by Arthur C. Dorrance

Liebe Elisbeth,                    5 November 192_

     I have thrown a soiree for my new neighbors. Having left Darmstadt in such ill favor, I thought it prudent to determine if they would become violent, should word of my work reach them. Though you are more concerned with our upcoming nuptials, I thought you would wish to know the outcome of these overtures, now that the last revelers have left.

     Berlin has changed markedly from the days of the Kaiser. Few have any wealth, and the Deutschmark is worthless. But the city has this queer energy, like a sudden rallying as death approaches, and all manner of bizarre behaviors are tolerated. I think that the community will accept my... interests, at least to judge by those whom I met, for this evening I played host to a menagerie. Men in dresses and women in pants, all with makeup. At least all had the taste to wear evening attire.

     I had grasped the hand of one such intersex, noting the sickly pallor and brown teeth, and was shocked to be addressed by him as an old acquaintance! "Why, Herr Doktor Viktor. It has been too long! Remember Ypres --" It was Hans ____, formerly of the Kaiser's own Guard, with whom I served in the Great War. He introduced me to his companion and slinked off to mingle with the others before I gathered my wits.

     "Poor Hans," I murmured. The companion heard my comment and took offense. As host I felt obliged to apologize. After all, I yield to no one in my love of the modern age. Nor do I dispute the findings of Doctor Freud, concerning the workings of the human mind, for I applaud the sloughing of outdated taboos. I reacted solely out of concern for Hans's health.

     Mollified, Hans's companion asked from where I had come. I said, without thinking, "Schloss von Hoch --" Too late I realized my error.

     My interlocutor recognized the name. "Hoch und Spitz? Then you are...?"

     I clicked my heels. "Doktor Viktor Frankenstein."

     "The dentist!" he (she?) cried, and then I was alone. Ah, the prejudices of the periodontically challenged!

     So in a foul mood I went in search of more congenial company, leaving the servants to attend to the guests. It was like a scene from the outer circle of Dante's Inferno. A cloud of smoke hung over the crowd, not all of it from tobacco. Many were taking advantage of my wine steward's generosity to drink themselves insensible, and they lay where they had collapsed. Others were gorging themselves at the buffet as though they had not eaten in days, which might have indeed been the case. Still others had persuaded the band to play some American jazz and were dancing as though in an epileptic fit. One couple in a close embrace seemed to be dancing at a more dignified tempo, until I noted that their clothes were unfastened in front. Perforce I turned away.

     A beefy man dressed in outmoded evening attire noted my distress. He was standing by my library shelves and perusing a copy of Aristotle in the original Greek, having no part in the bacchanal around us.

     He must have felt that he had met a kindred spirit, for he addressed me without hesitation. He lamented that our society was in the last stage of dissolution, to be redeemed only by the simpler cultures that would succeed it.

     I recognized this as a stale recitation of Spengler's Der Untergang des Abendlandes. I retorted that I had no quarrel with modern eccentricities. Tolerance to those different from oneself separated the cultured man from the beast, der Mensch from das Tier. My discomfort only reflected an unfamiliarity with Berlin's customs. After all -- I thought, though I did not voice this -- others might find my practices similarly distasteful.

     He accused me of turning a blind eye to Sodom and Gomorrah, and I fear that my indifference showed, for he then quoted the philosopher Santayana. "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

     I had no wish to alienate any well-read individual. So I responded lightly with a quote from Gide. "Le peche, c'est ce qui obscurcit l'ame." (I know you disdain the Frankish tongue, so I translate: "Sin is whatever obscures the soul.")

     Then... then he said something that could not have been calculated to inflame my curiosity any more. "I abjure you to not practice this philosophy. Inspired by a similar spirit, my medieval namesake researched into forbidden lore and paid the penalty." Hearing this, I resolved to learn more and invited him to sample my cognac.

     I had chosen the house for its basement, which is capacious, being built upon medieval ruins. My rationale was that, given Berlin's electrification, I had no need for the lightning storms nor for the tower such as once dominated our Schloss. In these catacombs I could experiment far from prying eyes.

     An added benefit was the exceptional wine cellar. So, plying a cobwebbed bottle in that dripping darkness, I learned of his family's shameful past. After my failures to date, I was thrilled to hear of a philosopher who had succeeded in raising the dead.

     My new friend warned me, "Beware of pacts with the Devil. They always carry downside risk."

     His words did not deter me. I resolved to learn more of his long-dead namesake, Doktor Johannes Faust...

Meine geliebte Elisbeth,                    7 Dezember 192_

     Forgive me for not writing. I have been deep in study with Johannes, and until last night there was little else to relate. There has been the occasional gun battle between Fascist and Communist, but that rarely comes within a block of the house, and the carnage is cleaned up by morning.

     Johannes claimed to be Faust's direct descendant, which I challenged, knowing that the necromancer's son had become a priest under vows of celibacy. Johannes did not deny this. "He became a priest to redress his father's transgressions, but no one is perfect."

     As I suspected, the thaumaturgic library proved invaluable to the deciphering of the old Baron's notes, and work proceeded apace. I had no trouble in finding a fresh cadaver, a young man taken in the act of auto-asphyxiation. The supplier believed my story of ungovernable necrophilia and guffawed, claiming such a fate would match the unfortunate youth's idea of paradise. However, there was unpleasantness when I casually mentioned the benefits of flossing, and I was barely able to escape with my prize.

     Coarsened though I am from contact with the denizens of this city, I shall not offend your womanly sensibilities with descriptions of what were done with the body. Suffice to say that last night I succeeded in reanimating this Creature.

     He is no beauty, not even in my eyes. His skin was parchment-like, his black hair lank and disheveled, and his eye a bilious yellow. But he seems human. He would not stand out in this city's rabble.

     Yet he is beyond us, being improved by today's technology. Electricity courses through his body like the blood through our own veins. He can be part of the workings of civilization in a way we mere mortals cannot.

     I shall school this Creature in every art, so that he will become a gentleman. I have no wish to repeat the errors of the old Baron.

     I know, meine Geliebte, you have no interest in the passion for knowledge that consumes me, so forgive me if I ramble so....

Liebchen,                    13 Februar 192_

     Ah, would that I had never found Faust's library! All of Berlin gathers in front of my barricaded door, and it is no certain thing that either my Creature or I shall survive the night. Will my achievements be remembered if I die, or will they be lost in the delirium that has become die Zietgeist?

     Now the crowd pries up the cobblestones and hurl them through the windows. Through the lace curtains I see the play of shadows from the flames that consume the houses around us. All is lost, and all that remains to me is to write this, in the hope that God may guide this letter to you.

     But I should explain how I came to this desperate pass...

     I was closeted with Johannes, enjoying a post-prandial cigar, when suddenly the door was flung open and my Creature stood before us.

     Johannes recognized the Creature's nature but vehemently denied the evidence of his own eyes. "Wohler's synthesis of urea disproved the theory of vitalism!"

     Triumphantly I pointed out, "The Baron's journal predated 1828!"

     We had not the leisure to debate the point. My Creature interrupted, saying that a crowd was fast approaching, one that would rend him limb from limb.

     Now in hindsight I can see that I was blinded to my Creature's faults, seeing only his capabilities. I had bolted earphones to his skull and on the side of his neck installed jacks to mate with telephone plugs. Given these advantages he went to work at the city's switchboard. However, desiring human companionship, he had started to make calls...

     When I asked for details, he displayed brightly colored pamphlets. Only then did I realize that those annoying calls, of which you had told me -- about beauty aids, patent medicines, and life insurance -- those calls had originated from this wretch. "I called at dinner time," he said, not realizing that this had sealed his doom, "when I knew that people would be home."

     Though Johannes had accepted me -- me! a dentist! -- he rejected my creation, saying that even the most debased would spurn such a monster. "You have fashioned ein gottlos Tier!" He struck me down and departed. I doubt I shall see him again. Perhaps he is even now part of the mob that besieges me.

     The Creature has also left me, to go I know not where. What might happen, if he could escape to the trackless wilderness that is America? Could mein Telemarketier create others like himself? What horror have I unleashed upon the world?