already behind her. She must teach herself to think of Moritz at the
same time
as going about her normal life, not
instead
.
‘Seven units of protein,’ says the ideal inamorata, who is lying on the couch. She rummages through Mia’s shopping bags. ‘Ten units of carbohydrate. Three of fruit and veg. Exemplary. We’re on the road to recovery, are we?’
‘When I’m done with this,’ puffs Mia, ‘I’ll clean and tidy the apartment. You’ll see. In a few days, I’ll be back to work as normal.’
‘Good intentions are peculiar things,’ says the ideal inamorata. ‘A powerful expression of their own irrelevance.’
‘I’d appreciate a little more optimism. “Law is a game, and everyone plays a part.” It sounds like Moritz, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Moritz wanted to be in charge of his own game.’
‘You might be right.’ Mia wipes the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. ‘In any case, he’ll have to resign himself to having his lines rescripted by the rest of us. He’s the one who decided not to play.’
‘I’d like to propose a different metaphor,’ says the ideal inamorata, picking up a protein tube and pretending to quote from the packaging. ‘A single cognitive error contains the recommended daily amount of self-delusion for a typical healthy adult.’ She lifts her head and looks at Mia. ‘Want to know the truth?
This isn’t a game
.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on, Mia, you’re not going to fill the yawning crack inside you with Rosentreter and some exercise. The damage runs deeper, Mia. It isn’t about you personally; it runs through this country, and it started with the decision that individual pathologies are a luxury we can’t afford. You’re being eaten away on the inside by the rot at the heart of the system.’
‘You represent Moritz, and I respect that,’ says Mia. ‘You want to keep alive his memory; that’s your job. But don’t presume to know what I’m like on the inside. Even Moritz didn’t understand me. He thought I was weak and conformist.’
‘And the truth is …?’
‘I’m smart enough to know that fighting the system is narcissistic.’
‘The human condition is a pitch-black room in which you crawl around like newborn babies under constant supervision in case you bump heads. Is that what you mean?’
‘Pretty much. Where did you get that? It sounds familiar.’
‘From your new friend, Heinrich Kramer.’
‘Maybe we were wrong about him,’ says Mia. ‘He’s a media personality; he might be entirely different underneath.’
‘Appearance versus reality? Not that old chestnut! The person who
appears
to be Kramer, the person responsible for condemning an innocent man, is only a cover for the
real
Kramer, who doesn’t agree with any of Kramer’s views! Or do you think it was all an unfortunate mistake?’
‘What’s your problem?’ Mia, who has been pedalling furiously, comes to a sudden stop. ‘I don’t want to argue.’
‘What they did to Moritz was either right, or it was wrong,’ the ideal inamorata says sharply. ‘There’s no middle ground. It’s up to you to make a decision. Now come on, Mia, darling. Come over here.’
‘But I haven’t finished.’
‘I said
come here
!’
Mia wavers for a moment, then slides from her exercise bike and walks to the couch. The ideal inamorata knocks the shopping to the floor with a sweep of her arm and flicks on the TV.
People’s Right to Illness
‘WE SHOULD TAKE a moment to consider what it stands for: PRI or People’s Right to Illness, that is, a radical affront to healthy thought.’
The presenter, Wörmer, is half Kramer’s age and half as famous. We can tell this from looking at him. Next to Kramer, he looks like the nervous young editor of a school magazine. He has dedicated his career to following in the footsteps of tonight’s guest. Wörmer is the host of his own talk show,
What We All Think
. He asked Kramer to appear as his guest, and Kramer agreed.
same time
as going about her normal life, not
instead
.
‘Seven units of protein,’ says the ideal inamorata, who is lying on the couch. She rummages through Mia’s shopping bags. ‘Ten units of carbohydrate. Three of fruit and veg. Exemplary. We’re on the road to recovery, are we?’
‘When I’m done with this,’ puffs Mia, ‘I’ll clean and tidy the apartment. You’ll see. In a few days, I’ll be back to work as normal.’
‘Good intentions are peculiar things,’ says the ideal inamorata. ‘A powerful expression of their own irrelevance.’
‘I’d appreciate a little more optimism. “Law is a game, and everyone plays a part.” It sounds like Moritz, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Moritz wanted to be in charge of his own game.’
‘You might be right.’ Mia wipes the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. ‘In any case, he’ll have to resign himself to having his lines rescripted by the rest of us. He’s the one who decided not to play.’
‘I’d like to propose a different metaphor,’ says the ideal inamorata, picking up a protein tube and pretending to quote from the packaging. ‘A single cognitive error contains the recommended daily amount of self-delusion for a typical healthy adult.’ She lifts her head and looks at Mia. ‘Want to know the truth?
This isn’t a game
.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on, Mia, you’re not going to fill the yawning crack inside you with Rosentreter and some exercise. The damage runs deeper, Mia. It isn’t about you personally; it runs through this country, and it started with the decision that individual pathologies are a luxury we can’t afford. You’re being eaten away on the inside by the rot at the heart of the system.’
‘You represent Moritz, and I respect that,’ says Mia. ‘You want to keep alive his memory; that’s your job. But don’t presume to know what I’m like on the inside. Even Moritz didn’t understand me. He thought I was weak and conformist.’
‘And the truth is …?’
‘I’m smart enough to know that fighting the system is narcissistic.’
‘The human condition is a pitch-black room in which you crawl around like newborn babies under constant supervision in case you bump heads. Is that what you mean?’
‘Pretty much. Where did you get that? It sounds familiar.’
‘From your new friend, Heinrich Kramer.’
‘Maybe we were wrong about him,’ says Mia. ‘He’s a media personality; he might be entirely different underneath.’
‘Appearance versus reality? Not that old chestnut! The person who
appears
to be Kramer, the person responsible for condemning an innocent man, is only a cover for the
real
Kramer, who doesn’t agree with any of Kramer’s views! Or do you think it was all an unfortunate mistake?’
‘What’s your problem?’ Mia, who has been pedalling furiously, comes to a sudden stop. ‘I don’t want to argue.’
‘What they did to Moritz was either right, or it was wrong,’ the ideal inamorata says sharply. ‘There’s no middle ground. It’s up to you to make a decision. Now come on, Mia, darling. Come over here.’
‘But I haven’t finished.’
‘I said
come here
!’
Mia wavers for a moment, then slides from her exercise bike and walks to the couch. The ideal inamorata knocks the shopping to the floor with a sweep of her arm and flicks on the TV.
People’s Right to Illness
‘WE SHOULD TAKE a moment to consider what it stands for: PRI or People’s Right to Illness, that is, a radical affront to healthy thought.’
The presenter, Wörmer, is half Kramer’s age and half as famous. We can tell this from looking at him. Next to Kramer, he looks like the nervous young editor of a school magazine. He has dedicated his career to following in the footsteps of tonight’s guest. Wörmer is the host of his own talk show,
What We All Think
. He asked Kramer to appear as his guest, and Kramer agreed.
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