What was there then in this book which could mean so much to me and yet remain obscure? I come back to the word creative. 1am sure that the whole mystery lies in the realization2 of the meaning of this word. When I think of the book now, and the way I approached it, I think of a man going through the rites3 of initiation4. The disorientation and reorientation which comes with the initiation into any mystery is the most wonderful experience which it is possible to have. Everything which the brain has laboured for a lifetime to assimilate, categorize and synthesize has to be taken apart and reordered. Moving day for the soul! And of course it's not for a day, but for weeks and months that this goes on. You meet a friend on the street by chance, one whom you haven't seen for several weeks, and he has become an absolute stranger to you. You give him a few signals from your new perch5 and if he doesn't cotton you pass him up - for good. It's exactly like mopping up a battlefield: all those who are hopelessly disabled and agonizing6 you dispatch with one swift blow of your dub7. You move on, to new fields of battle, to new triumphs or defeats. But you move! And as yon move the world moves with you, with terrifying exactitude. You seek out new fields of operation, new specimens8 of the human race whom you patiently instruct and equip with the new symbols. You choose sometimes those you would never have looked at before. You try everybody and everything within range, provided they are ignorant of the revelation.
It was in this fashion that I found myself sitting in the busheling room of my father's establishment, reading aloud to the Jews who were working there. Reading to them from this new Bible in the way that Paul must have talked to the disciples9. With the added disadvantage, to be sure, that these poor Jew bastards10 could not read the English language. Primarily I was directing myself towards Bunchek the cutter, who had a rabbinical mind. Opening the book I would pick a passage at random12 and read it to them in a transposed English almost as primitive13 as pidgin English. Then I would attempt to explain, choosing for example and analogy the things they were familiar with. It was amazing to me how well they understood, how much better they understood, let me say, than a college professor or a literary man or any educated man. Naturally what they understood had nothing to do finally with Bergson's book, as a book, but was not that the purpose of such a book as this? My understanding of the meaning of a book is that the book itself disappears from sight, that it is chewed alive, digested and incorporated into the system as flesh and blood which in turn creates new spirit and reshapes the world. It was a great communion feast which we shared in the reading of this book and the outstanding feature of it was the chapter on Disorder15 which, having penetrated16 me through and through, has endowed me with such a marvellous sense of order that if a comet suddenly struck the earth and jarred everything out of place, stood everything upside down, turned everything inside out, I could orient myself to the new order in the twinkling of an eye. I have no fear or illusions about disorder any more than I have of death. The labyrinth17 is my happy hunting ground and the deeper I burrow18 into the maze19 the more oriented I become.
With Creative Evolutionunder my arm I board the elevated line at the Brooklyn Bridge after work and I commence the journey homeward towards the cemetery20. Sometimes I get on at Delancey Street, the very heart of the ghetto21, after a long walk through the crowded streets. I enter the elevated line below the ground, like a worm being pushed through the intestines22. I know each time I take my place in the crowd which mills about the platform that I am the most unique individual down there. I look upon everything which is happening about me like a spectator from another planet. My language, my world, is under my arm. I am the guardian23 of a great secret; if I were to open my mouth and talk I would tie up traffic. What I have to say, and what I am holding in every night of my life on this journey to and from the office, is absolute dynamite24. I am not ready yet to throw my stick of dynamite. I nibble25 at it meditatively26, ruminatively27, cogently28. Five more years, ten more years perhaps, and I will wipe these people out utterly29. If the train in making a curve gives a violent lurch30 I say to myself fine! jump the track, annihilate31 them! I never think of myself as being endangered should the train jump the track. We're wedged in like sardines32 and all the hot flesh pressed against me diverts my thoughts. I become conscious of a pair of legs wrapped around mine. I look down at the girl sitting in front of me, I look her right in the eye, and I press my knees still further into her crotch. She grows uneasy, fidgets about in her seat, and finally she turns to the girl next to her and complains that I am molesting33 her. The people about look at me hostilely. I look out of the window blandly34 and pretend I have heard nothing. Even if I wished to I can't remove my legs. Little by little though, the girl, by a violent pushing and squiggling, manages to unwrap her legs from mine. I find myself almost in the same situation with the girl next to her, the one she was addressing her complaints to. Almost at once I feel a sympathetic touch and then, to my surprise, I hear her tell the other girl that one can't help these things, that it is really not the man's fault but the fault of the company for packing us in like sheep. And again I feel the quiver of her legs against mine, a warm, human pressure, like squeezing one's hand. With my one free hand I manage to open my book. My object is twofold: first I want her to see the kind of book I read, second, I want to be able to carry on the leg language without attracting attention. It works beautifully. By the time the train empties a bit I am able to take a seat beside her and converse35 with her - about the book, naturally. She's a voluptuous36 Jewess with enormous liquid eyes and the frankness which come from sensuality. When it comes time to get off we walk arm in arm through the streets, towards her home. I am almost on the confines of the old neighbourhood. Everything is familiar to me and yet repulsively37 strange. I have not walked these streets for years and now I am walking with a Jew girl from the ghetto, a beautiful girl with a strong Jewish accent. I look incongruous walking beside her. I can sense that people are staring at us behind our backs. I am the intruder, the Goy who has come down into the neighbourhood to pick off a nice ripe cunt. She on the other hand seems to be proud of her conquest; she's showing me off to her friends. This is what I picked up in the train, an educated Goy, a refined Goy! I can almost hear her think it. Walking slowly I'm getting the lay of the land, all the practical details which will decide whether I call for her after dinner or not. There's no thought of asking her t6 dinner. It's a question of what time and where to meet and how will we go about it, because as she lets drop just before we reach the door, she's got a husband who's a travelling salesman and she's got to be careful. I agree to come back and to meet her at the comer in front of the candy store at a certain hour. If I want to bring a friend along she'll bring her girl friend. No, I decide to see her alone. It's agreed. She squeezes my hand and darts38 off into a dirty hallway. I beat it quickly back to the elevated station and hasten home to gulp39 down the meal.
It's a Summer's night and everything flung wide open. Riding back to meet her the whole past rushes up kaleidoscopically. This time I've left the book at home. It's cunt I'm out for now and no thought of the book is in my head. I am back again this side of the boundary line, each station whizzing past making my world grow more diminutive40. I am almost a child by the time I reach the destination. I am a child who is horrified41 by the metamorphosis which has taken place. What has happened to me, a man of the 14th Ward11, to be jumping off at this station in search of a Jewish cunt? Supposing I do give her a fuck, what then? What have I got to say to a girl like that? What's a fuck when what I want is love? Yes, suddenly it comes over me like a tornado42... Una, the girl I loved, the girl who lived here in this neighbourhood, Una with big blue eyes and flaxen hair, Una who made me tremble just to look at her, Una whom I was afraid to kiss or even to touch her hand. Where is Una?Yes, suddenly, that's the burning question: where is Una ?In two seconds I am completely unnerved, completely lost, desolate43, in the most horrible anguish44 and despair. How did I ever let her go? Why? What happened? Whendid it happen? I thought of her like a maniac45 night and day, year in and year out, and then, without even noticing it, she drops out of my mind, like that, like a penny falling through a hole in your pocket. Incredible, monstrous46, mad. Why all I had to do was to ask her to marry me, ask her hand - that's all. If I had done that she would have said yes immediately. She loved me, she loved me desperately47. Why yes, I remember now, I remember how she looked at me the last time we met. I was saying good-bye because I was leaving that night for California, leaving everybody to begin a new life. And I never had any intention of leading a new life. I intended to ask her to marry me, but the story I had framed like a dope came out of my lips so naturally that I believed it myself, and so I said good-bye and I walked off, arid48 she stood there looking after me and I felt her eyes pierce me through and through. I heard her howling inside, but like an automaton49 I kept on walking and finally I turned the comer and that was the end of it. Good-bye! Like that. Like in a coma50. And I meant to say come to me! Come to me because I can't live any more without you!
I am so weak, so rocky, that I can scarcely climb down the L steps. Now I know what's happened - I've crossed the boundary line! This Bible that I've been carrying around with me is to instruct me, initiate51 me into a new way of life. The world I knew is no more, it is dead, finished, cleaned up. And everything that I was is cleaned up with it. I am a carcass getting an injection of new life. I am bright and glittery, rabid with new discoveries, but in the centre it is still leaden, still slag52. I begin to weep - right there on the L stairs. I sob53 aloud, like a child. Now it dawns on me with full clarity:you are alone in the world!You are alone . . . alone . . . alone. It is bitter to be alone . .. bitter, bitter, bitter, bitter. There is no end to it, it is unfathomable, and it is the lot of every man on earth, but especially mine . . . especially mine. Again the metamorphosis. Again everything totters54, and careens. I am in the dream again, the painful, delirious55, pleasurable, maddening dream of beyond the boundary. I am standing14 in the centre of the vacant lot, but my home I do not see. I have no home. The dream was a mirage56. There never was a house in the midst of the vacant lot. That's why I was never able to enter it. My home is not in this world, nor in the next I am a man without a home, without a friend, without a wife.
I am a monster who belongs to a reality which does not exist yet. Ah, but it does exist, it will exist, I am sure of it. I walk now rapidly, head down, muttering to myself. I've forgotten about my rendezvous57 so completely that I never even noticed whether I walked past her or not. Probably I did. Probably I looked right at her and didn't recognize her. Probably she didn't recognize me either. I am mad, mad with pain, mad with anguish. I am desperate. But I am not lost. No, there is a reality to which I belong. It's far away, very far away. I may walk from now till doomsday with head down and never find her. But it is there, I am sure of it. I look at people murderously. If I could throw a bomb and blow the whole neighbourhood to smithereens I would do it. I would be happy seeing them fly in the air, mangled58, shrieking59, torn apart, annihilated60. I want to annihilate the whole earth. I am not a part of it. It's mad from start to finish. The whole shooting match. It's a huge piece of stale cheese with maggots festering inside it. Fuck it! Blow it to hell! Kill, kill, kill: Kill them all, Jews and Gentiles, young and old, good and bad ...
I grow light, light as a feather, and my pace becomes more steady, more calm, more even. What a beautiful night it is! The stars shining so brightly, so serenely61, so remotely. Not mocking me precisely62, but reminding me of the futility63 of it all. Who are you, young man, to be talking of the earth, of blowing things to smithereens? Young man, we have been hanging here for millions and billions of years. We have seen it all, everything, and still we shine peacefully every night, we light the way, we still the heart. Look around you, young man, see how still and beautiful everything is. Do you see, even the garbage lying in the gutter64 looks beautiful in this light. Pick up the little cabbage leaf, hold it gently in your hand. I bend down and pick up the cabbage leaf lying in the gutter. It looks absolutely new to me, a whole universe in itself. I break a little piece off and examine that. Still a universe. Still unspeakably beautiful and mysterious. I am almost ashamed to throw it back in the gutter. I bend down and deposit it gently with the other refuse. I become very thoughtful, very, very calm. I love everybody in the world. I know that somewhere at this very moment there is a woman waiting for me and if only I proceed very calmly, very gently, very slowly, I will come to her. She will be standing on a comer perhaps and when I come in sight she will recognize me - immediately. I believe this, so help me God! I believe that everything is just and ordained65. My home? Why it is the world - the whole world! I am at home everywhere, only I did not know it before. But I know now. There is no boundary line any more. There never was a boundary line: it was I who made it. I walk slowly and blissfully through the streets. The beloved streets. Where everybody walks and everybody suffers without showing it. When I stand and lean against a lamp post to light my cigarette even the lamp post feels friendly. It is not a thing of iron - it is a creation of the human mind, shaped a certain way, twisted and formed by human hands, blown on with human breath, placed by human hands and feet. I turn round and rub my hand over the iron surface. It almost seems to speak to me. It is a human lamp post. It belongs,like the cabbage leaf, like the torn socks, like the mattress66, like the kitchen sink. Everything stands in a certain way in a certain place, as our mind stands in relation to God. The world, in its visible, tangible67 substance, is a map of our love. Not God but lifeis love. Love, love, love. And in the midmost midst of it walks this young man, myself, who is none other than Gotdieb Leberecht Muller.
Gotdieb Leberecht Miiller! This is the name of a man who lost his identity. Nobody could tell him who he was, where he came from or what had happened to him. In the movies, where I first made the acquaintance of this individual it was assumed that he had met with an accident in the war. But when I recognized myself on the screen, knowing that I had never been to the war, I realized that the author had invented this little piece of fiction in order not to expose me. Often I forget which is the real me. Often in my dreams I take the draught68 of forgetfulness, as it is called, and I wander forlorn and desperate, seeking the body and the name which is mine. And sometimes between the dream and reality there is only the thinnest line. Sometimes while a person is talking to me I step out of my shoes, and, like a plant drifting with the current, I begin the voyage, of my rootless self. In this condition I am quite capable of fulfilling the ordinary demands of life - of finding a wife, of becoming a father, of supporting the household, of entertaining friends, of reading books, of paying taxes, of performing military services, and so on and so forth69. In this condition I am capable if needs be, of killing70 in cold blood, for the sake of my family or to protect my country, or whatever it may be. I am the ordinary, routine citizen who answers to a name and who is given a number in his passport. I am thoroughly71 irresponsible for my fate.
Then one day, without the slightest warning, I wake up and looking about me I understand absolutely nothing of what is going on about me, neither my own behaviour nor that of my neighbours, nor do I understand why the governments are at war or at peace, whichever the case may be. At such moments I am born anew, born and baptized by my right name: Gotdieb Leberecht Miiller! Everything I do in my right name is looked upon as crazy. People make furtive72 signs behind my back, sometimes to my face even. I am forced to break with friends and family and loved ones. I am obliged to break camp. And so, just as naturally as in dream, I find myself once again drifting with thecurrent, usually walking along a highway, my face set towards the sinking sun. Now all my faculties73 become alert. I am the most suave74 silky, cunning animal - and I am at the same time what might be called a holy man. I know how to fend75 for myself. I know how to avoid work, how to avoid entangling76 relationships, how to avoid pity, sympathy, bravery, and all the other pitfalls77. I stay in place or widi a person just long enough to obtain what I need, and then I'm off again. I have no goal: the aimless wandering is sufficient unto itself. I am free as a bird, sure as an equilibrist. Manna falls from the sky; I have only to hold out my hands and receive. And everywhere I leave the most pleasant feeling behind me, as though, in accepting the gifts that are showered upon me, I am doing a real favour to others. Even my dirty linen78 is taken care of by loving hands. Because everybody loves a right-living man! Gottlieb! What a beautiful name it is! Gotdieb! I say to myself over and over. Gottlieb Leberecht Muller.
In this condition I have always fallen in with thieves and rogues79 and murderers, and how .kind and gentle they have been with me! As though they were my brothers. And are they not, indeed? Have I not been guilty of every crime, and suffered for it? And is it not just because of my crimes that I am united so closely to my fellowman? Always, when I see a light of recognition in the other person's eyes, I am aware of this secret bond. It is only the just whose eyes never light up. It is the just who have never known the secret of human fellowship. It is the just who are committing the crimes against man, the just who are the real monsters. It is the just who demand our fingerprints80, who prove to us that we have died even when we stand before them in the flesh. It is the just who impose upon us arbitrary names, false names, who put false dates in the register and bury us alive. I prefer the thieves, the rogues, the murderers unless I can find a man of my own stature81, my own quality.
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1
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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dub
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| vt.（以某种称号）授予，给...起绰号，复制 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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bastards
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| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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ghetto
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| n.少数民族聚居区，贫民区 | |
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intestines
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| n.肠( intestine的名词复数 ) | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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ruminatively
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| adv.沉思默想地，反复思考地 | |
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cogently
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| adv.痛切地，中肯地 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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sardines
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| n. 沙丁鱼 | |
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molesting
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| v.骚扰( molest的现在分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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repulsively
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| adv.冷淡地 | |
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darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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52
slag
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| n.熔渣，铁屑，矿渣；v.使变成熔渣，变熔渣 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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totters
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的第三人称单数 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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60
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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futility
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| n.无用 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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fend
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| v.照料（自己），（自己）谋生，挡开，避开 | |
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entangling
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| v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的现在分词 ) | |
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pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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78
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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fingerprints
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| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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