The History of History - By Ida Hattemer-Higgins Page 0,68
know he keeps the file cabinet in the second apartment because he doesn’t want even his wife to see certain letters. But the main thing is, the best thing is: I found a copy of a letter he sent to my parents and also a few of my mother’s she sent to him after my father was sick. So far as I can see, they started writing in November ’89. I’m surprised. To hear my father talk, it always seemed like Amadeus was lost forever. But then, my father was not reliable.
Here are the letters (I copied them!):
November 19, 1989
Hello Christoph and Sarah,
It’s cold tonight, and I write to you from the Isle of Youth, where the three of us were once together, do you remember? I’m looking out into the widest part of the river, to the Oberbaum Bridge, and your letter from the third is in my pocket.
I know you’ve heard the news: the world exploded. Ha-ha! The wall opened while I was sleeping. We were all sleeping, and the city cracked. It was overripe, that old melon. Juice and seeds are spilling everywhere now, and we don’t have to be strangers to one another any longer.
I wanted to tell you and Christoph just how it was. I didn’t go to the institute on Friday. Do you remember Florian? I walked with him up to Bernauer Strasse. The checkpoint was streaming. Florian thought we should walk over into the West right then. I said no! Ha-ha! The border would close up again while we were gone, that was what I thought. I’ve survived everything pretty well by never underestimating Honecker and I didn’t believe it, even if the man is deposed. I thought if we went through, we’d never get back, and you have to think about something like that. Honestly I kept thinking of trips into Hades, how you’re supposed to get stuck there forever. Sure, I’m a coward. They made us all into cowards, cowards and spooks. Although the spooks, they’re cowards too.
But anyway, Florian was annoyed with me. He didn’t understand, but he wouldn’t go alone. He stood next to me for a while on the Eastern side and we watched the other people crossing over, and I smoked for a while and then, I didn’t expect it, I hardly noticed it, I was crying like a baby. Everyone who saw my tears stopped and embraced me, that’s the kind of day it was, isn’t that nice? So you know, we decided to go through after all. I saw the chapped lips on the border guards, overnight they looked like nothing but boys. We walked into Wedding. I swear to God, the air smelled like it has never smelled. People’s faces looked different, their expressions changed. We walked between the Western houses, fine, bright, colorful houses. We passed a Turkish grocery and thought we’d go in. I touched the fruit. I thought of Persephone eating four seeds in Hades. (Why did she eat the seeds? Was she hungry? Or just curious? Or was it—and this is my theory—in order to taste something to remember the day by?)
I touched the fruit. I didn’t really feel like eating it. I’ve never had bananas and oranges and I don’t lust after them, I’ll leave that for the decadents. The fruit was interesting, though, for the sake of the day. I thought I’d eat it. But you know, I didn’t have the deutsche marks, the banks weren’t giving them out yet. But, ha-ha, you know, Christoph once gave me some deutsche marks. I never used them; I’d never dared. I walked all the way back home and got them out from under the floorboards, this all seems so ridiculous to me now, all these years we’ve spent under lock and key, it seems like a big joke already.
Florian waited for me the whole time on the other side. We bought almond-stuffed olives, oranges, and Gruyère. I stopped thinking about Persephone. The food was good, Sarah.
I got your letter when I got home. They’re still delivering mail!
Well, that’s all the news here. I send my greetings to Christoph in particular. I wish him a speedy recovery. Please relay to him, Sarah, whatever of my news in this letter you think might be appropriate. I realize he is sensitive and I leave it to you to decide what is best. Maybe now I’ll come and see him. I can go wherever I want now. That would be something.