Read Heidegger's Glasses: A Novel Online
Authors: Thaisa Frank
Heidegger's Glasses: A Novel (18 page)
Stumpf drove recklessly, screeching over the ice, and skidded into a snowbank several kilometers after leaving the Compound. Three large tanks of petrol crashed around in the back of the jeep. Stumpf was terrified Lodenstein was following him. He didn’t have a shovel, so he lugged stones under the back tires and spun them mercilessly until the jeep heaved free.
An auspicious sign
, he thought.
Goebbels must want me to deliver everything tonight.
An auspicious sign
, he thought.
Goebbels must want me to deliver everything tonight.
But when he reached the main road he felt panic and dismay. In his hurry to leave, in his exuberance about snatching the letter and finding the glasses, he’d forgotten that the Black Forest was six hours away. He’d imagined it an hour away—a peaceful drive in the moonlight—not over six hours away on a dark, empty road.
He reminded himself that Germany was a vast country, about to become even more so, and he should feel privileged to be able to drive such a long distance. Yet the sheer emptiness of the road unnerved him. And he kept thinking of Mikhail lying face down on the floor after he’d hit him with the dictionary. He saw Mikhail’s head, half-covered by his skullcap; his arms stretched slack on the Oriental rug. He was sure he hadn’t killed Mikhail. He was sure he hadn’t even hurt him. Nonetheless he distracted himself by imagining the best way to deliver the letter and the glasses.
Should he say
Heil Hitler!
before or after he knocked at Heidegger’s hut? And suppose Heidegger invited him in? Should he say he had to leave or share a glass of schnapps? He’d forgotten the orders were to deliver everything without a trace of where they came from and kept recycling the same alternatives: To come in or leave. To announce other missions or be mysterious.
Heil Hitler!
before or after he knocked at Heidegger’s hut? And suppose Heidegger invited him in? Should he say he had to leave or share a glass of schnapps? He’d forgotten the orders were to deliver everything without a trace of where they came from and kept recycling the same alternatives: To come in or leave. To announce other missions or be mysterious.
Goebbels would probably want him to drink with Heidegger; he approved of mingling with the people and spent at least an hour a day in the marketplace talking about Germany’s victory. On the other hand, Stumpf had forgotten his SS jacket, and it was sheer luck he’d been wearing boots instead of his wooly bedroom slippers when he hit Mikhail on the head and ran out of the Compound. It would be best to say
Heil Hitler!
and leave. And not to imply that he had other missions.
Heil Hitler!
and leave. And not to imply that he had other missions.
Toward dawn, light began to leak from the sky, and pines hulked on the side of the road. The cold, grey morning came too close, and Stumpf pulled over to get his bearings, careful to avoid snowbanks. He leaned back, began to nap, and startled awake when he heard crackling in his pocket. It was Mikhail’s letter—too creased to bring to Heidegger without disgracing the Reich. Thank God he’d been holding the German dictionary when he left; it would smooth out the creases. But when he saw the cover splattered with blood, he had visions of Goebbels’s rage in case he really had killed Mikhail, who was, after all, an
Echte Jude
—so important to the cause.
Echte Jude
—so important to the cause.
Stumpf put the letter in the dictionary without looking at the blood and pulled back to the main road. When the sun rose higher, more cars appeared and there was much waving and honking because of the swastika on the Kübelwagen. This waving and honking raised Stumpf’s spirits, and he was sure Goebbels would commend him.
Very good
, he heard him say.
Very good work indeed.
Very good
, he heard him say.
Very good work indeed.
Yet his spirits sank two hours later when he reached the Black Forest and found no directions to Heidegger’s hut. He’d expected a sign that said
Todtnauberg
as soon as he turned off the main road. Yet the more he drove, the taller the pines and dimmer the light, until he was in a canopy of darkness. Stumpf remembered a story about a road that led to a place where it was always night. There had been two peasants who’d walked down that road and were never seen again. He turned around—a treacherous maneuver. But the open road upset him too. He’d been expecting quaint huts surrounded by small trees. Instead there were large huts far apart on barren knolls. The people who lived in them were unimpressed by his hat when he knocked and gave him stingy directions to Todtnauberg. He drove higher into fields of snow until he found a monstrous Alpine hut with two attics, dark wood trim, and deep overhanging roofs. This was where Heidegger lived.
Todtnauberg
as soon as he turned off the main road. Yet the more he drove, the taller the pines and dimmer the light, until he was in a canopy of darkness. Stumpf remembered a story about a road that led to a place where it was always night. There had been two peasants who’d walked down that road and were never seen again. He turned around—a treacherous maneuver. But the open road upset him too. He’d been expecting quaint huts surrounded by small trees. Instead there were large huts far apart on barren knolls. The people who lived in them were unimpressed by his hat when he knocked and gave him stingy directions to Todtnauberg. He drove higher into fields of snow until he found a monstrous Alpine hut with two attics, dark wood trim, and deep overhanging roofs. This was where Heidegger lived.
Well done
, he heard Goebbels say again as he drove closer. But his voice was barely audible. Stumpf blew his nose and opened the dictionary. Two hours between all those words hadn’t smoothed out the creases in Mikhail’s letter. They were still as deep as the lines of an ancient palm. And since no respectable member of the Reich would deliver a letter in such miserable condition, Stumpf decided to leave everything outside the hut and drive away as quickly as he could. He rummaged through the box of glasses, certain Elie had shown him a pair marked
für Martin Heidegger
, but he couldn’t find them, so he settled on a pair that looked familiar but didn’t have a white tag. Then he tiptoed to the house, his feet making little imprints in the snow. There were three slippery steps before the hut’s dark door, and Stumpf decided not to risk them. Instead he left the glasses and letter on a stone and turned away. He froze when a voice called out:
, he heard Goebbels say again as he drove closer. But his voice was barely audible. Stumpf blew his nose and opened the dictionary. Two hours between all those words hadn’t smoothed out the creases in Mikhail’s letter. They were still as deep as the lines of an ancient palm. And since no respectable member of the Reich would deliver a letter in such miserable condition, Stumpf decided to leave everything outside the hut and drive away as quickly as he could. He rummaged through the box of glasses, certain Elie had shown him a pair marked
für Martin Heidegger
, but he couldn’t find them, so he settled on a pair that looked familiar but didn’t have a white tag. Then he tiptoed to the house, his feet making little imprints in the snow. There were three slippery steps before the hut’s dark door, and Stumpf decided not to risk them. Instead he left the glasses and letter on a stone and turned away. He froze when a voice called out:
What are you doing outside my hut?
Stumpf turned around and saw a short stolid man in black boots and thick black overalls. Without a doubt this was Martin Heidegger. Heidegger had a walking stick and waved it in front of Stumpf’s face.
Explain yourself, he said.
I’m making a delivery, said Stumpf.
What delivery? said Heidegger.
An important one.
Why did you sneak away if it’s so important?
Because I have other deliveries, said Stumpf.
That’s not a good reason to leave, said Heidegger. He pointed toward the hut as though Stumpf were a dog. It was dark inside—a cavernous hole that could swallow him up. Stumpf backed away and picked up the glasses and the letter.
Stop standing like a moron in that snow, said Heidegger. He grabbed Stumpf’s arm and yanked him to a cramped, cold room filled with coats, gloves, umbrellas, boots, and scarves.
Put everything there, he said, pointing to a three-legged milking stool that belonged in a barn.
I can’t, said Stumpf. It’s too important.
Then we’ll go to the kitchen, said Heidegger, steering Stumpf toward a room with low beams and a bed behind the stove. There was a table by a window that let in pale, peaked light. The table had a loaf of bread, a few forks, and Aristotle’s
Metaphysics
. Heidegger picked it up and waved it at Stumpf.
Metaphysics
. Heidegger picked it up and waved it at Stumpf.
Nothing like the Greeks, he said. I’m going back to the source.
Don’t let me interrupt, said Stumpf.
You already have, said Heidegger. And once before, too, at a conference about the nature of Being.
I never went to anything like that, said Stumpf.
Then your people did, said Heidegger.
I’m not with any people, said Stumpf.
What’s that then? said Heidegger, pointing to the insignia on Stumpf’s hat.
Something delivery people wear, said Stumpf, who realized he shouldn’t have worn the hat in the first place.
Since when does the SS have its own postal system?
Stumpf was about to say it always had. Then he realized he should say it never did. Then he heard Goebbels tell him not to say anything. He put the letter and glasses on the table and turned to leave. But Heidegger clapped a hand on his shoulder.
You have to come for a walk with me, he said. I want to know what you people are up to.
Stumpf said again he had to leave on another mission. But Heidegger laughed.
Don’t think you can leave without explaining yourself, he said. Don’t think you’ll get away with it.
He steered Stumpf back to the cold room and rummaged for a jacket, a green pointed hat with a feather, and boots. They were all for Heidegger—not Stumpf, who now realized Heidegger’s overalls were actually a ski suit.
Who except someone dangerous and strange would wear a ski suit indoors?
he thought
. No one safe enough to walk with.
Who except someone dangerous and strange would wear a ski suit indoors?
he thought
. No one safe enough to walk with.
They left the hut, and Heidegger led the way up a snowy hill.
Now tell me about your mistake, he said.
What mistake? said Stumpf.
You know what mistake. The fucking interruption.
I don’t know about an interruption.
Of course you do, said Heidegger. You’re one of the herd, and every single animal in the herd knows what the rest of the animals are doing.
They’d come to a slight rise. Stumpf held a pine branch to keep from falling.
I don’t know what you mean, he said.
The Gestapo interrupted me, said Heidegger. They led me to the hall. They made a fuss. At an important international meeting.
I don’t know about international meetings.
Then why is the Gestapo watching me? said Heidegger.
Stumpf had forgotten the Gestapo was watching Heidegger. Now he was sure they were hiding under mounds of snow, ready to leap out at him. He decided not to affirm or deny anything.
The fucking herd, Heidegger continued. Of course you don’t understand because you’re one of them. A bunch of noses following more noses. You’ve forgotten your roots. All you can do is graze.
Stumpf had no idea what Heidegger was talking about and panted to keep up with him. They came to a cluster of pines that gave him a momentary sense of shelter, but after a few steps the pines grew thick and the air almost black. They came to another clearing—much too bright. And now to more woods where Heidegger shook pine branches, drenching Stumpf in snow. He rambled on about the meeting, and Stumpf kept saying that the only meetings he knew about were meetings of the Party.
Every time they came to a clearing, Heidegger said it was like finding one’s way in philosophy. Every time they came to a cluster of pines, he said it was like losing one’s way. Then he said:
We always walk on paths that lead us back to getting lost.
Stumpf wondered if this was a paradox and grunted. Twice, the feather on Heidegger’s hat caught on a branch, and Stumpf had to untangle it. He wondered what Heidegger did about the feather when he walked alone.
Stumpf’s breath gave out in the darkest part of the forest, and he had to rest on a log. He looked around for wolves that might be hiding in pine trees. Heidegger hit him on the knee with his walking stick.
You haven’t told me about that meeting, he said.
I’ve told you everything I know, said Stumpf.
What about the Gestapo?
Stumpf tried to remember why the Gestapo was watching Heidegger: he was sure it had something to do with Heidegger not respecting the goals of the Party, but he knew the slightest allusion to this would incense Heidegger. So he looked at the pines and wondered if there were other creatures besides wolves hiding there: elves, for example, who would make him say just the wrong thing. He listened and only heard wind. Heidegger got up and kicked the snow.
You’re a useless civil servant, he said.
By the time they got back to the hut, the whole world was filled with shadows. Stumpf said he had to leave on a mission, but Heidegger pulled him to the kitchen where a blond woman with a crown of braids stirred soup.
Look at this, he said, pointing to Stumpf.
Stumpf said
Heil Hitler!
And Elfriede Heidegger saluted without turning. Then she looked at him and squinted.
Heil Hitler!
And Elfriede Heidegger saluted without turning. Then she looked at him and squinted.
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