culture. Perhaps never. There can be no question
about that. No question. No devil in their holy books was quite like
me. The chosen people of today are different people.Not the same as the ones I did business with. Certainly not. They
had built a home where they could despise others as they despised
themselves. The only home they deserved was in the camps. Here they had
a community. A community like no other. Here the jew of every type was
one. Half jew was all jew as far as I was concerned. From each corner
the jew was brought ot meet his long lost cousins. Never before such a
congress of jews. They only meet in disaster. It is in anguish that
they find their brotherhood. In the chambers they went as one enormous
family. They were one big family in the pit. Their homes are the burial
grounds of Europewe dug for them. Ash bone and earth.I cannot breathe. All the time i’m catching my breath. A pain
across my chest will not go away. I feel as if I need a walking stick
to stand straight.They are going to do away with me. I know them. I can hear them.
Their smell. I know it. They are here. They cannot hide from me. I know
they are here. I am a master of their trade. I know they’re here. They
cannot hide from Heimmann. I will not walk to them. As they marched
happily to the furnace. No.They’ll find me too much trouble. They know that from their
fathers. From books. They’ll know what they get when they capture me.
Why do they come now ? Why now ? They have left me alone. They could
have come here before. They now want me. What use am I to them ?. An
old man in the dock. They want me.A young man has come crying to me. He’s no older than eighteen.
Perhaps younger. New to the dirty uniform. He told me it had all come
to an end. This young man. He had been at the bunker. A guard. They
shot themselves four hours ago he said. His death and that of his bride
did not disturb me. I remember staring out the window at the
searchlights thinking that none of them can face the end. He who faces
the end can watch history do the striptease. This man must know the
end. I then turned on the boy in a fit of rage. Grabbed him by the coat
and swung him against the door. I screamed at him that they had left
us. Too scared to hold the flag. We are betrayed at every corner I told
him. The swine never sleep in their own filfth. They leave us to
embrace the end. I was still holding on tightly to the young man. This
boy. It was clear that he was frightened out of his wits. He didn’t
know where to turn. I wanted to hurt this boy as I have never wanted to
hurt someone in my life. I was holding this child to blame for what was
happening. I remember screaming that I needed more time to carry out my
task. I was screaming it out so loudly that it seemed to drown the room
in sound. The boy couldn’t have known what I was talking about. Just
another official going mad before his eyes. He said nothing while I was
holding him. He was sweating through the coat with fear. I let him go.
Find a leader. Find a leader. I shouted to him as he fled the building
to the dust and rubble.