professor zender's experiment - 5. schon

by coraline o'connell

illustrated by eddie el greco and roy dismas

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

click here to begin professor zender's experiment

click here to begin the 14th princess

zender had always been vaguely aware that his colleagues in the modern history department regarded him as a pompous ass. he had never let this bother him. he was also aware that his field of study - anticipatory history, which he had done so much to promote and make respectable, but which was now widely considered to be totally discredited as a result of the recent worldwide upheavals - was no longer one calculated to win him fame, or a position beyond the one he now held as department chairman. if, indeed, he could hold on to his position as department chairman. he wondered what had happened to schon, his most determined adversary within the department, and if schon would be back. no doubt schon, if he returned - had zender seen him at all on the few occasions he had visited the offices during the hostilities? - would have some cutting remarks about "anticipatory history", but would he actively mount a campaign against zender? schon's specialty was the minute chronicling of the births and marriages of the prussian and bavarian aristocracies since the formation of the second empire, and he passionately believed - and defended the belief - that "history is documentation". he invariably concluded his briefs by striking the table and exclaiming - "no more and no less." zender suddenly realized - why had he not realized it before? - no doubt because he had not thought about it - that he did not care if schon mounted a new offensive against him - might in fact, welcome it, if it did not involve any serious financial consequences. financial consequences! why had he allowed such a poisonous thought to seep into his curiously and pleasantly lassitudinous brain? for is there not always a strange - though often unacknowledged - for various reasons of courtesy and propriety - exaltation at finding one in a new situation - or leaving an old one behind forever? is there not a universal music in looking back and seeing something - no matter how previously cherished - grow smaller and smaller and finally disappearing on a receding horizon? but now the music, pleasant enough as it had been, stopped. and there was no recalling it. it was over. but the poison spread. money! zender sighed. maybe morgenstern knew something . he usually did. morgenstern was still at his desk, looking at a two-page newspaper - perhaps a different one? - when zender approached him again. zender got straight to the point. "has schon come back around?" morgenstern's almost unchanging expression was one of polite skepticism. now it sharpened a bit. "schon? what would you have with schon?" zender flushed slightly. after all this time - and after hardly setting eyes on him for four years - morgenstern still had the ability to irritate him. "i should have said, have schon or any or the others come back around?" "but especially schon, eh?" "i am still head of the department - so far as i know. until i am informed otherwise. i was wondering if there was much of a department left to be head of." "you mean much of a department left for schon to aspire to be head of." zender was the least violent of men but he felt that if he had a stick in his hand he would have hit morgenstern with it. "be that as it may," zender replied evenly. "have you, or anybody else, in fact seen schon?" morgenstern laughed. "you have been out of touch. schon is widely believed to be dead." "widely believed?" "well, you know how it is these days. no one brought his body into the department in a carpet and rolled it on to the floor. but it seems to be accepted that we will not see him again." "accepted by whom?" "by the count, among others." "i see." "you have not seen the count, i take it," morgenstern asked. "no, i don't think i have seen him - i don't think i have seen him since the war began." "ah. he popped in, made the rounds about two weeks ago." "yes, i believe you mentioned that he seemed unchanged. did he have any particular message to impart?" "he told us to carry on." "of course." zender hesitated. "i don't suppose, then, we shall see him again any time soon." "no." "unless something extraordinary were to happen." "extraordinary! " morgenstern pretended to return to his paper. "what extraordinary thing could happen? especially after all that has already happened - and not happened." "look here, morgenstern, can we speak frankly for once? we know that things have changed, and will never be the same again." "why," cried morgenstern, "have we not been speaking frankly? things will never be the same again - what a thought!" he tapped the paper he had been reading. "but do you know, i have been reading the exact same sentiment in this most worthy publication." he held it out for zender's inspection. it was , as previously noted, only two pages, and of the cheapest paper. "the new torch of light," zender read the masthead. "to distinguish it from the old torch of darkness, no doubt. why do you read such rubbish?" "why?" morgenstern pulled the paper back . "because my field is contemporary - not anticipatory - history - ha ha! as you, as department head, no doubt recall even after the world has been so totally changed. "yes, of course." "permit me to read this. it is signed by a fraulein grunbaum, whom i envision as a long legged amazon of about eighteen years, though she may be old enough to be our grandmother - ' this the time, not to try the so-called soul of mankind, but to abandon the idea of civilization itself, which has exposed itself as a total sham. the mask of civilization has been torn off and tossed into the street - -and the street itself has turned to water and washed it away. nothing indeed will ever be the same -' . there you go, your very words. eloquent stuff, eh? shall i go on?" "please do not. i am sure you and fraulein grunbaum could have a most interesting correspondence on the subject of the future of civilization. i have a more pressing question. if you know the answer, i would appreciate your sharing it." "and that is?" morgenstern made no effort to mitigate his smirk. "are we to be paid? and if so, in what? and by whom?" "ah. ah. that is indeed a question." morgenstern was no longer smiling, and shifted in his seat so that he was no longer directly facing zender. "you had to ask." "i take it, then, that you know no more than i do." "i know that there is still food and drink - coffee, at any rate - here in the building. as i told you, the worthy fraulein mommsen is at your service. " "have you been in the shops lately, and attempted to purchase anything?" "no, but i have heard travelers' tales. no doubt the same ones you have, since you are asking me." morgenstern seemed to have recovered some of his earlier aplomb. he folded his paper neatly and placed it on his desk. "and are we to stay in the buiding forever," zender went on, " like shipwrecked sailors, until the fraulein's stores of plenty are exhausted?" "i suppose the count may know something. if anyone does. if you care to approach him." zender fell silent. "after all, " said morgenstern. "you are head of the department." to be continued

professor zender's experiment - 4. life during wartime

by coraline o'connell

illustrated by konrad kraus and roy dismas

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

click here to begin professor zender's experiment

click here to begin the 14th princess

time is time. it is what it is. it is not considered an "element", like air or water, because humans can not grasp or manipulate it in any way. it can not be stopped, slowed down, speeded up or reversed. you raise your eyebrows, dear reader, at such trite observations. but consider, that all of the philosophies and religions, the most successful and the most humble, all that have so exercised the passions and violent impulses of humans through the millennia, those that have commanded armies of tens of millions and those that consisted of a lone prophet being jeered and pelted on a street corner, have as their common thread that they do indeed aspire to stop, slow, speed or reverse time. the myriad movements and multitudinous prophets who filled the streets and squares of europe after "the great war" had their fair share of those who aspired to "reverse" time - to return to a golden age, usually one that the potential convert had living memory of. but by far the greater number appealed to the desire to speed up time, and bring the happy fruits of the perfected future to a swift, rather than a slowly gestated glory. how many would would be messiahs, standing in the soup and bread lines in their tattered overcoats and castoff military uniforms, seated on rain-slicked sidewalks or slouched across the bars and tables of unlit cafes, had to make a hard decision - the present or the past? how many knew the difference? how many made their choice based on what we may fairly call the "market" for one or the other? reader, it is no intention of ours to mock these poor fellows (and occasional fellowettes). who is to say that the positions taken in the highest chairs of philosophy and jurisprudence, may, in the parliaments and cabinets and privy councils of the world, are not dictated by similar considerations? ah, you grow restless again. civilized as you are, the signs are unmistakable. stop. i beg you! - well, i don't beg you, but i politely request that you bear with me... let us return to our tale. a tale, so far, of two men. one who has been somewhat perfunctorily introduced, the titular hero, professor zender. and one who has so far only been hinted at - the worthy professor's quarry, the moderately (very moderately) famous frommer. zender had spent the years of conflict in an advisory capacity to the minister of propaganda. in the early days he had visited the offices of the minister only when summoned, which was not often, and the visits hardly inconvenienced him or interfered with his schedule at the university. as the conflict wore on, his attendance was demanded more frequently. by the end of the hostilities zender was, for all practical purposes, the minister and ministry of propaganda. fortunately for himself, such decrees and pronouncements as he issued were not acted upon as there was no one left to act upon them. all the clerks and functionaries in the department had been theoretically sent to "the front". actually many of them had just walked away and gone - where? some back to their native villages in the former empire, others to the streets and coffee houses where they would, in the coming days, become the objects of the professor's curiosity. zender stayed at his post until the end, spending much of his time at his desk reading fichte and schopenhauer and looking out the window at a solitary tree, not much frequented by birds. on the day that "peace" was proclaimed, zender left the empty office of the ministry of propaganda in the old imperial building (the one behind the palace), locked it, pocketed the key, walked down the corridor (none of the other offices on the floor, the seventh, seemed occupied), down the sadly unpolished broad staircases to the sound of an occasional typewriter still clacking birdlike somewhere in the labyrinth, and returned to his office at the university. he had not held military office or worn a uniform the whole time. nor had he, during the conflict or at any other time in his life belonged to a political party. nor expressed any adherence to a church or religion. his colleague morgenstern was at his desk in the modern history department. he barely glanced up from the two page newspaper he was reading. like zender, he had been absent for long stretches during the conflict. they had never discussed with each othertheir occupations during these absences . "good morning, zender." "good morning." zender placed his walking stick in a rack beside the door. he hesitated. "been back long?" morgenstern seemed mildly amused by the question. "a couple of days." "the place seems quiet. any staff on hand?" "some." "can a man still get a raspberry torte around here? is frau grimm still here?" "my, you have been gone a while, haven't you? when was the last time you popped round?" zender shrugged. "four or five months ago." "i see. no, frau grimm disappeared a few months ago. but we have a replacement who can whip something up for you. who won't poison you at any rate." "and coffee?" "oh, coffee has never been a problem, the count has seen to that." "ah. and how is the count?" "as ever." "not been discomforted by events, has he?" "oh no. it would take more than a world war to discomfit the count." "quite. the bells still in order, then?" "yes. just ring and fraulein mommsen will be with you." morgenstern turned his gaze back to his paper. "perhaps not as quickly as frau grimm used to be." zender entered his private office. as head of the department only he had one. he did not ring for fraulein mommsen right away but stood looking out the window. he ran his finger along the windowsill. it appeared to have been dusted. the desk also looked dusted. he had not left anything in the office that might be stolen. he sighed. would everything be as before? he hoped not. 5. schon

professor zender's experiment - 3. the unseen man

by coraline o'connell

illustrated by konrad kraus and roy dismas

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

click here to begin professor zender's experiment

click here to begin the 14th princess

zobo went back into the shadows behind the bar. morden looked around casually. insofar as it could be ascertained in the gloom, none of the drinkers seemed to paying any more attention to the professor and himself. "why frommer, professor? perhaps i can answer your questions. about the times you are interested in. after all, i was here, no less than frommer." "i suppose you were frommer's right hand man," the professor replied good-naturedly. foul as it was, the schnapps he had imbibed seemed to have put him in a good humour, and relaxed his stern manner towards his former pupil. "well, no, but i did talk to him once or twice, at the bar." "ah, you talked to him once or twice at the bar. and what did you talk to him about?" "i can't really remember. i probably flattered him a bit, maybe tried to get him to buy me a drink." "and did he buy you a drink?" "probably not, i will tell you one thing about frommer. he was not very generous." "no?" "no, he didn't know how to take care of his men." the professor laughed at this. "what an expression! take care of his men! you make him sound like some type of military officer." morden was mildly discomfited by the professor's mocking tone. "well, it don't have to be military. i mean anybody who wants followers for anything, who wants to be a big shot and have people look up to him, he's got to know how to treat them, make them feel wanted. like he respects them." "and you, morden, have you ever wanted to have followers - followers that presumably you would treat right." morden took a sip of his drink. "oh, no, i just try to get by." "a most judicious stance. tell me, what do you remember of frommer's ideas? did they impress you?" "ah - well as to that---" "do you remember what his ideas were?" "why, i can't say that i do. the usual, i suppose, for that sort of fellow. times were bad, it was somebody or other's fault, they had to be dragged into the light, it was time to take to the streets. all that. then you pass the hat." "i see. and who exactly was to blame according to frommer and his followers - his loyal men. the bankers? the jews? the pope?" "i can't really remember, professor. i am sorry. it was a while ago." "let me ask you this, then. if he is passing the hat among his followers, and then is generous with his followers, what is the point? is he not just giving back what he has taken in the first place?" "oh of course, in the beginning. the trick is to attract some attention, then get some swells on board, maybe even some ladies. then you have got something, then you can treat your fellows right." the professor nodded, satisfied. "i see you are indeed acquainted with the drill. good." he took a taste of his drink and looked around the room. "now we just have to find frommer." "but don't you yourself know what frommer was about, professor? if you don't, why are you interested in him in the first place?" "i told you, i am studying the ratio of action to words and fantasies in the industrial nations." "oh, of course." "it is not frommer's ideas - such as they were - or his words that i am interested in, but his translation of them into action." "i remember now." "let me ask you one last question about him. how seriously do you think he believed in what he was preaching?" "oh as to that i couldn't say. i never could read minds." and with that, morden finished his drink and put his glass down on the table with a thump. ah, poor readers- such as may still be with me - perhaps at this point you are feeling as much exasperation with my poor self as the worthy professor zender is feeling with the inarticulate morden. patience, patience! but i see i am already trying your patience. therefore i will share with you the little information that the professor had already acquired about frommer, prior to taking the step of searching for him. frommer is a recognizable type. a type thought of as "modern" in this "modern" world, but does that mean anything? perhaps such men (and very occasionally, women) existed in babylon, in tyre, in atlantis, in cities forgotten to history. the key word is "city". "city" defined as a congregation of humans large enough to admit of anonymity for individuals - for an individual to be able to "melt into the crowd". a villager can be ostracized by his fellows. he can be driven from the village into the wilderness, he can be stoned to death, he can be ignored by his fellows, he can be, in the curious british term, "sent to coventry". but he can not exist among his fellows unseen. but the the unseen man is still a man. like his brothers left behind in the village, he still talks, if only or mostly to himself, and he still dreams. his talk is the same talk - pathetic boasting. his dreams are the same dreams - of impossible conquests. sometimes the unseen man puts himself forward as a leader of his fellows. more often, as a prophet or religious teacher. (if he has any interest in attracting female followers, this seems his best course.) in the last resort, he is a poet - or perhaps a combination of prophet of poet. fame attends these poets in about the same proportion as it attends the preachers. a villon or a rimbaud emerges from the shadows as often as an augustine or a luther. but i digess. i apologize again, dear reader. oh, to have been born into an age when digression was a virtue, a sign of - smile if you must, but not laugh - "culture". ah, i have brought a smile to your lips at last! so. frommer was a member of this tribe of poet-preachers, who appeared in the cities of europe and asia in locust-like numbers in the aftermath of the late hostilities, when it seemed that every man who had survived the bombs and bayonets was ready to do battle with pamphlets and proclamations...

4. life during wartime

professor zender's experiment - 2. zobo

by coraline o'connell

illustrated by konrad kraus and roy dismas

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

click here to begin professor zender's experiment

click here to begin the 14th princess

the establishment in the alley to which morden led professor zender was in no wise advertising itself to passers by. a dirty window below street level emitted no light, and the stout door at the bottom of a set of iron steps could barely be distinguished from the brick wall. the professor waited on the street level as morden descended the steps and rapped on the door, three times, then two. not, the professor thought to himself, the most unbreakable code. presently the door opened, barely emitting light into the stepwell. morden entered, and held the door open while the professor carefully descended the steps, feeling in front of himself with his stout stick. whoever had opened the door for morden had apparently gone on ahead, and the professor and morden navigated the low gloom - gentle reader , is there ever any high gloom? - forgive the digression - but then, is not digression the soul of narrative? - but i digress. they made their way through the gloom - a gloom caused as much by smoke as the absence of light - to a table in the center of the room and seated themselves. the professor made out a hulking form behind a serving bar at the far wall with its back (apparently) to them. the form disappeared and (again apparently) appeared at the table. "snappy, old boy, what can i get you?" if professor zender was surprised or amused by this sudden apparition, or by his old pupil's having descended so low as to answer to the nomenclature of "snappy", or by the surprisingly almost genteel voice of the interlocutor, he evinced nothing. morden, or "snappy", rubbed his hands together. "well, professor, what will you have? a schnapps?" "why not?" zender addressed the hulking form - "the schnapps, barman, it is good?" "no, guvnor, it is not good. in fact, it is right horrible. if you wanted good liquor, you had better have gone to the archduchess's fancy dress ball, if you follow my smoke." "i perceive you are trying to impress me with your honesty. consider me impressed. this schnapps of which you speak so disparagingly, does it have immediate adverse effects?" "it might, squire, it might. this stuff will make christ crawl back on to the cross, pardon my expression." "well then, do you have beer - " "no, no!" cried morden. "the beer is worse than the schnapps. much worse!" "very well, very well, let us have two glasses of schnapps then." "short or tall?" "tall. tall, so that we might not interrupted." and the professor turned his head aside to indicate the exchange was over . but the loquacious server was not to be dismissed so easily. "you know, i thought you might be a lexicographer when i first saw you." "oh?" "yes, you know, studying the language patterns and quaint locutions of the netherworld. when i used the expression 'follow my smoke', which if the truth be told, i just made up out of my own head on the spur of the moment, i expected you to whip out a notebook and write it down immediately." "really? how illuminating." "so i suppose you have some other avenue of exploration?" "a most judicious observation." "i figured you for a professor even before snappy called you one. you might be surprised how many professors we get in here." "i doubt that i should be surprised in the least." the barman raised his eyebrows, as if inviting further confidences. "i am suffering from a raging thirst, as no doubt our friend snappy is also." "certainly, guvnor, certainly. point well taken." and with that the barman smiled and moved away. "zobo does tend to run on," morden observed after the barman left. the professor just shrugged. "he doesn't get many opportunities for conversation here. despite all his talk of professors, most of the clientele here just want to drink and stare into space." "worthy goals." zender looked around for the first time. his eyes having adjusted to the gloom, he made out four or five solitary figures at different tables, who were indeed staring into space or at the walls. "so." morden chuckled. "i could not help being amused at poor zobo's guess that you were a student of words. not words but action, eh professor? with you it was always action that counted." "indeed. specifically, i am studying the ratio of action to words and fantasies in the industrial nations." "ah." morden's eyes glazed over only slightly at this asservation. "and even more specifically, such ratios as applied to those with the most extreme views - extreme in terms of the surrounding social nexus, of course." "of course. but here is zobo with our drinks." zobo put the two drinks on the table and the professor reached into his pocket. "no need for that, sir. you can settle all at once when you leave." "excellent. and look here, when i do settle up, perhaps i could have a few words with you. you seem an observant fellow, perhaps you can indeed help with my researches, arcane though they be." "it would be a pleasure, squire." and zobo smiled more widely, showing surprisingly white teeth. "i am honored to have made so positive an impression." "i surmise, from your slightly insolent manner of addressing my respectable self, that you might be no stranger to the barricades, eh?" "why, as to that, sir - the rivers of history do not flow smoothly in one direction, nor do the streams of memory. as we gaze into their dark waters, what shifting shapes do we see?" "indeed. but tell me, while i have you here, are you acquainted with an individual named frommer?" "frommer? not fritz frommer?" the two glasses having been set down, morden raided one to his lips. after an initial grimace, he took a healthy draught. "yes," replied zender. "fritz frommer." "i have heard of him - he was quite the beau of the ball, the flavor of the day, a few years back." "he was not a customer here?" "oh, no, not unless he came in disguise. you see, sir, he had his own establishment. and quite the establishment it was, a center of noise and controversy and - and -" "intellectual upheaval?" "exactly, sir, intellectual upheaval! ha, ha!" zobo looked around the room at the hunched, solitary drinkers. "not such as you see here." 3. the unseen man