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Today we have a letter from Helene to her children in San Francisco. Mail continues to be unreliable and is all that she lives for.
Vienna 20, August 1940
My dear children. The heavens have opened up completely and are sending huge amounts of rain on us as if it had been paid for and new rain clouds would be bought. I have only seen this much rain in my life when we went on vacation in the Salzkammergut or the Semmering area but long long ago. The postal worker looked up from her coat that she was wearing while riding a bike. She had quite a few letters hidden under there, kind of like a spinning top. My face looked like I suspected that among those many, many letters I might get quite a few from you. But there was nothing for me, not even a magazine which was a good thing because I would have gone crazy or had murder on my conscience. Papa’s consolation that other people have a right to letters too is plausible, but that’s not very comforting. I still haven’t heard from Harry since the 10th of June. Can you imagine that? I really try to keep calm but this is too much. Instead, I end up whining about not getting any mail, not that it does any good. Paul and the other ones have nothing to say and Everl’s reports are getting more infrequent and shorter. I really don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t want to be a problem to you but it’s really awful to live with such insecurity.
We are doing okay and the only thing we lack is mail from you. You don’t need to worry about us at all. We are not worried either and our deus ex machina is still working for us and of course he has no influence on your letters. That’s not really his department, unfortunately. The letters I have from you I have read through again and I have noticed that there aren’t that many. It’s not about the quantity of course, but one tends to think in absurd ways when one is so dependent on mail.
It’s so dark now that I have turned the light on even though it’s mid-day. I can’t believe where all this water is coming from. It must have rained an entire ocean already.
Vienna 21 August 1940
Oh my dear ones, my dear, dear children. Fortunately, I didn’t finish this letter yesterday, and now that I have just received Everl’s letter from August 6 it will be easier for me to continue writing. Of course, the previous letter once again did not arrive. The last one which we received was July 17 and just contained a mention that you had applied for “free station” [housing?] and some pocket money in order to wait for the wife and children to return. But Everl turned that down for moral reasons. Harry hasn’t sent anything (since the 10th of June!) and we are happy that Everl in her last letter did mention him so we have proof that he is alive and presumably that he is all right. Feuchtersleben once said that one has not figured out exactly at one point of disturbance of the soul insanity begins. In my case however, it wouldn’t have been any doubt - even a lay person would have been able to figure out that I am not even borderline anymore. Everl’s letter has strengthened my backbone and now the psychiatrists can argue about me.
The lively description of Mill Valley and the region reminds us that we saw some pictures of this area a long time ago. In fact, we saw how a primeval forest giant was cut down and the wood from this was transported in many, many different truck trips to the valley. It was mentioned that the wood from just one of these trees is enough to build a city and provide furniture for the homes. I thought in those days: well, I’ll just get a little branch, bring it home, and then I can replace our furniture in Vienna. Eva, who has artistic talent, and Harry, who’s good with his hands, will manage to turn that branch into a nice little home. Also, they showed how three cars could fit quite nicely driving through such a primeval forest, if they were crazy enough to try something like that. Now you know why we like to go to the movies so much. The fact that Everl happened to run into the chamber singer “F” shows that you wild ones are just better people.
I beg you if there is time to write to me in great detail. It’s so much easier to feel that I am with you in that case. Since you’ve been over there, I’ve only dreamed of you; but in the last few weeks, I’ve dreamed only of infirm people, most of whom are not even alive anymore. I don’t really feel that great in such company.
That’s all for now and I send kisses.
Think of me.
Mutti
According to some scholars, Feuchtersleben was a precursor to Freud, although the latter made no mention of the former in his writing.
It is interesting to learn the vision of California and America that was available through movies and newsreels around the world.