writings: the diaries
of otto dix
I visit Dr Wolf.

Im having health problems. My stomach is
driving me nuts. I have gas.  I am farting like
a horse. The stink is brutal. I have  vicious
cramps. I have irregular bowel movements.
Sometime I poop three times a day. Then I go
for a week and nothing.  The problem is coffee.
I feel better when I drink tea. But tea is
boring. I hate this beverage. I must have
coffee.  It gives me energy. I need it to paint.  
I must drink coffee and smoke cigarettes.

I dont sleep. I wake up in the morning with no
energy. I feel like shit.  This is why I need the
coffee. Its a pain in the ass. Hitler has the
same problems: a digestive ailment and
insomnia. He goes to bed at 4 in the
morning.Maybe I should see his doctor.

Ive known Dr Wolfe for 20 years. He gave me
the best advice I ever had from a member of  
this profession: he said  stay away from
doctors.

But he is the exception. I love this man. He
has a gift.  There is a word in Spanish:
simpatico. There is no exact translation in
German. It means a person you enjoy being
around. Why? Because they make you feel
good. F has this quality. Also my wife. Also
Vera. And thats about it.

Its a desirable quality in a physician. He
inspires confidence, re assurance.  You are
convinced that if this man cannot help you the
disease is incurable. I recall something that
ccurred on a previous visit.  I was in the
waiting room thumbing through an issue of The
Journal of Morbid Psychology . On the phone
the nurse was speaking to a patient.  This was
a woman  Frau Mendelssohn.

Frau Mendelssohn needed an immediate appt.  
It was an emergency  or semi- emergency.
Something to do with an inflamed colon. The
nurse said Dr Wolfe was booked solid for the
day and leaving the following day for a much
needed vacation. Meanwhile she would be
happy to schedule an appt with Dr Feldstein
who was seeing
all patients of Dr Wolfe during his absence.

This would not do said Frau Mendelsshon.  She
must see Dr Wolfe. The nurse said Dr Feldstien
had filled in for Dr Wolfe in the past  many
times. There were never any complaints. He
was an excellent physician.

Said Frau Mendelsshon: perhaps the nurse
didnt understand: she must see Dr Wolf.

Back and forth they went.  The conversation
became quite heated. Finally the nurse said
she would speak to Dr Wolf. She hung
up. She gave me a frazzled look. She said: this
happens all the time.

I enter the office.  Its been a few years. He
looks the same. He is a small man with large
ears. He is not young  he is 76.  He has never
married.  He is a pussy hound. He owns a
fabulous car  a Duesenberg. Its like the car
Picasso owned.  Its 19 feet long. He drives
around in this thing  all 180 centimeters of him
with his head barely clearly  the top of the
steering wheel  cruising for pussy.

We shake hands. I ask about his health.

I cant complain!  Did you see the man who just
left?  He drives me crazy.  He is a
hypochondriac. He has every disease

known to man. And do you know why?
Because he doesnt work. He has money. His
father gives it to him. His father supports him.
He is pissing  forgive the expression  his life
away. Thats why he comes here. He is bored.  
I have explained all this. He needs to
do something  He needs to work. But people
dont listen.  They hear what they want.

We chat.  This is his secret. he spends time
with his patients.  He likes them. He interests
himself in them.

He asks about my work.  He knows I have
been having problems with the Nazis.  He has
some problems of his own with the Nazis. He
is a jew. Things are becoming increasingly
difficult for these people. Many are beginning
to emigrate.  We are losing talented people  
not only artists and writers but doctors,
engineers, scientists. Einstein has fled. He is in
the United States. This is only the man who
changed the way we think about the universe.

Dr Wolf says:  I am looking over your file. You
were here 4 years ago  a kidney infection.

I remember this. I will never forget it. This
was pain.  It was deep.  I was sure I had a
stone. But it was only a little gravel. Dr Wolfe
gave me some pills and the following morning
I took a very painful piss and that was that.

I describe my symptoms. He writes it all down.
He gives me a sympathetic look.

I can see you are in distress. It is difficult to be
happy with stomach cramps.

On to the physical. Its the usual: blood
pressure, hernia, pee into the jar and the old
prostate massage with the condom unrolled
over the middle finger expertly jammed up
your asshole.

Also an x ray. This is a new piece of equipment.

He says:  do you know of this machine? I just
bought it. I love this machine!

He wheels this beast out. It looks like a prop
from a science fiction movie.  Its a giant arm
on wheels with this rotating lens. The arm has
a ball/socket joint that combines with the
rotating lens so that the lens can be positioned
to zero in on the target organ at any angle.

Ive read of this device. It was invented by a  
Frenchman. There was a photograph of one of
these x rays. It looked like an Oscar Kokoshka
painting.

Special protective clothing is required to
operate this machine. There is this life vest
type garment with lead inserts he slips  over
his head. Next a lead lined cap, heavy gloves
and giant pair of welders goggles. He looks like
he is preparing to practice germ warfare.

What a painting this would make. Its a classic.
But there is a new felony on the books: the
Otto Dix portrait.

I am naked standing up sandwiched between a
double set of giant photographic plates.

He zaps me with this thing

I dress and we return to the office.

He says: your health is excellent. You may
have an ulcer. I will have the x rays
developed. If its an ulcer I have some pills.
They just came out.  The results have been
encouraging. Do you drink coffee?

Yes.

Black or with cream?

Black

Start using cream. Its a funny thing with diet.
You hate it at first and then you get used to it.
it is the same with salt. People tell me they
cannot live without salt. A few weeks later  
they say: I dont miss it!

We shake hands.

How is your family?

Very good.

How is Hans Koch?

He knows the story. Who doesnt know this
story.

An interesting man. He was a student of mine.
Did you know that?
Yesterday the Speer exhibit  the model of the
New Berlin  opened. This is the enterprise that
has transformed my wife into a
zombie. The show occurred at the German
academy of Art. The show is called the
East/West axis. The actual project once built
will be an  artery 6500 meters long intended to
function as the political and cultural heart of
the city.  The major ministries and other
offices of government will be installed here  
along with museums, concert halls, theaters,
etc

This project is Hitlers obsession.  Hitler has
many obsessions. But this is the obsession of
obsessions. There are three major structures
that occur along this route: a railroad
terminal, a Grand Arch and a Great hall.

The model itself was a huge project. Its built to
 a scale of 1000:1. Its 90 meters long.   A team
of cabinetmakers has been laboring for a year
to complete this thing.  The detail is
extraordinary.

There is a fancy catalog that provides all the
relevant info. For example: the domed hall
contains a volume of 15,000,000 cubic meters.
Into this space the cathedral of St
Peters in Rome could fit 47 times.

This is the Nazi theory of design.  You take the
most famous example of the particular type
building or monument required for your
purpose.  Then you multiply the size of this
edifice by a factor of 6  minimum  and  there is
your design.  In this way the great dome
displaces a volume 47 times the volume of st
Peters, the RR terminal is six times the size of
Grand Central station in New York and the arch
in the Grand Arch covers a span  9 times the
diameter of the Arch de Triumphe on
the Champs Elysee in Paris.

My only question is this: where is the money
coming from? Also: do we need this project?
Do we need a giant dome 36 times the size of
st Peters? Do we need a railroad station 7
times the size of Grand Central Terminal? Do
we no we need a grand arch9 times the size of
the arch de Triumphe? Personally  I like the old
Berlin.

In a side room another model is on display  
The air ministry. This is a project of Goring  
also to be located on the east west axis. This
building  even by Nazi standards  is excessive.
It takes up an entire block.  And it is a large
block. On the roof is a park with trees, tennis
courts, a swimming pool. There are several
models of interior rooms  including the lobby  if
this is the word. Its 7500 sq meters of floor
space.

Then you have the staircase.  Goring has a  
staircase theory. The success or esteem of a
man is to be measured by the size of his
staircase. You have the staircase at the Paris
Opera, the staircase at the Hermitage museum
in Leningrad and the staircase of the king of
England at Buckingham Palace. And now you
have the staircase of Gorings air ministry--the
granddaddy of all staircases.

Its actually a double staircase  one flanking the
room on either side that ascend zig/zag fashion
back and forth until they join at the top in a
balcony that overlooks  the lobby 4 floors
below. My question is this: who is going to
climb this beast? That is why we have
elevators. And there is an elevator. But why
take an elevator when you can  drop dead by
climbing this staircase.

Martha tells me this story. Albert Speers father
 also an architect  was in Berlin to see the
exhibit. He walked the entire length of this
project without saying a word.  Then he turned
to his son and said: youve all gone completely
mad!
We are in Italy--in Rome.

We have been planning this trip. Martha has
been working like a dog. There is Martha,
myself, the children, Eleanor thestudent\nanny
and Joachim Felixmuller. Joachim was Marthas
idea. He would be good company for the
children.  He is thrilled at thissuggestion.

I feel like Picasso with this entourage. The plan
is Rome, Naples, Florence and Sicily. This is
the perfect time to visit Rome: the middle of
August. Its  67 C with a humidity factor of 98%
You wake up in the morning and step outside
and its like someone covering you with piss.


In Rome we visit deChirico. D has gotten
married  to a Russian dancer. Picasso also
married a Russian dancer  the bloodsucker.

He lives in an apt  near the Bourghese gardens.

D is the same.  He is like F. He doesnt change.
Only one thing interests him: painting. He is
still doing the still lifes and
horses and the occasional fascist portrait.

The mother is still around.  She lives in  the
same building.  She arrives every morning at 8
to make breakfast. This is what we do in
Rome: we eat. We eat, eat, eat. deChirico has
an obsession here. He takes us to some
fabulous restaurants. But the best meals occur
at the house. He does the honors himself. If
this man werent a painter he would make a
fabulous chef. Its all home made. Everything is
fresh. Its fresh, fresh, fresh. The eggs are
freshly laid, the bread is freshly baked, the
chickens are freshly strangled.

Each meal is shopped for on an individual
basis. The mother goes out in the morning for
pastry and cream. We eat breaksfast and
she goes out to shop for lunch: bread,
prosciutto, cheese.

In the afternoon she shops for dinner. There is
the pasta, the chicken, the stuffed breast of
veal, the  soups and salads and torts and tartes
and pastries and cake and gelato. There is
cheese. The cheese is amazing. Its sharp and a
little gooey and dry at the
same time. It enters the mouth and spreads
itself around upon the tongue and eats into the
tongue in an ecstatic way.


We eat and visit churches. Martha has her own
obsessions. This is her latest   one of the
hazards of working for an architect. We visit
the _________, the __________the
__________

The children are going nuts.  Every day they
say: no more churches!



The mothers attitude towards Mussolini. The
Italian love affair with M is begging to show
signs of strain.  They dread being dragged into  
this war of Hitlers in which they have nothing
to gain.

But Mussolini has something to gain. Its called
covering yourself with glory. He wants to be
the new Caesar : the lord of the Mediterranean
and North Africa.


We spend 3 days in Rome. The plan was to
spend a week.  But its too hot. Another 2 days
of this and the children will be dead.


At the beach. This is great. Its the resort of
Ostia about 30 km south of Rome.

The beach is great and the accommodations
are
gratis. The house is deChiricos. We are  
here for a week.  Its perfect. We are right on
the beach. In the morning we throw the
children out the door and they return 8 hours
later in an exhausted state.

Martha does her thing and I do mine.

What is Marthas thing? After 15 years of
marriage I am still in the dark here. She keeps
busy.  This is all I know. She is like
Goring:  she is her own best friend.

Meanwhile the eating continues. Its relentless.
Now its shellfish: we get fresh clams, mussels,
scungilli, lobster. I love lobster. When I was a
child we had lobster once a month. But not
lobster like this.  They are gigantic. They look
prehistoric.


At the beach. I am getting a lot of work done. I
am drawing and doing some water colors. I am
doing some portraits of Martha and the
children and some of the locals.

I draw and swim and work on my tan. This is
the life. The weather is great. Its hot, clear,
dry. Rome was like getting up in the morning
and instead of a shower someone took a large
brush and lathered you up with wallpaper
paste.

The children are having a wonderful time. They
adore Joachim. What a blessing this kid is. He
is mature.  He is 11 and acts like 40.  But he
has always been this way. He was mature the
day he was born. He never cried. Every night F
and Clara would lay there in bed waiting for
him to cry. They thought he was dead.
Yesterday we invaded Poland. We heard the
news while eating lobster on the beach. There
was a long speech by Hitler. Not to
be confused a with short speech.

The reaction was subdued. There is little
enthusiasm for this enterprise. He has misread
our feelings here. We dont want war. We
remember the last one. It was a pain in the
ass.

But Hitler likes war.  He is a warrior type.  He
likes to see the arms and legs fly. He thinks a
nation can become great in only
this way: via war.

Ribbontrop can also take some credit for this
situation. This man is a moron. I speak the
truth. With most of the Nazis everyone has
their opinion. There are only two Nazis
everyone  agrees on: Hitler and Ribbontrop.
Everyone agrees that Hitler is a genius and
Ribbontrop is an imbecile. Yet this is the man
in whose hands we have entrusted German
foreign policy. He was trained for this post by
operating a wine distributorship owned by his
father/in/law.

He likes to talk. He talks, talks, talks. Listening
to this man speak is maddening. I would rather
have my fingernails removed
one at a time.

Hitler also likes to talk.  The difference is that
Hitler has charisma. He has a way of capturing
your attention. Ribbontrop has the charisma of
a donkey.

There was a British  prime minister after the
war called Ramsey McDonald who was
described by Churchil as "a hole in the air".

Ribbontrop is a hole in the air. He reminds me
of Joyce the art school model.



We have left Ostia.

I will miss this place. I ventured the suggestion
that further travel was perhaps a mistake.
Maybe we should just stay put. This
was a suggestion that didnt have a prayer.  
Martha likes to go.

So we went.

We jumped into the car and headed south. We
made a detour around Naples. This was on the
advice of deChirico. D is Roman. The
Romans despise the Neapolitans. And the
feeling is mutual. Ive heard of this.  We have
the same thing in Germany.  In Germany its
the Bavarians who are despised by the
Northern Germans.

On the other hand Beuys  who has traveled
widely in Italy  prefers Naples. It is the crude,
rude and lewd attitude of the
Neapolitans that appeals to him in some
perverse way. He says in Naples you must
seek the eye of the hurricane. But for now we
take D's advice. We have enough barbaric
behavior to deal with in the form of our
children.



We wind our way down the coast.

We take the Strada Corniche. A great road. It
twists and turns and snakes in and out and
over and under and down and around along
the coast precariously sited on the edge of
these cliffs with the waves crashing onto the
rocks 200 meters below. Its spectacular.

Its so spectacular the children become
violently ill. They are carsick. There is
something called projectile vomiting.  It
occurs without warning.  Your child is looking
at you and then you are covered with vomit.

The children are terminally carsick and I
become constipated. Normally my problem is
diarrhea.  I have some pills given to me by Dr
wolf for the diarrhea called Immodium that are
great. One pill and five minutes later your
bowels have turned to cement.

But now its the other. Now I have the cement.
I need something to make dynamite.

The constipation continues.  It continues to
Naples and around Naples and down the Amalfi
coast all the way to the toe of the
boot at Reggio Calabria and from there on the
ferry across the straits to Taormina and a spin
around the Sicily to Palermo where
we board the ferry to Naples and from there its
on to Florence.

The children have recovered from the
carsickness. But I continue to battle this
constipation.  It goes on and on. Its an epic. It
occurs to me that defecation is more important
than sex. You can live your entire life without
sex but you can die in two weeks without a
bowel movement.

Martha suggests medication--some castor oil
perhaps. But I prefer to let nature takes its
course. Every day I visit the can and sit on the
bowl for an hour or so  to grunt and groan  and
pray  but its no dice. I am lucky to squeeze out
a few miserable farts.

But this is travel.


Finally I shit.

I am in my 12th day. I feel like someone has
shoved a tire pump up my ass.

It occurs in Florence  at the hotel
_____________.

I woke up in the morning and felt a mild
perstaltic growl  or rumble--faint but
unmistakeable.  Then again.  Into the can and
onto the bowl.  I waited.  There it was again.
This time I could tell. There was that God
blessed sense of urgency. It was going to
happen.

And happen it did--with a vengeance. What a
poop this was. I shit for two hours. There were
three stages. The first stage produced a
single unbroken turd segment one meter in
length. It slipped out slowly but irresistibly.
The second stage was diarrhea. This lasted
40 minutes. The stink was unbelievable.

Now occured a series of normal turds and then
a final massive evacuation of the bowel in
liquid form--more diarrhea. It was explosive.

I sat there for a few minutes. Nothing. Not
even a fart.

I staggered back to the room and collapsed on
the bed. I lay  on my back staring in this
glazed way at the ceiling. Never had I
felt such relief. I was in an altered state. I
made a silent vow never to eat again.

Martha said: you look like you have seen Jesus.



Lunch with Trott.

He is back in Berlin. He has been living in
China. This man gets around. He is married
and has a child. You can always tell a new
father.  They dont get much sleep.

But he looks good. I am always stimulated by
this mans company. He has a mind. He has a
job working at the Foreign Ministry.  Its the
usual--translation.

What was China like? China was great.  A
beautiful country and beautiful people.  There
is one problem: they are at war with the
Japanese.  The Japanese have invaded
Manchuria. They have decided to follow the
example of Hitler and carve out an empire of
their own in the far East.

He tells me an interesting story. He says the
incident that sparked the war with Poland--a
Polish soldier who had been shot after firing
upon a German at a border crossing--was a
complete lie--a frame up.  This man was
actually a  German. He was a criminal. He was
released from jail and then shot and dressed in
the uniform of a Polish soldier and taken to the
border and dumped.  Then we invaded Poland.
Goebbels got on the radio and started ranting
and raving that this was the last straw and that
"preventive" measures were called for because
the Poles were preparing to invade Germany.

Of course. They were itching to unleash their
cavalry upon our tanks.

Not that any of this was news.  Anyone with a
brain in their head could have figured this one
out. This is what disturbs me  the assumption
that we are sufficiently gullible to swallow this
garbage. The Nazis are up to their old tricks.
Its the Reichstag fire scenario. But the stakes
have been raised. They started off by framing
a few politically naive individuals or small time
parties. Now the frame has been applied to an
entire country. Its behavior like this that
makes your head spin. These people are
gangsters. Meanwhile an entire nation is put at
risk.


I refuse to get involved in this mess. I have
my own problems. Actually things are going
well. The children are fine.  I take them to
school, I return to the house, I paint. What am
I painting? Still lifes. I am actually beginning to
enjoy this work. I am inspired by deChircico
here.  D enjoys the still life. He was working on
a large painting during our visit--80 x 140 cm.  
The props were a long table with this
decorative linen and the usual still life
ingredients by way of props.  The usual props
are: bread, some sort of silver plate--a tea
pot, samovar, candlkeabra, etc--a bottle of
wine, cheese, fruit--esp grapes.  There are
always grapes. A still life painter is graded by
the way he paints the reflections in silver plate
and the quality of his grapes. Also the mottled
skin of an orange.


This piece of deChiricos is a masterpiece. It is
the still life of still lifes. How he does it I dont
know.  This thing was painted within an inch of
its life. The grapes are amazing.  They look
biological--like larvae. How does he do it?


I paint and do  some light housekeeping.  I
pick the children up from school. Martha comes
home.  She is still working for Albert
Speer. She is working like a dog.  They are
designing a huge model of the new Berlin  
Hitlers fantasy.  There is a major exhibit
scheduled  to open.  As soon as we destroy
Poland.

I make Martha a drink. I cook dinner. We eat
and entertain the children.  This is easily done.
you sit on the floor with them playing board
games for four hours.



Werner Finck has been arrested.

Finck is an entertainer.  He is  or was  a fixture
at the Biarritz cabaret for years.  I have seen
his show many times. Beckmann is also a fan
and has painted several portraits.

Finck sings, dances, juggles and does
impersonations.  His impersonations are
brilliant.  Before the Nazis came to power he
had a whole repertoire of these people.  And
lets face it  there was juicy material here.  You
had Hitler who is a peasant, Goring weighs 12
stone, Goebbels is a dwarf with a clubfoot and
Hess has an overbite like a beaver chewing
down a tree.

The routine about Goebbels  having an
argument with his deformed foot  was a
masterpiece.

hen the Nazis came to power. Finck was
obliged to scrap large chunks of this material.
He still does some of the lower echelon types
and Goring. He can get away with Goring
because Goring has a sense of humor. Youre
OK with Goring unless you threaten his
standard of living.  Then its like trying to steal
meat from a wild animal.

What did Finck do to land him in this situation?  
He inserted into his act some non- judicious
remarks about the East/West axis exhibit at
The German Academy of Art.

Speer took it in stride  but the news got back
to Hitler. Hitler went thru the roof. Even
Goring  who has bailed Finck out of similar
scrapes in the past stayed out of it.

There is a lesson to be learned here. Talent
and common sense are unrelated.
In 1940 occurred the invasion of France.

Hitler was still entertaining hopes of making a deal with
England but it was no dice. There would be no deal
with England. Poland was the last straw for England.

Meanwhile Russia was re arming.  Hitler was
convinced that once this occurred  the non aggression
pact negotiated by Ribbontrop in 1939 would be
repudiated and Russia would enter into a deal with
England. The two countries would move to crush
Germany.

Things simmered over the winter of 1940. This was the
"shadow war". But this could not continue. Hitler had
a decision to make. His armies were ready. They were
in position. An ingenious plan had been devised by
Manstein to circumvent the Maginot line to the north
while swooping down and delivering a blow to the
south via the Argenne and trapping the British and
French armies in a giant pincer.

He felt he must do something--either invade France or
pull back and give England a respite--more time to
figure things out.  This would never do. The army was
ready. He would invade France. There was still a score
to settle with France.
In may 1941 a strange incident occurred.

Rudolph Hess jumped in  a 2 seat messerschmitt 103
in the middle of the night and flew to England and
bailed out.

He survived this stunt. He landed in a field and was
collared by the local authorities and taken into
custody. He identified himself and said he was on an
important mission and demanded an immediate
conference with Winston Churchill. Instead he was
clapped into jail where he spent the rest of the war.

Hess was one of Hitlers earliest supporters  along
with Ernst Rohm. He participated in the Munich
Putsch and joined hitler in Landsberg Prison. He
served as Hitlers secretary during the writing of Mein
Kampf.

He was widely viewed  along with Goring  as the
second man in the party.

What was behind this stunt? There are several
versions.

The most likely is the rivalry with Bormann. Hess had
lost favor with Hitler. He was on his way out--a
terrifying thought. Bormann meanwhile was
becoming more and more useful.  He was a
grind--the classic party stooge.  He kept his eyes
open and his mouth shut. He was Hitlers shadow.  
He stuck to him like glue. Revolutions are won by
breaking heads but countries are run on paperwork.  
This was
Bormanns gift. He had a huge apettie for work. All the
work Hess had lost interest in doing was turned over
to Bormann. Hitler finally asked himself the question:
what do I need this man for: he nags me to death and
does no work

So Hess was out--or on his way. He decided to
redeem himself and restore his standing with Hitler  
and deal a blow to Bormann  in a dramatic scheme to
negotiate a deal with England.
Lunch with Trott.

I get some good dope about Hess--the dope.
The story behind the Hess incident involves
Bormann. Bormann is the key. There was
this rivalry between Hess and Bormann. Hess
was beginning to get on Hitlers nerves. He
was becoming a nag.

I have always wondered about this guy. He is
strange. He looks strange, he acts strange,
he eats strange.  He is a homeopath. I have
never understood these people. They dont
eat. They eat birdfood--seeds and grass and
so forth. Trott says Hitler would invite Hess
to dine at the Berghof and Hess would take
the precaution of providing his own meals.  
Hitler was himself a vegetarian and took
pride in the cuisine prepared by his personal
chef. He told Hess to leave the food
home--or himself.

Meanwhile--according to Trott--Bormann has
become the terror of the inner circle. This is
interesting.  The average German does not
even know this man exists. His name is
rarely in the papers and his picture never.

So Hess was gradually losing influence with
Hitler. This is the worst thing that can happen
to a Nazi. Its like a priest being
ex/communicated by the church. This is when
a sense of desperation occurs and they begin
to fall apart. He hit upon the solution of
jumping into this plane the middle of the
night and to bail out over England and
demand to see Churcill.  What a moron. Now
he is in the slammer and and Hitler looks like
a chump.





I have seen Vera.

We had coffee. Its been 5 years. She looks
good. She looks great.  She has been living in
Italy. She was briefly married to an Italian.
Why?  Who was this man? He was an
architect.  He was talented. He was funny. A
sharp dresser  and so forth.

Was she in love? A good question.
Fortunately there are no children.

I press further. I ask the personal or intimate
question. This is not a problem for me. I am
interested in human nature. They can always
refuse comment.

The husband  Vittorio  had a girlfriend. This is
shocking: an unfaithful Italian.

She says: he lied to me. This is the one thing
I cannot tolerate. It was one lie after
another. The problem with this is that at
some point they dont even know they are
lying. It becomes chronic.

This is true.

Well--its an old story.   Love is blind.  Here is
a girl with brains and breeding and style to
burn--and a great body--and what happens?
She winds up going cuckoo for an Italian jive
artist who cant keep his fly zipped.



Lunch with Trott.

We have a long talk about Hitler. The
question for Hitler is: what next? He must do
something. England shows no signs of making
a deal. Churchill goes back and forth to the
United States on a regular basis. He is
drawing the United States into the web. They
have already signed a deal with the United
States to provide war materials  including 50
warships. Sooner or later that country
will be dragged into this affair. Churchill is
determined to arranged this.

Trott thinks Hitler will invade Russia. This has
always been his dream  a German version of
the British empire.
In June 21 1941 Hitler invaded Russia.

There is much speculation about the motives behind
this decision. Many books have been written.  Hitler
insisted he would never repeat the mistake of World
War 1 by fighting a war on two fronts. But he was
convinced  or had convinced himself  or had been
convinced by Ribbontrop  that he had no choice.

England had been fought to a standstill.

Time was running out.  England must not be given
time to recover or to formally enlist the help of the
United States. The German army was at its peak. It
had won astonishing victories.  It had the weapons
and the leadership and the morale among the troops.
It had momentum. It had confidence.  Confidence
was supreme.

Hitler decided he could invade Russia and deliver a
knockout blow. The war could be won in three
months. With Russa finished off and out of the
picture England would be a different story. England
would be alone in Europe. A deal would have to be
struck.

So invasion plans were drawn up and the campaign
launched. Even for Hitler this was a huge gamble. It
was his greatest gamble. But this was his way.  He
was the gambler of gamblers. He was never reluctant
to risk everything on a single throw of the dice.

The code name for the Russian campaign was
Barbarrossa.

Hitler said: when Barbarrossa begins the world will
hold its breath.
Lunch with Trott.

The air raids continue. We speak of the
war.  Hitler has a plan--a vision. The
Russians arent included. Hitlers vision is to
create a German empire along the lines of
the British Empire.  The jewel in the crown
of the British empire is India.  Russia will be
the jewel in Hitlers crown.

There will be one difference. English rule in
India is comparatively decent. This wont be
the case in  Russia. It will be a
master/slave situation. The idea is the
economic rape of the
country. Natural resources such as wheat,
oil, gold, et are to be ruthlessly (a favorite
word of Hitlers) exploited.

The jews, intelligentsia, army brass and
anyone else who could pose a threat in the
way of resistance will be killed off. The
people that remain  the peasants  will
remain peasants. They will become slaves.
They will work for their German masters.  
The key to
the scheme is education.  There will be no
education. They will be taught  to the level
of the second or third grade--just
sufficiently to count  up the numbers of
bags of wheat to be
loaded on the train and to read the
directions to deliver the shipment of goods
to Germany. This explains how the plans for
the rebuilding of Berlin are going to be
financed  and where the labor is to come
from.

All this from Trott.

I thought we had a deal with these people  
the Russians. We did have a deal. We had a
Ribbontrop type deal. The average life of
one of these documents is 14 months.  This
is why we are at war with England. Because
we dont have a shred of credibility left. This
used to be an honorable country.
We have moved to the country.

Martha parents own some property  a
summer house in Randegg.

Its good to be a little in the west these
days.  The idea is to keep as much space  
as possible between us and the Russians.  
The
Russians may be here sooner than we
think.  This is a minority view I am careful
to keep to myself. A pessimistic view of the
war is
not called pessimism. Its called defeatism.
Its been declared a capital offense.  You go
up before Freisler.  I could wind up  bunking
with Werner Finck.

The country isnt too bad. Its harder on
Martha. She is a high energy type. Its too
quiet for her. Its quiet, quiet, quiet. But
there are compensations. The nights are
stunning. There are 3 zillion stars. And they
mind their own fucking business.



In the country. We go back and forth. The
children are still in school in Berlin.  They
attend 3 days a week.  I am getting a lot of
work done. It occurs by default. There is
nothing else to do. I paint, paint, paint. I
am painting landscapes. Picasso  says all
landscape painting looks the same--like a
plate of spinach.  

I have met this man Bernard.  I was in the
cafe having coffee.  He came over and
introduced myself. He knows me. That is he
knows my work.  I invited him to sit.  I
always have time for a fan.

This is an interesting character. An
Englishman with Italian citizenship now
living in Germany. He is a teacher--an
English
professor. He also writes poetry. He
reminds me in some ways of Mother Ey.
Mother Ey could find a way to entertain
herself while standing in line at the DMV
waiting to apply for plates. B has this
quality. The Spanish have a word--divertido.
In the country.

Trott came to visit.  Vera was with him.   We
had lunch.  I invited Bernard to join us.  This
would provide something of a buffer to the
intensity of Trott.

Lunch was pleasant. Vera brought coffee  this
was a treat. We have been drinking this
piss--
ersatz. I have no idea what goes into
this beverage--walnut shells.

We agreed not to speak of the war--a major
effort for Trott. He is becoming more and
more anti-Nazi  and very outspoken in his
opinions of Hitler. I fear for this man  and the
people he chooses to chum around with.

B was in form. He spoke of Byron--another
Englishman  and pussy hound  who
abandoned his country for the life of an
expatriate. B is a Byron scholar and has
some good stories.

For example  did you know
that________________?

For example did you know
that__________________?

Did you know that Byron was a great
swimmer? He swam the Hellespont--a
treacherous stunt  and a story he never tired
to bore his friends with.  He was much
prouder of his swimming exploits than
anything he ever wrote.

B is great. I like this man.  If you are going
to be stuck in the country you may as well be
stuck with a Byron scholar who know  how to
tell a joke.




In the country.

I think B likes Vera.  This is never too hard to
miss. He looks like he had been kicked by a
horse.

B was in WW1--an ambulance driver. He met
Robert Graves--fellow writer and poet who
shared similar views about England.

B is a sport. He dresses up every day  shirt,
vest, bow tie. The shirt is pink. He has six
shirts  all pink.



Dinner with B.

B was married. He is still married. The wife
lives in Greece. She is also a poet. They write
and he visits her from time to time. There
are no children. This  he regrets. He loves
children.



Tonight I had a lesson on how to mix a
martini--according to B. The single thing
lacking in my education. Its done in this way:


(develop-- edit)


We drink martinis and discuss the war.  
Normally this is a  subject we prefer to avoid.
But tonight we get into it.

Hitler is a gangster.  That is the conclusion.
What is a gangster? A gangster is Al Capone.
It has to do with turf. Al Capones turf was
Chicago. Hitler has taken the turf concept and
applied it to the map of  Europe. Its taken a
while to figure this out--9 years.



B is a poet. I havent seen any of this work.  
He says he can only write poetry when he is
in love.

B needs a girlfriend. He is lonely. I think he
would like Vera. And she is a little glum these
days. She is worried about her family.  She
still has some relatives in Lithuania. All hell is
breaking loose in Russia.

She could use a little distraction. B would be
perfect for this. Normally I avoid playing the
role of Cupid. We will see.

The war has had this effect on us all. It
accelerates and disturbs the normal rhythms
of behavior and reminds  us of the fleeting,
precarious nature of life.


The word for B is perky. He is a Picasso type.
He will die with an erection.  His girlfriend in
Italy was 15. She was Neapolitan.
Neapolitans mature early. She was five nine
and had breasts like eggplant. She was hairy.
She was covered with hair  like a monkey.
She had hair on her legs, back, arms, chest.



Coffee with B.

B is beaming. He is always beaming.  But
today he is beaming with even greater
pleasure. He is up to something.



Last nite we had dinner.

It was me, Martha, Vera, B  and the children.
What is it about children?  They are always
around.



Coffee with Vera.

She said: how is your friend Bernard?

He is fine.

He is a character!

That he is.

I look at her.

She looks at me.

How old is he?

60.

She rolls her eyes.

I said: thats not a problem. His last girlfriend
was 15. He wore her out.



Coffee with Vera.

She had lunch with B in Berlin. I know all
about this.

She says: he has been writing these poems.

I ask to read one

No!

Why not?

Otto--they are poems. Its a highly personal
form of correspondence.

I pester her for a line or two but its no dice.

She says: its nice.  He is
simpatico. I get to
talk about myself. He encourages it. He
actually listens. He adores me.

This is true.

I said: he adores you.




Yesterday I was visited by my wife.

I never see this woman. She comes and
goes. I have no idea what she does.  She
leads a double life. Now she is involved with
public relief. There is a huge demand for this.
Berlin is swarming with refugees.  We also
have this labor force on our hands  Russians,
French, Poles, Bulgarians, etc. These are
wretched souls. They work like dogs and live
like rats. They work to produce weapons to
further complete the annihilation of their
countries. They are forbidden to socialize
with Germans  especially German women.
The penalty is death.

The children come and go. Somehow they
are managing to get an education.  The war
means nothing to them. Its exciting--an
adventure.



Martha and I had a long talk about our
relationship. We have this discussion every 5
years. Its her idea. I am happy. But she
needs to analyze things. Weve been together
16 years. During this time we have spent 7
days apart.

She wants to reassure herself the marriage
wasnt a mistake.

I say: it wasnt a mistake. We love each
other, we have similar tastes, we have two
beautiful children. We get along.

We have a history. This is important.  She
knows me. She knows all the little twisted
peevish likes and dislikes and dos and donts
and yes and nos and this endless dismal
litany in the nitpicking or anal compulsive
vein of the things I will in no way tolerate that
cause me to snap every time.  Its a long
list--and growing longer. She knows the
list--from a to z.

What is the point of exchanging one woman
for another?

There is no point. Its like moving from one
house to another to eliminate the neighbor
factor. It cant be done. You always have
neighbors. And they dont change. They are a
pain in the ass.

What about communication? She says there
is no communication. This is true. We dont
talk as much. But we have known each other
16 years.  What is left to talk about--  
flossing teeth?

She says: this isnt the point.  The point is
talking  period. You start talking and one
thing leads to another and at some point an
interesting subject is stumbled upon--  
something that would not have occurred if
you continued to sit there staring at each
other like two mutes. Its called stimulation.
Are you following me?

Yes, darling.




I have a girlfriend.

How did this happen? It started out platonic.
She is a ceramist.  She has a shop in town. I
wandered in one day. There she was. What a
body on this creature. She studied dance. I
never fucked a dancer. I have painted some
dancers. I painted Anita Berber.

I poked around and we traded chit chat. I
introduced myself.

So it began. We had lunch and went for hikes.

I drew up some designs for her pottery.
Picasso also does this. One day we were out
for a hike and took off our clothes and fucked
each other.
We have invaded France.

This took 3 weeks. Along the way we have
occupied Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark
and Norway. This isnt bad. Hitler rules
Europe. This is a man who came from
nowhere. He had no job, no friends, no
money, no education. He was a bum  a
drifter. He still has no friends. But the drifting
is behind him.

The only problem is England. Churchill insists
the English will fight to the end. Churchill still
has an ace in the hole: the United States. Its
no secret the United States must somehow be
prevailed upon to bail Britain out of this war.

This is Churchills job. He may swing it.

Trott has met Churchill. He has heard him
speak.  This is a formidable adversary. He
resembles Hitler in an important way: he
is a salesman. He is persuasive. He has a
simple technique: he grinds you down.  He
hammers and hammers and hammers until
you cave in from sheer exhaustion. Hitler is
the same.



This is interesting. Rudolph Hess is in
England. He jumped into a plane in the
middle of the night and flew to Scotland and
bailed out.

The story has created a sensation. What
inspired this crackpot deed?  Everyone has a
different version. The only thing they all
agree on is that Hitler has gone thru the roof.
Goebbels has his work cut out for him here.  
The entire country is buzzing with his news.
Barbarossa was launched  June 21, 1941.

Hitler nearly won this war. By the end of July the
Germans had advanced 400 miles into Russia. They
were 200 miles from Moscow. Casualties on the
Russian side were horrendous: In five weeks 900,000
russians were dead and another 600,000 taken into
captivity. The red air force was virtually annihilated.

The war was being fought on 3 fronts. North to
Leningrad, east to Moscow and south to the ukraine
and beyond  to the Caucasus mountains and the oil
fields of mailkop. The oil fields were a major objective.

Now there was a problem. Kleist  in charge of the
advance to the south had bogged down. Hitler was
advised to ignore this and concentrate on the drive to
Moscow.  Moscow was the great prize. The capture of
Moscow would be a devastating psychological  and
strategic as well  defeat for Stalin. The Germans had a
momentum going. This was the key. Nothing should
be allowed to disturb this.

But Hitler had been encouraged by the speed of the
advance and decided to take the risk. He diverted part
of Bocks army to the south to back up Kleist.

The drive to Moscow was stalled for 2 months  of
perfect weather  and when it resumed the perfect
weather had dissapeared.

It rained. The roads turned to glue.

Then winter set in  a little ahead of schedule. This was
bad news. There was no winter clothing. Hitler had
launched Barbarrossa in the belief that Russia would
be finished off in three months and no provisions for a
winter campaign had been made.

The weather continued to deteriorate. The temperature
dropped to 40 below zero (farenheit). The casualties
from frostbite began to mount. There were more
deaths from the cold than the fighting.

There was something else. it was a big country. the
supply lines were being stretched thinner and thinner.
The drive stalled 60 miles from Moscow. They could
get no further.

Fresh Russian divisions especially trained for cold
weather fighting had been called up from Siberia and a
counter attack was launched under Zukhov. The
Russians fought like beasts.

The Germans were out of reserves. The reserves were
exhausted. They were driven back. They dug in for the
winter.
Tennis  with Vera.

We have resumed the tennis. This occurs on
a private estate. The owner is Baron von
Kessler. Here I mingle with the ruling class  
or the former ruling class. I dont mind the
ruling class. I have reached a funny age. Its
all the same if its the ruling  class or the
non/ruling class or some  rabid socialist type
or working stiff or a  Christian like Trott or a
peasant standing there up to his boots in
horse shit. I dont give a piss. I only ask one
thing of my friends these days: they must
make me laugh.

We play tennis, swim and drink gin and
tonics. The war gets closer every day. We
have invaded Russia. Trott was right. I trust
these people know what they are doing.
Russia isnt France.  Its big  and there is
snow. There is snow and mud. The roads are
cowpaths and when it rains they turn to glue.
Its a nightmare.

Also:  Hitler  never fought the Russians.
Hitler fought the  French. But I fought on the
eastern front. These people have a
different attitude. They are fatalists. Life
doesnt mean that . They dont fear death. The
only thing that concerns them is taking  a few
Germans with them when they go.





Joachims recital.  

Ive been to several of these. They are an  
ordeal. They are an ordeal for Clara, for F,
for myself. But not Joachim.  He enjoys
performing. He is mr Cool. He has ice water
in his veins. The problem with him is
practice. Then its like pulling teeth.

Clara supervises the practice.  She hounds
him. Its war. She is trying to drill a little
musicianship into him--to recognize the idea
that there is more to this music business than
the correct playing of notes. The composer
has a plan. One clue to this plan can be found
in the dynamics. A rippling legato passage
is followed by a rattling staccato and a more
feathery effect occurs in the diminuendo
when it is followed by an accelerando and
you have the fortissimo vs the pianissimo and
so on and in this way you wind up with
something called the yin and the yang.  

Its the same in painting. To intensify a blue
we lay in a little orange next to. A warm
contrasts with a cool. A thick impasto goes
beisde a thin wash, etc, etc

I tell her: you need two teachers. One for the
lesson and one for practice. But the hounding
works. There is a payoff. He makes progress.


We gather for this affair at the house of F.

It occurs in the garden.  The piano--a
Bechstein baby grand--is moved outside.

Its a beautiful day. There are chairs set up
and a buffet. The teacher is Karl. Karl is a
homosexual.  But he has suppressed this
impulse and seeks the company of women.
He has a girlfriend. The result is a confused
human being.

Martha has a friend who  married a
homosexual. But she didnt know he was
homosexual. This perversion somehow failed
to manifest itself and penetrate her
love/addled brain. They married. The sex
began to dry up. She was disturbed.  She and
the husband had a talk.  The truth came out.
He preferred male sex. He had a boyfriend.

The woman sued for divorce.

Now what happened?  Did the husband--ex/
husband--move in with the boyfriend?  No.
He married another woman.

The recital begins. Karl makes a little speech
in his bi-sexual way and introduces the first
student.

This is Willi. Willi is 6.  He wears long pants
and a white shirt and bow tie. He is clean,
clean, clean.

He bows and sits down to play. The piece is a
simple beginners piece  the Bach ______in A
minor. He mangles this work to a pulp.

He stands, we applaud, he bows and bolts for
his seat.

Now its Josephs turn.  He is Willis age--6 or 7.

He also has the long pants and the white shirt
and the sparkling look. He plays a short
etude by Mozart. Not too bad.

Next: Claudia. Claudia is 9. This is an
adorable creature.

She wears a flowery dress and white socks
and flats. She has chosen to play a
Beethoven sonata of moderate difficulty.


She begins. Immediately there are problems.
She stops and starts over.  More problems.

She stops.  She sits looking at the music.  
She looks at us. We look at her.  She starts
to cry.

Karl leaps from his chair and goes to the
piano and takes her hand and leads her
away. They disappear behind some
shrubbery.

Several minutes pass. Karl reappears holding
the childs hand.  He leads her back to the
piano.  She resumes her seat.

She begins again. We hold our breath. She
arrives at a difficult section. We hold our
breath. The tension is brutal. She manages to
negotiate this passage.

Very good.  She continues.  Now she
stumbles at a perilous cluster of phrases
infested with arpeggios. Its like a minefield.
But she recovers and moves on.  Very good.

She has regained some confidence. She
continues.  She has some momentum. She
finishes the piece without mishap and even
with mild pleasure. She stands. She is
exhausted.

The applause is thunderous.

And so it goes.


Intermission. We attack the buffet. F can
always be counted on to provide a good
spread. Claras chocolate cheesecake is reason
enough to attend one of these functions. Too
bad Hitler isnt here.  He has a notorious
sweet tooth. Hitler has frugal tastes  except
for cake. Albert Speer can testify to this; he
has seen him in action. There is no
self/control . He can eat six custard tarts at a
time. There is a recently published book that
makes a connection between war and
glandular pathology. Is this why we have
invaded Russia  because Hitler reached  for
an extra fudge brownie?


Back to the recital. Otto is next. Otto is 10.
This child has talent. I remember him from
the last recital. He has technique, he is
aggressive, he enjoys performing. His
mother is a ballbuster.

The piece is by Scriabin. This is a formidable
work.  Its crawling with octaves played at a
lively tempo.  The tempo is vivace .  And in
vivace it must be played.  Its an unforgiving
piece. You make it sing. Otherwise it turns to
mud.

But Otto does well.  He does very well.  His
hands are the problem. He doesnt have the
spread to comfortably negotiate the
arpeggios at this tempo. Nevertheless  he
attacks. He flattens this thing.  He refuses to
be intimidated. He establishes momentum
and leaves  in the dust a trail of wounded
eighth notes.

Its the same like in painting: a mistake
executed with authority reduces much of the
curse.

He finishes, stands and bows.  The applause
is vigorous.

Joachim is next.

Clara is as wreck. How many times have we
been thru this.

He is wearing knickers, a  shirt in the Franz
List vein with a ruffled front and these
billowing cuffs and a bow tie. The bow tie is a
nice touch.

He is playing  Chopin. The Rondo in D flat
minor. A formidable piece. The dynamics are
of urgent concern here. Clara has been
laboring this point. She rants and raves while
he listens with a glazed look.

But its the usual. He walks to the piano,
bows, sits down and nails this thing. He is
cool as a cucumber.

There are three to go.

The next two are without talent. They play in
a dull and uninspired way. There is no
motivation. They would rather be
somewhere else. They are here because of
the parents. They finish with vast relief,
stand, bow and bolt for their seat.

One left.

This is Claudia. I perk up. She is 15. She is a
piece of cheesecake herself. What will this
one be like in 2 years? Or you could do it
right now. Its called jailbait.

There was a movie a few years ago called
The Private Life of Louis 14. Billy Wilder
worked on this film. He did a script polish.

He re/wrote 4 pages of dialogue and made
$1800.  It was an American movie about a
French king with an Englishman playing the
lead  an actor named Charles Laughton.

This was a great film. Charles Laughton was
brilliant. He dived into this part. Louis 14 had
a great quality. He liked his job  being King.
He took great pleasure in performing the  
duties of state. He enormously enjoyed  the
royal banging of young women. At the age of
75 he was still going strong. He aged while
the women got younger. Towards the end he
was  down to the 14 year olds--the convent
recruits.

But there was no sense of shock or outrage.
Instead the expression used was: the kings
morale is high!

This girl  Claudia  fits the part. She wears a
pleated skirt and shirt combo with shoulder
straps and ankle socks and flats--the convent
look.

She bows and sits down to play. More
Chopin. This one is Polonaise in B flat. She
starts off well.  There is talent here.  But
something is missing.  She doesnt enjoy
performing. There are musicians like this.
They prefer to play for their own pleasure.
In front of an audience they lose
concentration.

The first few passages of scales and
arpeggios are beautifully played--an
effortless rippling legato like glass. Then she
stumbles.  She recovers and stumbles again.
Now the thread is lost. She cant get it back.  
She struggles painfully.  But its no dice.  It
isnt her day.  She bravely  finishes the piece.
The applause is generous. She is shaken and  
hurries off.
Tennis with Vera.

The war continues. We work, wait for air
raids and play tennis. There is myself,  Vera,
Trott, Gottfried von Cramm and a man
named Stauffenberg  a soldier. He is a
distant cousin of Von Cramm.

Stauffenberg doesnt play. He is a spectator.
He is a soldier  a lieutenant. He just got back
from Russia. He was seriously wounded. He
lost an arm and three fingers of his left hand
and is blinded in one eye. He fought with
Bock in the Moscow campaign.

This war is a nightmare. The Russians are
fighting like beasts. And there are a lot of
them. There is an endless number. They
come at you in wave after wave. The more
you kill the more that appear to continue the
fight. They are dying not by the thousand
--or even the tens of thousands--but by the
hundreds of thousands. And still they come.
Wave after wave. They advance over the
bodies of their dead comrades. The ground is
literally a carpet of dead bodies. Sometimes
there are more Russians than bullets. Its a
little  unnerving. But its the weather that has
gotten everyone attention. The weather is
unspeakable. Its hitting 40 below zero. The
motor oil freezes in the engines. The ground
is so hard it must be blasted with artillery to
provide cover.

Also: there is no winter clothing. They are
fighting in cotton. We have Hitler himself to
thank for this. He insisted the war would be
over in 3 months. We would be in Moscow by
Oct. There would be no winter campaign.

Now he has decided to give a boost to morale
by creating a new medal to be awarded to
the men who have fought in this campaign.
They  have no winter clothing but they have
this medal--the frozen meat award.

I said to Stauffenberg: can we win this thing?

He said: we better.



Tennis with Vera.


Tennis with Vera.


No more tennis with Vera.

A tragedy has occurred.  There was an air
raid last night and a bomb fell on the estate
of Baron von Kessler and destroyed the
tennis court.
*installment 16: war