Nietzsche, The Manipulative Glances of Power

I wrote a fictional biography about Nietzsche. I titled it Nietzsche because I thought that is what Nietzsche would want, since he felt so under appreciated in his life, but the real subtitle is The Manipulative Glances of Power, given his quest for success in life drove him into insanity. It is his story from birth to when he lost his mind. This is a segment when he was meeting his mother, Franzsika and his younger sister Elizabeth after boarding school. I call him Fritz throughout the book because that was the nickname his father gave him, when he was a little boy before he died. It is available now at smashwords.com and Amazon.com, it is called Nietzsche, and it is by me, Suzanne Steinberg.

Fritz walked to the end of the block to see his mother and sister sitting in front of the baker. Fritz smiled a broad smile that took up most of his face. The lump in his throat grew as his mother uncrossed her legs and stood next to his sister.

She maintained the composure that she had in the picture that hung over his bed. She had that same smile and the same arched foot that waited in a pivot to leave, running off the page or to embrace him in a warm hug. Her hair was longer. Her dark eyes swayed back and forth, as if she was leaning in a rocking chair. She could soothe away all his worries with the stroke of his hand and a purposeful thought in his head. He ran towards her.

Elizabeth’s eyes had not moved since they saw him walking five minutes ago. She wore her usual garb, a skirt and button down blouse, which she wore to school. She was happy to see her big brother. It wasn’t with the happiness that tortured her, like the bitter happiness she had when she got what she wanted, it was a strange happiness. It went so deep, that it left.

Elizabeth glanced at her mother’s tears. They were slowly dripping over her cheeks and into the creases of her top lip. They hung there like raindrops do on leaves. It made her face look even prettier. As if her beauty was as natural and irreplaceable as a spring rainstorm and as full of life as the flowers that followed.  Elizabeth tugged at her long sleeve shirt that covered her knuckles. Her fingers grow into fists while waiting for love to die down. It roared in her ears and pulled the color out of her face, turning it white. “What is it?” Elizabeth heard the wind ask, and Fritz footsteps got louder. She forced a smile at her father’s eyes, and he sat down with them.

Fritz felt a hole inside his chest. His heart was like an egg yolk. Its white was running through and darkening everything. He breathed in and out, feeling his mother’s beating words that pounded against them like rain, and like rain he heard nothing but the rhythm. He remembered what if felt like to be alone in nature’s backyard during the storm. He embraced her and felt the water dripping off her chin. He thought of his mother lying on the ground, trying to grab the coat off his back. Her fingers were frail and fragile like twigs. “You have changed,” she whispered. “You have become a man.”

“A man,” Fritz said, feeling his chin and hearing the low octaves in his voice.

“You look like dad,” Elizabeth softly muttered.

Fritz winced at the compliment, seeing his father in his head. At least he had memories, Elizabeth only had pictures. The difference between them gave him a smug sense of satisfaction.

“We have missed you so much,” his mother said to herself.

Fritz retreated, and walked with them quietly into the store for bread and butter.

“Is it really you?” Elizabeth whispered to his back. “Where is the boy? Is he here too or did you leave him behind somewhere?”

“What?” Fritz said turning around to her.

“I was just wandering if you were going to have to go back soon.” Her innocence was everywhere he looked.

“In a few days, but it’s so great to see you. You have no idea how strict school can be. We wake every day at four in the morning. But I am learning so much. I am already at the top of my class. I can teach you some things if you want.” His eagerness dripped off his tongue, like the saliva off of a dog’s hanging expression. He would bark if she got to close.

“No, that’s okay. I do enough learning as is.”

“Are you sure?” He said hitting her head, and he bit off her smile.

“Ouch, Fritz. That hurt!” Elizabeth rubbed the tender place he had touched.

“Really well what about this?” and he hit her again, playfully as if she was a boy. He stood back for her defense.

“Fritz,” his mother turned around. And in her eyes he froze, seeing that look. It was a look she never gave him before. Was it love or pity? He wasn’t sure which side her eye was on and which side his eye was on. In between the string of raw words was silence. Fritz turned back towards the window wishing his father was around. “Sorry Liz,” he said softly and sat at the table with his coffee.

He looked out the window at the pigeons eating. I wish I could just fly away. He thought, fly so far away that life can’t catch up.