Dissolve (from the Munich Tales)

DISSOLVE
By Michael Kroetch

He lived in the past—not his own past, not even a real past that had ever happened, but a movie past. Purely imaginary. Purely a dream. It had gotten so he could no longer speak his own words, but had to use phrases and lines from the dreamworld of the black and white movies he was almost continuously watching. His body was more and more not his own either; its gestures and movements were being taken over by what he saw on the screen. He seemed unable to stop it and not even aware it was happening—that he was being erased and replaced. He would smile the smile of a long dead actor and speak words which had once been written down for the dead actor to say, and when his lips moved and the words came out—it was impossible to tell that he did not think the words were his own. If challenged on the matter, he would get upset, outraged and switch to a different film and use those words of wild-eyed condemnation against his accuser. His family took it in stride. What else could they do? He was part of them. Even if he could no longer admit this to himself or possibly even believe it—he was still their flesh, their blood and so they took care of him as best they could. His movies always came first, but after they were over—and that was the good thing for his family, there was always an ending to his movies—after they were over, his family would try and get him to go outside. Even for a little while. Just to get some air and maybe see some real people and have a little bit of a life. But this he wanted less and less. He didn´t see the point of it. Why would he want to go out there into that desert? His family didn´t know what he was talking about. Desert? They lived in a city. It worried them when he talked this way, acted so dramatic. Why did he have to be so difficult? Of course they couldn´t say this directly to him, they didn´t think they could say anything directly to him anymore. For them it was like they had to figure out what movie was maybe happening in his head and what parts might be available for them for the purpose of getting through to him. It was more and more as if they were invisible or imaginary beings flitting around the periphery of his vision, unless they spoke in words or had gestures he recognised from one of his movies. If they were careful, they could hold long conversations with hi this way. But it was tricky. It was not easy. He knew the films so much better than they ever could and would get impatient if they kept messing up their lines. Once his sister had more of it than she could take. She broke out of the character she was trying to play and started shouting at him that he was driving them all crazy with this nonsense and he had to stop it. He had to stop it. He did not respond. He turned his back on her. He went over and turned on the movie which she had been playing in and began watching it from where she had broken down. His smile showed how much more satisfied he was to be again experiencing the real thing.