How I killed Hermann Hesse and saved my life
In the interrogation room
Thank you. Today I was apprehended and brought to this police station to be interrogated by Herr Kommissar, commissario Lupo. It is my intention to reveal the nature and gravity of my crimes, although I can’t really remember the chronology and the details. I’m aware that I may tell something inaccurate but it’s not my fault. I’m guilty, this is the only thing I know for sure.
Ich bin schuldig, sono colpevole.
I want to be put in jail and have time to be alone and meditate about my crimes, my horrible crimes and I want to be punished, severely. I know you will because this is the way it goes. The world has unanimously pronounced the sentence. There is no turning back. No reason for me to escape the final judgment by the court, which will be a formality. Please, Commissario, be patient. I want to speak out, but I’m confused.
What time is it? Oh, thank you, I’m really grateful. Now I will remain silent for a while. Sure…I will answer all your questions. No matter how much it takes. A hundred years…oh no, I was joking….or was I?
In my cell a couple of hours later….
My dear Hermann, I’m now lying on my bed in a grey anonymous cell in Lugano’s prison and I’m waiting for my last daily ration of food before going to sleep. I visited your tomb yesterday, but I’m not sure about the time. Today is January 28, 1927, and you are lying under 10 feet of earth in the little cemetery of Montagnola. I also visited your beautiful house, where you have cut your throat with a razor blade 10 days ago.
You know, I had a dream, where I was with you, in the casa Camuzzi, watching the Lake Lugano from your studio window and I was thinking about throwing myself in those chilly waters and ending my poor existence. But instead, I took a razor from your bathroom and very quickly slit your throat open, while you were intent on writing on your typewriter. I think you were writing something about my childhood because I saw my name scribbled somewhere on the sheets strewn over your bed. Your blood drenched a pile of pages of the Steppenwolf, but I hope it will be possible to recover most of the manuscript.
Back in the interrogation room
I don’t know what really happened, I’m guilty of dreaming of killing him, although it never happened.
Did it happen? It did, really? Herr Kommissar, Are you sure? All right, then I’m guilty of killing him, and I also confess to burning all his belongings. I wanted to destroy all evidence and all his writings and all that had something to do with him. Except for the Steppenwolf which I took with me and hid under my bed in my hotel room. I wanted to add a part at the end because he was not able to finish it.
….I now see that it was alcohol that ruined my life…..
I still don’t know how I managed to reach the police station. I was completely wrecked after the visit to the cemetery. I had at least 2 bottles of brandy in my bloodstream and added a bottle of vodka, for good measure.
I’m sure that they will forgive me for what I’ve done. My only goal in life is now to finish the Steppenwolf.
From the personal diary of Freyday Goodnite
My name is Freyday Goodnite.
I know Mr. Nestor because I worked at the Lugano correctional facility, where he was detained, as a cleaning maid. He was a very quiet and gentle character, in spite of the horrible crime he had committed, and an avid reader too. His cell was filled with stacks of books that covered all the walls, from floor to ceiling. He wrote a lot during the night, I am told.
The afternoon before his prison break, he asked me to do something for him and handed me a package wrapped in yellow paper. He said it was something very beautiful and important for him, and for the whole world, he added, with an earnestness in his eyes and voice that made me shiver.
He said I had to keep it for at least two days and then deliver it to a friend of Mr. Hesse, Mr. Serrano, who was living in a nearby hotel. I think it was all arranged by Mr. Nestor.
I accepted and brought it home with me the same night.
The night he escaped……I really don’t know how he managed to get out of his cell. In my opinion, it was an act of God, a miracle. The newspapers speculated a lot about the circumstances in which it took place, and referred to it as a Houdini stunt, something between a magic trick and a supernatural phenomenon. I myself believe that Mr. Nestor was a sort of magician, a wizard with superhuman faculties.
Yesterday I was walking with the package for Mr. Serrano in my shopping bag, directed to the meeting point, his hotel, in the city center. On the wide street leading to the hotel, there is a beautiful church, in Neoclassical style, it looks a lot like the Pantheon in Rome, which I was lucky enough to visit a couple of years ago. I suddenly felt the urgent desire to enter that holy place.
After I entered, near the door, I saw a young man sitting on a bench. He seemed agitated and nervous. He approached me and asked me for money. I gave him a couple of coins. He thanked me and sat again on a nearby bench, looking scared. He seemed to be waiting for something. Mass was being celebrated so I sat down on a chair near him and listened to the choir and organ playing, At one moment I turned my head and saw that he was speaking with a priest, a high rank, a severe and austere kind of man.I think. I couldn’t understand their conversation but I could grasp only the priest’s last words before leaving: “No, no…” He seemed quite annoyed by the young man’s insistence.
After some time I decided to leave the church. I was just passing the heavy wooden door when a thought crossed my mind and a feeling of love and preoccupation for this young fellow filled my heart. It came to me that not so long ago I had felt the urge to find a job at a monastery, as a simple hand worker for menial tasks because I wanted to make myself useful to the poor and I was also trying to give a meaning to my life, so I decided to go and speak to him. He looked at me timidly as I approached him. I bowed and with my head near to his I asked him if he had asked the church to get money for work and he said that yes, they could give him a job but that he couldn’t stay there because he was from another city. So I was happy that he had tried at least, greeted him, wished him well, and departed. Then, I pondered about this incident, and I felt this feeling of compassion towards other young people In distress like him. And it was a beautiful feeling. I remember I wished I could have the chance to work for the church and help them find a job for these people in dire situations. Besides, I thought I had seen this young man before, I had a strange feeling in my heart.
In fact, after I left the church I walked for quite a while before I noticed that my bag felt lighter than before. My heart fell into my guts as I realized that the precious package for Mr. Serrano had vanished. I immediately ran back to the church, because I was sure that the guy on the bench had in some way managed to remove the package from my bag without me noticing it. But obviously, he was gone. I was desperate, and tears began to flow down my cheeks. I sat down on the bench and asked God why he would do this to me. I would fail Mr. Nestor, and his precious package was probably lost and would be thrown into the nearby river. But then I looked down and something caught my attention. On the floor, near the place where the young man had stood, there was a white folded sheet of paper. Trembling I unfolded it, and inside I found this letter from Mr. Nestor:
Dear Miss Goodnite,
I thank you very much for your effort. Don’t be afraid. The package is now in good hands and soon I will receive it. I couldn’t tell you the truth, because I was afraid of the police discovering my plan. In reality, I couldn’t risk bringing the package with me, so I decided to give it to you because you are the nicest person I have ever met in all my life and I trust you more than my mother.
So now I can tell you that the yellow package contains a manuscript I wrote, a missing part of a very important book written by my friend Hermann Hesse, who I had to kill because of his will to die. I can confess now that Hermann asked me to do it for him because he felt he wasn’t able to slice his own flesh. I did it and then, immediately afterward I lost my memory. Or at least, a part of my memory, probably because of the shock. So I went to jail and would have had to spend my entire life there. Unless….unless I could finish the Steppenwolf and find the key to escape from my prison. I eventually remembered all that had happened to me and to Hermann, the pact, and the love and respect that had bound us in a common destiny.
As you can imagine, I finally found the key to my salvation and now I’m free and able to live without guilt and regret. I will always be grateful to you for this, Miss Goodnite.
God bless you, this is what I wanted to tell you.
With my sincerest love
Andre Nestor
The following is the beginning of the manuscript who was found by a journalist two weeks after Nestor vanished from the world.
It starts with a short poem:
Alles andre als gezeigt
War mein Antlitz schon geneigt
Sich nicht bar der Welt zu geben
Sondern Schein und Sein zu weben
Hermine war tot. Und doch nicht. Pablo, mein guter Freund Pablo, hatte uns von unserer Realität in eine Welt des Rausches übertragen. Nur später erfuhr ich dass er eine mexikanische Spezialität uns in die Gläser eingeschüttet hatte, ein Pilz, das bei den Einheimischen als Fleisch der Götter bekannt ist. Aber ich glaube dass er auch andere Substanzen dem Elixier beigemischt hatte, denn, nachdem ich in der Literatur nachgeforscht habe, bin ich zu der Überzeugung gekommen, dass die von mir festgestellten Symptome nicht alleine vom Psilocybin verursacht werden können. Als ich wieder zu mir kam, war das magische Theater verschwunden. Und mit ihm auch all die unendlichen Türen und Welten, und Mozart, und Goethe und die Automobil-Jagd und das Persönlichkeitsspiel.. Ich war zurück in Pablo’s kleines rundes Zimmer mit dem bläulichen Licht, mit dem kleinen runden Tisch und den drei Sesseln. Wir saßen immer noch auf unsere Sessel, und er schaute mich tief in die Augen. Aber ich konnte Hermine nicht sehen. Sie war nicht an ihrem Platz, sodass ich mich umdrehte und anfing den kleinen Raum zu durchsuchen. In einer Ecke fand ich sie, auf dem Teppichboden liegend, nackt und mit gespreizten Beinen. Sie schien ohnmächtig zu sein und nachdem ich sie ein paar mal auf den Mund küsste wachte sie wieder auf. Ich sah sogleich einen grossen Spiegel an der Wand in einer Ecke des kleinen Zimmers stehen, und merkte mit Entsetzen dass ich keine Hosen und keine Unterhosen anhatte. Als Pablo meine Panik bemerkte, brach er in ein schrilles Gelächter aus. Ich aber wollte mich wieder anziehen, denn es sah so aus als ob ich Hermine mit Gewalt genommen hatte.. Ich fragte Pablo, aber vergebens, er war nicht zu sprechen, nur lachen konnte er……. Ich nahm die Tischdecke und legte sie über Hermines nackten Körpers. Pablo fiel von seinem Sessel und rollte auf dem Teppich, und lachte weiter, wie ein Verrückter……
Translation:
Hermione was dead. Yet not. Pablo, my good friend Pablo had taken us from our reality and introduced us to a world of intoxication. Only later did I learn that he had a Mexican specialty poured in our glasses, a mushroom known to the locals as the flesh of the gods. But I think that he also had other substances added to the Elixir because after researching the literature, I have come to the conclusion that the observed symptoms of mine cannot solely be ascribed to psilocybin. When I came to myself again, the Magic Theatre was gone. And with it all the doors and infinite worlds, and Mozart, and Goethe and the Automobile Hunting and Personality Game. I was back in Pablo’s little room with the bluish light, with the small round table and three chairs. We were still sitting on our chairs, and he was looking deep into my eyes. But I could not see Hermione. She was not at her place, so I turned and started to search the small room. In one corner I found her lying on the carpet, naked and with her legs spread apart. She appeared to be unconscious and after I kissed her a few times on the mouth she woke up again. I at once saw a large mirror on the wall in a corner of the small room, and when I saw my reflection I realized with horror that I was naked from the waist down. When Pablo noticed my panic, he broke out in a burst of high-pitched laughter. But I wanted to find my pants because the scene looked as if I had taken Hermione with force while she was unconscious. I asked Pablo about my belongings, but in vain, he was not to speak, he could only laugh ….. I took the tablecloth and put it over Hermione’s naked body. Pablo fell from his chair and rolled on the carpet, and continued to laugh like a maniac ……
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