Excerpts from the posthumous novel  De Zelf-Moord Mozart (The Suicide Mozart)

Jan Mensaert

Vegafunf is a star with inhabitants. Lord B is Lord Buddha. Wolf is Amadeus. Part of the story takes place in the interaction between the inhabitants on the star and those on the Earth—of which one, the semi-autobiographical character Fiss, is the protégé of Mozart, though in a relationship of anti- (or "suicide") for the moment, with respect to his higher overseer. The complex unfolding of the relationship with what we call the "higher" self is narrated in a fetching way, including large amounts of pure poetry.

II. Little Me

1.  Justification

I had not yet started the third chapter of this book before several readers called me on the phone to ask if it was justified to let Fiss drink so much. Didn't I care for my brainchild? This continuous drinking couldn't be good for him, could it? This could only bring along bad things? Yes, they predicted the worst.

The worst did happen now and I feel obliged to defend myself against the understandable but—you will see for certain yourselves—unfounded growing accusations. Was it justified to make Fiss drink so much? Perhaps no. Alas! It had become inevitable. [p. 57]

2. Fiss Makes Music

Mama, where is my piano? Fiss asked the next morning.

Gone, said Mama.

Where, Mama?

Sold.

My piano?

Yes, said Mama. And look what I bought with the money I got for that old, ugly piano. A real tin drum!

Oh! Fiss said thrilled. A drum! A real drum! Thank you, Mama! Thank you! [p. 64]

3. The Parasite

His father tells him good night. Fiss is in the cockpit of a fighter bomber. He sees a town. Is it marketday? Or carnival? What a lot of people. Vrmmm! Vrmmm! Tsjiow-tsjiow. The bombs. They are falling!! Bang, Fiss. Bang. They are all destroyed, Fiss!!! [p. 73]

EXCERPTS FROM NEAR THE END:

Emily Bronte has revised Fiss' script based on his life, turning it into the libretto for a new Mozart opera. Fiss learns some things about the values of Vegafunf, which is presided over by Lord B and some other known intellects. The comic but instructive opera is called "The Abduction from the Caravanserai" and Fiss learns of it after his death, at which point he also receives a soul exam:

You have suffered, Fiss [Mozart says].

Yes!

A lot, I think?

Don't laugh.

And you don't love anybody anymore? No, that question was not necessary. You have lost your faith in love a long time ago.

I no longer believe in anything, Fiss said defiantly.

But you do hope?

Nothing, nothing!

That's wonderful! [Mozart congratulated Fiss]. That's marvelous! Yes, it is. Look how much place there is left now for hope, faith and love. Here they are the three of them, waiting impatiently to face daylight. Yes. They used to be there, so they are still there. You can hide such things, but you can never lose them. God gave them to you, so that you would recognize Him in time and he has never taken back his presents. So they are still in you. Let me see. May I? Oh yes. Here they are: hope, faith and love. It is surprising how well they survived. But how deep you hid then!

Come on [Fiss said wearily]; can I go back to Marrakesh now?

A last request.  Before you blow out your brains, may I have a glance in your heart? Just a little glance. Let me give some fresh air to your hope and love—and especially to—how bad it looks—your belief. Look how they are craving. It's cruel, don't you think so? I think it is. May I? May I gave a glance? A little glance?

Stop your gab, or . . . [Fiss said].

Suddenly he stopped talking. Suddenly he became aware that he was beginning to feel dizzy. Big, slow spirals were turning around a far, far midpoint, round and round and now almost imperceptibly faster and faster.

What . . . ? he stammered. What . . . ?

Are you all right? [Mozart asked with concern].

I don't know, Wolf. What . . . ? What . . . ?

Don't distract me, Fiss. Look. It's your fault, you distracted me and I looked further than I was allowed. Or was it allowed?

Wolf, is this . . . ? Is this . . . ?

Of course, Fiss. This is the abduction from the Caravanserai! [Mozart called laughing]. What did you think? A merry-go-round?

[Fiss laughed with disbelief.]

Is it, Wolf? Is it?

No. No. No. A hundred times no. Fiss couldn't believe it. That feeling in him. In him? This un . . . This im . . . This re . . . Shortly, this feeling? In Fiss? In him who thought . . . Who meant . . . Who believed . . . Still? This . . . This . . . This . . . His thoughts were turning around like a dizzy cork on the lip of a bottomless whirlpool.

Wolf! he yelled at once. Help me! Wolf! Help me, save me! Someone, Wolf! [Because in the middle of innumerable spinning circles he had lost his balance and he was now slowly falling headfirst.]

Wolf!!

Wait a minute.

What are you doing? [p. 214]

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