Sanatorium under the sign of the hourglass - Bruno Schulz [40]
To wake them up at all has cost me a lot of effort. They were all in their beds, mortally pale and laboring for breath. I had to lean over each of them and whisper the vital words, words that should shock them like electric current. They would open one lazy eye. They were afraid of the attendants, pretended to be deaf or dead. Only when reassured that we were alone would they lift themselves up on their beds, bandaged, made of bits and pieces, feeling their wooden limbs, their false lungs and imitation livers. At first they were very mistrustful and wanted to recite the roles they had learned. They could not understand why anyone should ask them for anything different. And so they sat dully, groaning from time to time, these once splendid men, the flower of mankind: Dreyfus and Garibaldi, Bismarck and Victor Emmanuel I, Gambetta, Mazzini, and many others. The most difficult to persuade was Archduke Maximilian himself. When, whispering in his ear, I kept repeating Bianca's name, he only blinked his eyes and no glimmer of understanding showed on his face. It's only when I uttered distinctly the name of Franz Joseph that a wild grimace appeared on his face, a pure conditional reflex, in which his feelings were not involved. That particular complex had long ago been eliminated from his consciousness: how else could he live with it, with that burning hatred, he, who had been put together from pieces after the bloody execution at Querétaro? I had to teach him about his life from the beginning. His memory was very poor. I had to recur to the subconscious glimmers of feeling. I was implanting in him elements of love and hate, but already on the following night he did not remember anything. His more intelligent colleagues tried to help him, to prompt the reactions he should show; his reeducation advanced slowly, step by step. He had been very neglected, innerly ravaged by the attendants, yet in spite of this I finally succeeded in making him reach for his sword at the sound of Franz Joseph's name. He very nearly stabbed Victor Emmanuel I, who did not give way to him quickly enough.
In fact, most of that splendid assembly absorbed my idea with much more eagerness and much quicker than the plodding, luckless Archduke. Their enthusiasm was boundless, and I had to use all my strength to restrain them. It is difficult to say whether they understood in all its implications the ideal for which they were to fight, but the merit of the case was not their concern. Destined to burn in the fire of some dogma, they were enchanted at having acquired, thanks to me, a catchword for which they could die fighting in exultation. I calmed them with hypnosis, taught them patiently how to keep a secret. I was proud of their progress. What leader had ever had under his command such illustrious subordinates, generals who were such fiery spirits, a guard composed of geniuses, cripples though they all might be!
At last the date came; on a stormy and windy night all that was being prepared had to happen. Lightning pierced the sky, opening up the gory, frightening interior of the earth and shutting it again. Yet the world continued to turn with the rustling of trees, processions of forests, shifting of horizons. Under cover of darkness we left the exhibition. I walked at the head of the inspired cohort, advancing among the violent limping and rattling, the clatter of crutches and metal. Lightning licked the bared blades of sabers. Stumbling, we reached the gate of the villa. We found it open. Worried, anticipating treachery, I gave the order to light flares. The air became red from burning resinous chips, flocks of frightened birds shot up high into the glare, and in this Bengal light we saw clearly the villa,