Posted by: Sk | February 22, 2009

Chapter 27: Green colibri

That day there was a green colibri in the court when we left and it was almost warm. She said she was going to go through the texts with some calm and I made a copy for her she took with her. She said she would come back in a few days and took my telephone number. That happened three days after. Then, she said, in fact we had gone to some cafè in order for her not to blame me at least for the quality of the coffee, that she didn’t see anything excessively bothering, all in all, but that was after having verified that none of the contents was stolen good belonging to some dark office. She even asked if I had been in some security prison or had been working for some agency. I said no to all, which was the truth, and as if escaping her natural character, she said: “It looks so real.” “If it is more real than it should, better don’t tell me.” I said, and continued. “If there are accidental coincidences, they must be little. And I suppose they get lost in the general plot. Nobody would ever get aware of it.” She did agree on that, almost reluctantly, and it is true that she really looked as if it were impossible I had had the information from anywhere else than my imagination. Public space for work, no spy program, no acces to data, no contacts. Well. It seems appalling as evidence. “Can I publish it then,” I asked. “As it is now?” She thought about it for a few minutes and I lit a cigarette, but that was just to make her nervous, because she really looked as if she had stopped smoking a few weeks ago and was still going through the horrible side effects of such a deplorable decision. “Yes.” She said. “Can I have it written?” I asked. And again some minutes passed, but a little less, as if the very fact of taking such careful measures would be in itself reassuring and I said: “Just wait. I get the paper in a few minutes.” There it was. She signed, and of course she didn’t know, although perhaps yes, that I didn’t trust her at all, and that I thought perhaps she was hoping through some tolerant disposition to finally get some confession out of me, forgetting after, whatever she may have said before.

I leaned back and said, “that’s a marvel. I mean, it’s true that an autograph isn’t that bad either. I’m sure it’ll make me get up the appreciation of a certain number of people.” And laughed, because it really looked like blackmailing I would never make, on the other hand. That day it seemed as if she really wanted to ask even more questions than the day before but I felt honestly less afraid and in less mood to give all details of my life, private and public, so that it became of evidence that she would have to make some further effort if she wanted to get an answer. In fact, she seemed to be very curious, feeling which she didn’t look to be very familiar with and this, gave the general impression that she was in some disposition as if she was transgressing some inner regulations, which, by the way, she had just imposed on herself all alone by herself. And this, by the presence of the very feeling, as  she hadn’t been that far so as to orientate the feeling towards some questions. Sask did always look like that. As if the very presence of a feeling was necessarily a transgression you had to take greatest care with, after having had a suspicious look at it, and this, of course, but that’s my nature when I’m a little bit more relaxed, arises the compelling desire in me to wake up the greatest number possible, if ever possible, without of course ever taking any kind of responsibility whatsoever on the derived consequences. In fact, she seemed to have gone through some existential confusion for a few days, the kind, what is real what isn’t, and to have decided, but that’s Sask, whatever you do, it had to be either black, either white, and what, there were chapters, and consequently it was fiction, that was an evidence. I wouldn’t help her to clear up the rest, which to be honest, had been the object of enough trouble for so many years. She started to really ask some questions, but indifferent ones, at least from my point of view, and I even made some joke, and said:”It’s not an official cross examination, I may tell lies? It’s the privilege of the social life.” “You just answer if you like.” She said then, and it was really as if she was biting the lower lip a little bit only, kind you realize you can’t get out of custom and think it may look stupid. “I do always answer to questions. It’s less tiring than to make them up myself.” She asked where I was born (in Madrid), and to which school I had been (The German school of Madrid), which was my nationality (German I said, but that was calculation) and then, if both my parents were German (no, my mother is Spanish), if I had some family members (Many, 2 brothers and 2 sisters and even an aunt in Pakistan – I always mention, it’s strange but I had the feeling that the very fact of having an aunt in Pakistan made you participate to some mysterious, veiled, oriental fairy tale, so that I tended to insist on the fact, even if times changes and horrible suspicions were pending on those people, which, on the other hand I could not verify, but that was certainly because I prefered to stay in my fairy tale, which, to the say the truth, in those countries is nearer to reality than whatever you may figure out besides). Where I studied? (Philosophy at Paris IV; Sorbonne.) If I had been really walking to Jerusalem from Paris? ( – This point seemed to fascinate her somehow. But it’s true that to jump from helicopters has some kind of psychic ressembling structure with  the walking down from Paris to Jerusalem and cross Turkey in winter – Yes. I said. I even have some pictures. But only very little. In fact, for reasons of security, we didn’t have a camera after Viena. We got one after, arrived to Jerusalem, and I have some pictures from Israel and the way back through Turkey. But that’s all. We had a diary, too. Parts got lost – or are in unknown hands – and the others were finally gathered in Oriol Vilaseca’s hands, who started a webpage with them and some comments Conchi had made on the whole, in Spanish. We had to write the diary, it was sometimes exhausting, in weekly periods. Every six weeks, as we were six, you had to stay after the arrival and write down whatever had happened during the day. The laziest one was Oriol. He used to write just one sentence or two. I remember I was the specialist in psychological observations. I don’t know if I would laugh if going through the stuff again.) How often I had been in Israel? (Three times. Once while arriving from Paris, once while arriving from Sina and one in 2003. We made another expedition in 1994, from Ramses to Jerusalem through Sina. There I started to gather some suspicions about the accuracy of interpretation concerning Pentateuch. We needed one month. To stay 40 years at one month’s distance from furious egyptians, was some kind of strategical mistake, I started thinking. And China is related to sinaic (chinese), and they stay most of the time in ‘Sin’. Perhaps sinning, but most probably in an older name of China ‘Sin’. And there is a snake, too. The one they use when they get ill after having eaten the rotten birds. A snake is a very common traditional chinese symbol. Perhaps you still have it. It is said that the tribe Dan took it away with them and they even had some quarrel with others on the subject. It was very exciting because we found the ancient path, the ancient caravan path. Accidentally in fact, because we were said by Egyptian authorities not to leave the main road if we had no guide. And we left the main road – I had asked if it were forbidden, and they said, no, it’s just that you’ll get lost. – And we went into the desert, and bedouins were showing us the way. There was a part where some bedouins shew us engravings on the rocks with caravans and camels and I asked, what had happened. And they said, a long time ago, there had been something like an earthquake and the rocks from the sides fell down on the quite broad path, and it was made useless for caravans. The wells, the oasis, it made you go back almost to Moses times, although we were not that many and had no egyptians on our back. I was already ill, at that time, but I could still find the path. It was not easy, honestly. We had old maps from around 1940 but leaving Sina, the Greek monastery, we were said by some bedouins that the path we were going to take was very dangerous, that we would die, that there was no water. I started laughing and said, yes, die. But the only one of us who spoke arabic, Esteban, got panicked. He started shouting around and crying and said, we would all die and I sent him back – took away the functions of translator from him – and I was obliged to learns some few arabic words. Like water, like mountain. Some I remember, some I forgot. We may have gone lost. A woman who was keeping some goats tolds us to go to the army post. We went. they gave as supplementary water in tins and said, there is no water after. This is for two days. And they invited us to lunch and started dancing, making music with tins and knifes. They shew us the way. I have a picture of that place, we were allowed to take with soldiers out of duty outside of the camp. We left. More than the path, which was relatively easy because it was a wadi, it was hysterical Esteban shouting around that was causing disturbance. Now find the path, with someone drumming on the ground saying we’ll die, we’ll  die. We didn’t die. But it became difficult. We ran out of water and the last bit of the path was confusing, seemed not to be well transcribed on the map. I decided, as I had no orientation criteria, to follow the steps of a camel having passed the day before. It led directly to the oasis. Luckily, and it was almost night when we arrived. It was very beautiful but the people around were stressing.) So, you know people in Israel? (A lot. But not very much, personally. We went through some kibbutz. I knew an Israeli from University, Shiri Tsur, and she knew someone who was called Eymel Wardi, who had come to Paris for some studies. I met her again when we arrived to Jerusalem and had a coffee at the hotel in front of King David. I never saw them again. But there was someone who was very funny in a kibbutz, it wasn’t a kibbutz, but for me all is a kibbutz, with ostriches. It was funny because it was the day after having staid near another kibbutz, some university with a president’s name. I was fed up because of the constant quarrels concerning leadership, as the very moment we had arrived to the desert I had assumed the function of guide and map reader, due to the possible danger. The others wanted to do that, too. I tried once and it was a disaster. Arriving to Israel it looked more secure, there were roads and pannels and lots of things. There was a discussion that day again. I said, ok, but we separate groups. Thus they left earlier with the map and we, my brother his future wife myself and a Greek, left alone a little after without map. We arrive to the kibbutz with the correct name. A woman in a car stopped and said, what we’re doing there. We explained and asked whether she had seen another lot of hooligans like ourselves. She said no, but went to have a look. They had disappeared. I started laughing. There was only one single cross road, I said, they have the map, and they manage to get lost. The woman came back, she invited us to her house and told us to take a shower and made something to eat while we were waiting for the others. “They’ll tell us. I told to the children and they’re always the first to know.” Which I found very intelligent although I really didn’t know whether I really wanted to find them. Unluckily they arrived a little after, and my greatest disapointement must have been visible on my features. There we are, I thought, new quarrels arising. Didn’t they get lost in the desert. In fact, in spite of the fact that they had the map, and that there was a signal, they managed to take the wrong road, and one said after, she had seen the signal and she hadn’t said anything because the map would be right – if you read it well, I thought – and thus they went the wrong way for about 10 km and had to make a whole turn. There were many people, but we rarely had more contact with anyone, only with this one because she was engaged in the active finding of the ‘independent fraction’ of the group. They never asked for the maps again. And that was already something. It was then that I started thinking the Sodom and Gomorrhe events had really happened, because there are meteorite impacts in upper Negev, when you go up to the desert about 60 km from Eilat. Fire and sulphure, I said to myself. I even went as far as to think that the cut that makes the actual border between Jordan and Israel was caused by the impact. Because river Jordan is of very peculiar nature, winding itself around the ground, and even more so, the death Sea. If there is a cut in the ground because of the river collecting salty water in the depth of the earth, a violent impact may provoke an opening of the ground. I don’t think thus that there is any relationship between the Death Sea and Lot and Lot’s wife. If the impact – it is quite impressive and there are two of dimension of several square kilometers – was that violent, they must have been beyond many mountains if they were to escape. I worked very much on this story because I thought it fascinating. I saw the angels as some remark, the sky is getting darker, heavier, animals behave strangely and you want to tell to the others and they just make fun of you and one day you decide you have to leave, at once, now and when you do see that something is happening you know it’s better not to turn yourself to see. I thought there must have been highest cosmic radiation. When Lot’s wife turned herself, her eyes were caught in this and she died. Perhaps even her whole body, ’salt’, like white grains, can be a burning injury, some cancer. But I think they were at least 300 km away, otherwise they would have died.) “You staid in Istanbul, after?” “Yes, for almost a year. I always keep record of the things I do. It’s some kind of family tradition. My father has stll the whole amount of the electricity bills he has collected for over 20 years. I don’t know why. You do things somehow as a custom and then you think that you’re lucky because it is obvious that if you say some things that are involving for others, the first thing they will do is to say, it’s all false because you’ve never been there. I have letters from people from the hospital and some other little papers. I can say that I was furious, after. Because at the begining you don’t know what is happening, but after you start gathering pieces together and you say, the bastards. Not that it did actually bother me, from a certain point of view, because you start thinking quicker, but it is no behaviour. It’s more than criminal to my understanding. You start understanding what a mars man could be.) What you say is true, then? (I wouldn’t say it is true. Most of the facts are accurate. I don’t know but with time, memory came back, extremely precise, with an enormous amount of details I would have never taken care of before. Perhaps we have a security memory somewhere in our brain, a double hard disc. I don’t know. The thing is that you can’t say it is the same if you consider facts from a ‘normal’ point of view, or from a point of view, where everything is ordered in more fundamental patterns of understanding. It is what I see, what I saw, how I understand it. Facts are most exact whenever I don’t veil some evidences behind imaginary stories. I’ve never been in a high security prison, I’ve never talked to someone who has been there, I’ve no factual information concerning this, it’s pure imagination which leans itself on logical conclusions. If these people think like this, if this and this has happened, if I know this and that and I’ve read this and the other, I’d say, a security prison would look like that. Perhaps I’m trying to justify myself. The kind, look, I’m reconstructing this and it looks very real. I’m reconstructing that out of pieces of my own memory concerning personal experience and it must be true, but I don’t know. For me the truth is an ancient symbol, something you put into something else. I have one half. If one goes and says, perhaps there’s something about it and goes and finds a plant and makes some chemical analysis and says, this has this and that effect on the brain, then I’d say it’s true. It’s matching with objective truth. The half of the other half. I have the right as writer to give a perspective as long as I don’t pretend to more, and that’s what I do. To my understanding the facts related are serious enough so as to be considered from a more official point of view, but that’s not my job. In fact, you don’t know what you really want. I know things people don’t know and this means I know that the very fact of not responding for such a happening will have implications for a nation whole. And sometimes you say, because you’re really furious, shall it. Shall they go on saying I make all up, and they’ll see what will happen. It’s visceral, something very deep, that plays with knowledge that is not known and with the common belief you may go on doing these things without consequence.) What do you mean with consequences? (Look, when you walk down so far and in so difficult conditions, you see many things. Many. I give you just an example. We were arriving near to the Taurus mountain chain towards the south of Turkey. We arrived to a village. It was a man who had been in Holland and was not only wearing a leather jacket but even obliging his wife to do so, who gave us some shelter. There were no shops, there was nothing in the whereabout. He got furious, for a reason or other. In the morning he told us to leave, and I said, whether it was not possible to have some tea, even if paying, if he wanted. It was cold, very cold. He said no. I said ok, we left. The next village was 15 km away. Three hours or more in those conditions without anything in the stomac. I said, makes endurance and didn’t think of it anymore. When we came back from Israel a few months later, we took the same path up. A day before arriving to that village we staid at some place where we were asked if we had been there, before. I said, yes. The woman told us that the man was dead. I was struck. It’s not that he was dead, it may happen, it is that the woman was associating this event to our’s passing by. When we arrived to that village the other day, accidentally, we met the woman, his wife. She was wearing the turkish veil and seemed to say thank you to us, as if we had freed her of a monster. I spent a lot of time thinking about this event. How strange. Apparently the man was considered ‘wicked’. Apparently hospitality is holy in Turkey. Apparently the infringement of some religious obligation had caused his death. As if the people had found a severe reason to put this person under pressure. Inside of his own wickedness, he had no defense. He dies.

Facts, events are little details that may restructure completely your way of thinking. Death is not the same. It starts depending on other causalities, on moral faults, on pressure of the environment. And you start analizing things. He died this way, she that way. You establish there is a causality between a moral fault and death. Or a structural fault and death. When you’re really very furious you can do two things. You know this fault is going to lead to the death of many. You know if it is taken seriously, only some responsible will pay for it. You ask yourself whether you really want to be taken seriously. My position is not very clear on that. I know it. This is why at the same time I say things very seriously and at the same time I always leave some doubts pending in irreal stories. I know it is true, as facts, I know it has consequences. It is ten years of a life or more that may have been my death. It’s a murder in intentionality and an attempt of murder in facts. It’s the factual distruction of a life for more than ten years, professionally, socially, everywhere. It’s no joke. I don’t know why people think, that if you believe in some religious principles you have to say yes and amen to everything and pardon everything to everyone. I’m sorry, but this is not the case, on the contrary. Israel’s God is not excessively kind. Neither is the one we say son of the other. And I know that very well. A fault, if not corrected, falls on the whole body that has not taken measures for the responsible to be punished. I mean, honestly: they steal my card, and accuse me of having robbed it myself. How ridiculous. For 200 French Franc. You put you reputation, your career in danger for shit? You know what an effort it is to finish as a foreigner this peculiar University? Don’t be stupid. After I’m accused of black magic, because an idiot says we’re making prayers with candles. See. It’s true. There was no light in that place in Bulgaria. Necessarily we were using candles. We used to read the ancient testament the evening. Is this forbidden, too? I mean, as far as I know, the ancient testament is not censored. Wasn’t, then. Perhaps it is now? After I get the information I’m a potential terrorist. What is this as a concept? You’re driving justice in Appollo XIV to the stars of the virtual, or what? Potential. Facts. What have I done? Nothing. And it continues. You’re drugged. You are forbidden 10 years of use of bank account for 200 french francs. You’re stolen your titles. You are closed into a psychiatric hospital because a psychopath seems convincing enough to French authorities. It’s not one, it’s not two. It’s excessive. You finish by saying, you’re rotten the guys. Stay where you are and leave others make you pay for what you’ve done. I tell what I’ve seen, and hope, you won’t take it seriously. Look at something, my world is a world that is configured differently than other people’s world. In my world, there is a relationship between the leather jacket of the ‘Dutch’ and Betty Catroux’ statements, ‘leather jackets were insane’. I have stated something somewhere. I know Betty Catroux quite well. I use lower channels of transmission, as I call it, to say: be careful. She makes a video. This relationship does transmit signals, connections, messages. I don’t have to claim for 1.000.000 euro compensation. No. I prefer you there, dying of fright, falling into paranoia of the virtual and the potential, with candles in your minds and the shadow of death all over. If I get a compensation for that, I loose the effective power in the ‘explanation’ of what it means to stay in such a state for over 10 years. It’s a choice. I have a very bad temper sometimes precisely because I believe in the possibility of rescuing someone out of death, eventually. You can’t have the one without the other.) And why a high security prison? (It’s the army, not that much the prison that interests me. Army is a regulation in death or life conditions. Although nobody knows to establish the relationship, truth is, too. There are two bodies in social organization. The social body with a certain number of organs and the army. One deals with peace, the other, with war. Thought has these two fields, too. A social word, which is more superficial, presents things one way or the other, gives more importance to esthetical presentation, to subjective interpretation and the kind. It’s nice, but it is not depth. Army is death and truth is in the surroundings of death. If you take your job seriously, you end up very quickly in realms that a nearer to a battle field than to a social meeting. Israel is the only country in a near to war situation, I know. It thus fitted well the construction of my plot. It allows the dealing with problems in such a context that it puts people’s consciousness in a situation where his life may be in danger, and, from a certain point of view, it is the only way to induce the vital importance of thought for a human being. To think yourself in a situation where you are in prison, you see, possible death penalty pending – perhaps it’s a little exaggerated but you need thinking it – puts you in front of the past, the present and the future in such a perspective that you may just underline what is really vital. You have to find the principle of all your doings and present it in such a simple way that it may be understandable for others, and it’s up to them to judge on it. It obliges you to reveal all your ressources, to a certain extent, because finally, yes, finally, you really don’t want to die. Not that I would mind, if I’m honest. It wouldn’t make me afraid. This is why some things look incongruent from a common point of view, where you see things from the perspective of conserving your life at all cost. But that’s the thing, you have seen so many things that you know subjectively it’s not that easy to go beyond borders as I usually put it. I mean, it really looks as if there were some other kingdoms far beyond, and some of them don’t look excessively reassuring, let us say. I mean, I wouldn’t like to end up there. I wouldn’t make of it a manifesto. Kind “Convert yourself to enter the kingdom of heavens”, it has factually no meaning in our times. But there is a subjective situation, let us say, you obtain whenever you are convinced of something which determines your general position towards things. You know this and that will lead to the lower realms of death, and you take harshest positions against these ’situations’, ‘dispositions’, ‘possibilities’. When you say then “And if you die”, it is more a warning than a menace, it’s more an engagement than an expression of hatred. And this is exactly what makes the difference in understanding, that I confront myself to, as I know may way of doing and saying will necessarily be wrongly understood. But even if you don’t care, you don’t want to die. For other reasons. Bacause there are things you haven’t done, because you think you have to say something, because you are really convinced people are mislead in general patterns and not that you think then of a possible life after, it is that they don’t enjoy their existence and this is something you have to consider, too. Not that it is easy. You have finally little in common with others. Whatever you do takes enormous proportions even if you’re just having a coffee somewhere. You don’t know what you can do, where you may really fit into, who you may talk to and this makes a decision difficult, for me at least. In the hypothetical situation you see both things appearing at the same time, both possible endings and then you say, perhaps you manage to convince yourself it were still worth the while to go on living with so many injustices all around and such a chaos and such a disorder. As it appears to you at that moment, at least. I mean, if you take things seriously, if I had been in that prison, really, I don’t know whether the real amount of horrible things observed all over for so many years, would not have pushed me to drive provocation far enough. And it is not that you say, personally, -although- but the perspective I had for so many years does make the world appear from the very angle of its imperfection, its weakness, its irrelevance. You simply finish by giving it no importance at all. And I wanted to transmit this evidence through a subjective positioning towards subjects. I mean: you see the world saying ‘no, you can’t say that, the image of this one, the shock of the other, the general balances’ and you stay there and say: “what damned image, what chocolate, what fright, you can’t leave people dreaming because it doesn’t solve problems, you can’t cover mistakes because it will fall on a whole, you can’t consider a shock, because the shock after will be even graver, and you start shouting around and say it to yourself and you even become wicked and you go on shouting around and you become furious and say these stupid people who hold themselves for responsible, and what, yes, and what can you do, and you can’t do anything.” And there you are. You have to present things somehow and you put yourself into a prison and say ‘it’s documents that have escaped’ or ’someone else did it’, and then you say ‘it’s a novel, take it as you like’, and better, yes, better, don’t take it seriously… I have to be honest. There is a moment when you start laughing. But you get angry, too. You see people with their social positions and their riches and wealthes and their pretended responsibility and you may have problems to survive when you finish by knowing that it’s you who have been solving vital problems for years. You and what they will call some idiots. The problem that is repressed, that is forgotten, that is pushed back to the unconscious falls into the general psychic realms. People with some diagnosed oligophrenia or whatever mental disease as they put it, are extremely sensitive on these realms. They keep balances, they transmit information, they push things into one direction or the other. They are not respected, they have no survival, they are spit on, they are considered as living from a general generosity, and you get furious and say: can you please tell me what you have been doing all your life? If to keep appearance is a warrant for reason, take this, take this and take this now. And solve it alone. It’ll give you some lesson on how ‘generous’ you are while allowing second class creatures to survive. And not only. You’re taught not to boast with things, you keep yourself in the shadow, it’s a teaching, you don’t make the other ridiculous. But there is a moment where you say, well, it’s that or nothing. I simply can see that any longer. The pushing with the ellbows to get 5 seconds tv and then say I’m the star and what I say is true, and this, on top of being idiocy is probably picked from some friend or whatever. You say, look the guys – when I became very angry I used to call them the ball thinkers because Greek say ‘to mialo sta arxidia tous exoun’ – they have their mind in their balls – what you do is definitely bullshit and I can prove it, as you don’t consider what I say, I won’t consider what you say and what at the end … who is thinking, you or me? And things like that which enter your writings almost unconsciously and then you say, ‘poor guys’ and then you say ‘what do I care, did you care about me?’ At the end you’re having an enormous fun being really but really wicked and there are only but really only women looking intelligent all over and men look but really only to be good for reproduction and as esthetical arrangements not even well presented, and you laugh and laugh and in the depth it’s just some way of pointing at the evidence: “Are you really alone in the world, the guys? I mean, you’ve done everything alone? You’ve no mother, no sister, no wife, no daughter, no friend? Do I have to get 2000 USD for every inspiration crossing my mind as you do? And how many do you get from women’s mind? And what, at the end, is your so intelligent social system built up on the payment for stolen good from women? It’s true, I’ll be paid little in that case. I’ve stolen nothing.” And you go on laughing. In fact it becomes more a parody, a mirror image of an evidence: “That’s what you have done to us. Two random women in each hollywood movie, paid half the price, esthetically arranged who you are doing the favour of leaving a place to. I can do that, too. And with questionings on the esthetical arrangement.” )

I finally managed to invite her for lunch. It’s true that I had the feeling I was talking too much, but I really didn’t care. And it’s true, too, that she was somehow loosing her time if she wanted to get something substantial out of me (depending on what you understand under substantial, it’s true). But were it as it were, and even if it may have happened that she was just recording everything in order to trap me somewhere else (you become suspicious when you write that kind of novels), I hadn’t had such company for a long time, so that I just looked for a while as if I made easier confessions at home and suspecting on the other hand (but this person really looks like this) that she hadn’t eaten for about three days, or just some miserable vegetables without olive oil, I confessed I had some marvellous steacks at home that could be prepared with french mustard (no, it wasn’t porc), which seemed, perhaps the first, perhaps the second in  some aleatory combination, a convincing enough argument so as to move her down the steps again. She looked quite lonely and somewhat lost in this foreign country, and yes, I even suspected she had run away without permission, but that’s things that happen, and in any case, there are personal questions you’re allowed to solve by yourself. And perhaps it wasn’t even true.

After a while, she really started to look much better and less pale, which usually makes angry dispositions disappear quicker, so that you always have to take into consideration all possible factors, and she asked, whether the people mentioned in the novel did exist. “Some of them,” I answered, but not all. That’s the funny thing about it. For me, in any case. You were an imagination at the begining and then you were real, but that was an accident I had to deal with with greatest care and which, finally, made things even more interesting. My father is real, that’s a fact. He was sending in translations while I was writing, and I was really making webpages. Maya exists, too, but I included her in the novel just for the fun. Well, I’d say if she complains, you promissed to send some t-shirts from Israel and you didn’t. Does this not deserve at least a high security prison? And I helped you out, so don’t complain. In fact, that was some extravagancy I allowed myself because I liked the character and thinking of possible interactions, she played an excellent role. And I had really enjoyed the pictures she had sent from all over. And she had really sent in that invitation: she solved without wanting great parts of the plot – if she liked it or not. Others are not so politely delt with. Some are even rudely mistreated. But the whole deals with information in general patterns, with what people believe or not. “Look, it’s written in internet,” and it is true, it’s like that. And this has something to do with most disturbing gossip, with what is reliable information, with who is a reliable witness, with how different patterns of understanding change the meaning of what we say, with how we may deliberately distort someone’s sayings in order to make him look guilty, in order to distroy confidence. You say, I’d never do that. And you find a situation where this happens and that happens and bam, you believe everything without verifying. People who tend to gossip are easily caught by truth looking like gossip, and frankly, I don’t care whatever may happen as consequence. They didn’t when they did, and there are very wicked people. People don’t know to shut up and sometimes they simply don’t want to just because they want to hurt. As long as you can justify yourself – there is no defamation whenever you prove but only if you distort evidences or tell lies – I thought it an excellent way to get rid of what I called a social illness. But it’s combined with humour, with strategies to avoid prosecution, with little stories that are there to divert imagination more than to transmit any valuable information whatsoever. I mean it’s funny. To tell you the truth, a very wicked idea crossed my mind a few days ago when accidentally I found some pictures from the journey to Jerusalem. I was making researches as if I were Doris Wilheim. I knew where I could get some information but was doing as if I didn’t. After a while I find the page and saw pictures I hadn’t seen before. And marvel of marvels, on one of them there is Shiri Tsur, and I get curious – I have no pictures at all from the time I was at University – and say, ah! what did she become. Last time I had made some researches I hadn’t found anything but that’s a long time ago. And now there was a movie and some other things all around. I say, what’s this. Some something of soldiers who have made some resistance. I started laughing and said to myself, well there we have him, Baruwth, a long list of contacts and cinema and the kind and some similar subject. Shall he say, it’s nothing. And I couldn’t. I still don’t know how things are read, but I may understand that it could be read in very ambiguous ways. And what if they’re really after me, I think, you never know and shall this poor Shiri be put under observation, too. For nothing. No. I can’t do it. It is perhaps the only moment all over I had serious considerations on consequences, and I thought it was a good moment to betray Oriol and make him bear the burden of all my faults – free yourself, if you’re a man – see, the madman was really more or less following what was going on and writes the last cross examination at the very moment the police or whatever arrives and is even confessing it is him and this because he believes I’m going to be blamed for everything. Now, that’s reason enough to have him closed in forever, and my japanese general says, from very far, that it is obvious that the israeli army has made up a false responsible in order to present the obvious belief in some general innocence – he wouldn’t say – but, the real responsible has bought herself up, that’s obvious. (in Japan, the very fact of looking guilty is in itself some proof of guilt.)

And I became serious, and put myself quite responsibly behind my sayings. And then you arrive. Now see, whatever happens. I tell you I may have done so, and I do, by telling you. And I say: it was enough to scotch this information on the site.


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Education  shiri tsur’s Education

Université Paris Sorbonne (Paris IV)

       1989 — 1992


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On The Objection Front (Ratsiti Lihiyot Gibor)

Shiri Tsur

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There you’re, objecting, too. It looks the same from some point of view, it’s exactly the contrary from another, in any case it shows some similarity in the objection. Now, don’t say I’m involving her, I’m just giving an example. It makes good publicity for your movie, don’t say anything, Shiri, and what are you doing there, finally, you finish by asking yourself? Sorbonne is troubling, I finish by telling myself and don’t believe anything at all. I mean, would you not think that she’s taking the side of the ‘objection’ just because she’s giving word to them? You would. I wouldn’t. I haven’t seen the movie but I rapidly conclude such conclusions just from the past and other contexts.

It makes you think about things. About the past, about hidden intentionalities. Free studies are never for free and you are given some ‘further task’ you are never talked about. I never take anything for free and I quickly made a deep alliance with Madame Lassegue who shared in vast dimensions my rejection for German politics. If it were a service for your ‘dieu et patrie’, whatever you want, and for free and without taxes. Of course sometimes you have to hit inside of France if you want to arrive to your goal. “Les collaborateurs, Madame Lassegue, les collabarateurs!!” No answer. Well, I’ll find them for you, see if German politics doesn’t find tunnels to France through them. This is how I solved my question and felt very satisfied with this conjunction of forces.

How did Shiri pay the gracious herself, then? France’s politics is palestinian friendly and to largest extent furthers critics on the Israeli government, state and army. I know that. How is this poor person going to get rid of her moral debts, I ask myself? We had something in common. Something very, very strange which had struck my attention. Not that I saw her very often, and not that we talked very much. But one day she told me the following story (censor if it is not of your agreement): Her father was doctor in the army. He was given a bible for services by one prime minister or whatever it was. She said “and my sister wrote some words on it of – I understand – some protestion (perhaps an objection already).” How strange. I thought. I was very young when I was testing already all sorts of means to evade from a concentration camp or make pass forbidden information or something from one side to another of borders. I was 17. I’m not legally responsible, I think (it’s more than ten years ago, don’t take notice for the list of accusations) and I’m in Lübeck. I’m given (!) a gun by a neighbour, a real one but working with air. I don’t understand of guns. Such fun. Were it possible to transport this to Spain, crossing two borders. The French border is a moskito net for elephants, I don’t care very much. But the Spanish one? I write something on my passport, some objection, too with red handwritten letters. The border control stops at this remarks and asks, where it comes from, ‘my brother did it’, I say. And they let me go without further control.

Look at this, I thought then, like a same strategy. Of course I didn’t tell her anything about it at that moment. (No, the gun I got rid of the moment I arrived and made it a present to soemone else – it was perhaps a secret denunciation.) But you stay surprised. Qué raro. And you deduce other features of character that start from that little fact. If I take this as starting point (I mean honestly, Shiri, seen what has happened to all these objectors and you make a film of it), I’d say, she builds up a bridge. She pays her due to the French government and at the same time, lets the others talk. She doesn’t become critical, she doesn’t say anything in favour. Judge by yourself. (Sorbonne teaching, which finally, we may share even from very different points of view.) I’m sure you are not excessively convinced of the possible innocence of the ‘exposures’. Whatever there is, it’s not following orders and this is in contradiction with a concept of the army. Like that, it appears clearly and without hurting French concepts, it reassures general patterns of thought. I’d say, it is like that, even without having seen the movie. But I’m sure not many see it like that. You wouldn’t. I’m sure you’d suspect some deepest link to revolutionary movements and the kind that do not exist, I’d say, in the depth. And it’s the same with what I write. It’s difficult to judge on things and sometimes it takes a long time in order to get a clear picture.

In fact, you can only claer up your own situation through the accidental finding of data that seem to have nothing to do with a clear determined line you may have put yourself as task. It’s true that my texts are rarely proving and most of the time, just show. What is to show, is to insert reality into some general way of thinking, accidental happenings, coincidences that seem not to be related, and all of a sudden you realize that you’re giving back reality as such and that the confrontation with this reality does make appear real features of characters, deepest thoughts in your unconscious. In this example: I’m happily driving my novel to its end. There is only one chapter left when I fall, really accidentally, on some information on Shiri Tsur. All of a sudden, the past comes back. Some reminders of good behaviour and decency and professional ethics. For God’s sake, my unconscious says, what am I doing here in my prison, have to get out of here at once. I thus blame Oriol for everything I’ve done as there are logical possibilities this to happen and … make a Hai Key. I have been talking about Hai keys before, it’s a japanese samurai key which allows exactly that: to betray the seeming to be your most honest friend. The japanese hai key had been the object of all my admiration because it seemed to justify in one case and very rare, the betrayal of confidence. For a Spanish mind this quite common German behaviour which has some ground in France, too, to put you in confidence, for example, make you say and confess whatever and then use this, distorted, against you in some trap, is one of the biggest bastardizes you may ever think of. You simply don’t do it. If you can’t stand someone or if he’s your enemy, you keep cold distances or aggressive attitudes, but you don’t play friendly friends. My general disapproval of such attitude, which on the other hand, I had no means to fight against, had as consequence in my general conversations with national psychic types, some Japanese (who I called the Japanese General) to make some loud protestation. Well, I say, explain. And he shows exactly that. The extreme difficulty of diverting your own ‘fault’ on someone whose real, hidden fault is that high, that he merits even worse. You can’t trap him although you know what he’s done. If the situation allows at that moment with greatest coherence to push a blame on the other, you save your life and the other is punished for real faults. That’s why he will be the only one to understand the deepest morality of my behaviour which will cause greatest psychic disturbance in Spain or in England. You have to think of this, too: for Spain and England, Israel has ‘made up’ another responsible. As I had seen this as only possibility to solve the problem of betrayed confidence, it jumps out of inner ressources without thinking of it twice, when I’m confronted to the very shameful situation of thinking the past in Sorbonne, here incarnated in Shiri, has been put in some high security prison. Without having done anything, Madame Lassegue would say, which is twice as bad, because, she tends to think, this common trouble maker has some peculiar hability to make of an accusation the revealing of general disfunctions, reason why, she would have never gone as far as to accuse me of anything.

In fact, Shiri Tsur solves my problem, if she wants it or not. It is easy to show through another example, how difficult it is to keep general balances and some professional ethics and solve your personal problems at the same time. What looks of guilt here, is of innocence there, what is of innocence here, is of guilt there. Having to deal with general abstract problems you’re constantly hurting general beliefs and this makes you appear as guilty everywhere, if not for this, certainly for that. You have only one choice: to be honest with yourself. I like this, I don’t like that, I act this way and that way, it implies to take decisions that may look contrary to your interest or understanding but it’s like that. Do you respect that? (Otherwise I accuse you of intolerance.) You do. I’m free, and the problem is now how to present things. If Japan comes in help, the better.

At the end, and that is perhaps some general conclusion which appears clearly in the confrontation with other examples, as possibility (are you under observation, Shiri?), it becomes clear that in our times, the moral behaviour, the strict respect of some most ancient rules, like paying debts in time and somewhat tortured ways, like not boasting around with things, like not getting involved in politics if you’ve studied at Paris IV (Shiri finished at Paris I, thus she is allowed a fourth of political engagement), etc. makes you be guilty whatever you do in a determination through general behaviour. Most people don’t do that, most people are ruling judges in opinion, you’re wrong whatever you do.

Of course, you ask yourself what Shiri was hiding away that day, when she blamed everything on her sister, you suspect, but that’s presumption. I needed three years in order to get an answer, but I finally got it and it’s true, really true that I didn’t tell anyone, not even her.

See what I mean. I’m working at these levels ever since, as far as I remember. Someone says something I suspend as possible hypothesis to some possibilty of similarity in general strategies. It is possible that Shiri, like myself, is accusing her sister of something she’s done herself. But: I don’t know it. If it is true, she’s using exactly the same strategy than myself. Let us presume it is the same (hypothesis). If it were so, you must have been hiding away something. What are you hiding away in these lines (inside of this story)? Time passes. One day I phone to say, if she doesn’t want to have a coffee. “Euh. Yes, but, I’m meeting someone else.” (Let’s say) Inside of my ’story’ she’s caught in some fault, and says, which is quite peculiar ‘you can come if you want’. Reconstruction: She’s hiding away she’s meeting someone to her family. Being about to be caught, she distracts attention … look, the same way than myself. It was near to Saint Sulpice, I remember, and quite satisfied with my discoveries, I didn’t share, I establish unconsciously, almost, some deepest link in strategy to this miserable betrayer.

These observations have no formal patterns. They don’t exist. They’re not known. There is no truth deriving of them. Although I know there is. If you’re using these mechanisms to verify, to get information, to establish links from – if I see back now and for unknown reasons – your very childhood you have an amount of knowledge which is factual, which has no social recognition and which is not proving but is going to determine your behaviour and your positions. You solve the problem of politics by a ‘personal engagement’. I’m not creating fractions, nor movements, nor groupments, I have been offensed horribly by someone and this justifies some aggression. Ah, the one was accidentally the leader of a revolutionary movement or chief of a gang? Bad luck for him. Should learn to respect philosophy.

In fact, you’re keeping parameters of justice in some environment that is hostile to such ‘functionings’ because it may end up by proving the involvement of many in criminal activities. The fact that you can’t justify your way of doing, does put you in a socially inferior position, and even more so, if the probably aggressed are using social means in order to aggress you, the kind, social image: I’m  married, I’ve children, I’m well dressed, I have a good social position, I’m right. When there is one word against the other, justice says, that the presumed guilty is innocent. Our societies have shifted towards a system, where it is enough to sell some image in order to be right, and this is a serious disfunction. It is enough to accuse someone of being homosexual, in order for his word not to be taken seriously anymore. It is enough to point at some little fact having happened in the youth of someone, in order for him to be guilty of whatever possible crime after. What does it mean? The hiding away, the false accusation, the deviation of fault, are parameters of justice in wrong criteria.

Whatever happens, I’m guilty. And this is a social fact. On the other hand, you know that the disfunction in justice is going to provoke mistakes in general appreciation (diagnosis, for example, evaluation of strength, whatever). What do you do? You put yourself into prison and try to see through which means you may still be considered innocent. If you manage doing so, then you know there may be some social environment where you may going on finding information, testing reliability and verify statements without this necessarily implying you’re finishing by taking on you the whole burden of guilt of humankind. Perhaps it’s better than being shot, at the end.”

Sask asked then what ‘paramana’ means. “It’s a safety pin, in Greek. Tula adored them, and I often bought some for her, because it made me laugh. Because it made things appear from the right light. It’s not what you’re offered, it’s the accuracy in the finding the moment when you’re offering something. A safety pin costs cents. But she was so happy. In fact, positions can be justified sometimes just keeping in mind this evidence: we’re shifting values towards things that haven’t, finally. It’s true that you may get something that is worth 200.000 USD. But what. What do you care. What is it? If someone finds exactly that you like at the very moment you were about to jump out of the window, will it not link you to the other person in some mysterious, almost holy way? Django told some story like that. (His name was Nico, but he was called Django.) He had just married. He had a daughter who was very small. And his wife was ill of cancer. He thought of jumping from the window that day, his whole world had broken down. And when he was about doing so, and was leaning outside, a picture of his daughter fell out of his pocket. He looked at it and said, ‘I can’t do it’. An accident. Sometimes lifes are hold by very little things that attach our minds to ‘angels’. And whenever we betray this, we loose the meaning of our lifes.

You can’t make a politic of state to oblige people to betray this. The small, the little, the affective attachment to a circumstance which is linked to ‘angels’, and which may have vastest implications. I’d never betray Turkey, even after 10 years in Greece and in constant on war leaning situation. You can’t. If you do, you have lost your face in front of yourself. I couldn’t aggress the USA, either. If they hadn’t intervened in the second world war, I don’t know what would have happened. It’s not that I may agree with whatever the USA does, it’s that I don’t care, it’s not my business. And you finish by discovering that there is some political intentionality which is aiming at the distruction of this. The people around me think this way. The better for them. As long as they respect a ‘non involvement’, for me, there is freedom. If I’m obliged to participate, there is dictatorship. Where are we? In Germany. In France. Is the accusation of on dictatorship leaning situations, justified? It is. I can say, I have proofs.

You leave. It’s obvious. I prefer my little safety pins to Mercedes and central heating. Do you become a betrayer this way? For them, you do. For yourself, you hope the worse won’t happen. It’s very difficult to judge on situations and even though there are parameters allowing doing so. To give explanations may take long. What I did was to try rationalizing my ’system’, the justification of my positions, the rational understanding inside of a very peculiar methodology. I have to put this into a story, because I don’t believe in the ‘It is like this’, I believe in the ’I believe this’ and this belief is in constant interaction with other people’s beliefs, sometimes it matches here, sometimes there, sometimes at all, etc. But the guiding principle is that: my observations are based on the subjective value of a safety pin, of a fallen from the pocket picture and in fact it does nothing but say the evidence that we have neglected those in order to run behind fake values.”

“And why do you call, what you say ‘me’, Sask?” “I don’t know. I use to talk to my characters. Put them into false German situations of security. My principle ‘the belief of God is a trauma of childhood’ confessed in such a dubious situation that she didn’t like her name. I said ‘doesn’t matter, will make you a new one.’ It was not easy. What name in some syllabs would say my principle convincingly and easily enough? After a long time I arrived to the conclusion that Sask was quite convincing. If you think in the logic of that principle, you see appearing some very short, decided sentences, dry and definite. Without explanation. Something like a gun’s shooting. Something like Sask. But not only, playing with words, you say ‘’s ask’. Don’t forget the question. Inside of the quite almost brutal appearance deriving of such a logic there was something very polite hidden inside, even tender, which made me laugh all the time. I always said “Ala. Ya la hemos engañado otra vez.” (That’s it, we’ve cheated her again.) To give you an example. We arrived to some kibbutz not very far away from Eilat. There were Rumanian working there, alone. It was under construction. We tell them we’re going to Jerusalem. They are very happy. They prepare something to eat. Cheese and bread and many things. All of  sudden a car arrives. Someone who is very angry jumps out of the car and with very bad manners starts asking questions, shouting around. I say to my brother: “Dile al petardo este, que no tiene ninguna atribución oficial para preguntar tantas cosas.” (tell this silly guy he has no official atribution to ask so many questions) And my brother says: “Who are you to ask so many questions?” The man is furious, but stops asking questions. We’re said we can’t stay there. “Bueno, we can stay outside of the kibbutz, or is this forbidden, too – no, I say, or does it belong to you, too?” There is some silence. “Do what you like,” he says, “but it will have consequences.” “May it,” I answer.

This man is making some distorted Sask appear. It is some Sask, in the general logic, but the man has somehow gone a little bit beyond frames. On top, I think, he’s making Rumanian work on Saturday, which is forbidden by the Ancient Testament. We go outside. It is night. I fall asleep, weighing in my mind the possible consequences. A Rumanian comes and wakes me up. He says “They say you’re no pilgrims. You’re cheating people because you want to have gracious food.” “It’s not a bad idea, either,” I say. And he shows us some food for breakfast. “They told us not to give you anything. But this is for you.” And leaves. My Sask character is this. Someone who shouts around all the time and then, says, ok, it was a little bit hard and sends some dwarfs to repair the misunderstanding. It’s not made up. In fact, the whole experience in Israel is caught under this principle. Like the happening at the border. Like the happening at the orthodox kibbutz. You just have to peirce the logic. Say, you go to swim and you’ll be left free. I could have never dreamt of a more fascinating general character for my novel. Because it breaks appearance. It obliges you to go behind appearance. You can’t say, how wicked, at once, you have to see what happens after. And this deserved this very peculiar name. Seen the rarity of the character, it had to be made up, completely, although leaning on some Russian Saskja, for example, which had its reasons to be, too. Or on a satellite. Canadian Sask. Or on a tribe in the forlorn regions of Canada, the Saskatschewan. And accidentally it is something like that: A cold frozen satellite controlling the world, hiding away some tribal customs of survival.”

Sask said then: “Why did you say, the German passport was calculation?” “Because I had the choice between the Spanish and the German nationality when I was 18. I thought about it. I didn’t really like these German. But then I said, you can only shout at them if you’re inside. If they want it or not. And I prefered to have the honor and obligation and privilege of shouting at them rather than to hide myself in Spanish arms, which I thought ‘coward’ as not confronting themselves to the ‘monster’ properly. There it was, the task of my life. A paper which said nothing about me but was just the passport to the possibility to shout at someone, a whole people in this case.”



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