The Diary of Geza Csath Page 10

  3 1 J A N U A R Y

  One after another I recount the bloody defeats I suffer in battles against myself. And still luck does not favour me. The week started well enough with daily doses of .044 and .046, split into three or four parts, but yesterday and today I again fell into the wretched circulus vitiosus which is the source of the most shameful self-accusations. The problem at these times is always that I don’t have the strength to wait for the afternoon defecation. If I manage to do this, and the M reabsorbed from the intestines has departed, there is always a pleasant M-hunger that lasts all day and can be satisfied by the normal dose. If, on the contrary, the first sin happens in the morning, while I am still in bed, or before excreting the stool, the dose usually doesn’t bring results or even cause euphoria. Defecation doesn’t happen either, to make matters worse (after lunch I can only produce something with the greatest of suffering), and the poison reabsorbed through the lower intestine makes the morning desperately unhappy. To transgress and to harm myself, and not even to enjoy it – such bitter thoughts pursue me at these times, and often if there were a pistol nearby I would blow my head apart in a second. What do I do instead, however? … Usually I take the second dose early, three or four hours after the first. This normally produces euphoria lasting twenty or thirty minutes, then the most pitiable, miserable state returns, one in which: 11. All human action, industry, diligence and work appear

  laughable and odious.

  12. All speech is tiresome and stupid.

  13. All plans are unworkable and appalling.

  14. Everything grand, beautiful and noble is unreachable and meaningless.

  At these times I smoke one cigarette after another, until I can no longer even taste the smoke. I eat oranges until I am bored. I play the piano with revulsion. I wash. I go to Olga’s. I find life intolerable. I make an effort to entertain her, but I lack real sexual interest, and therefore I am soon very bored at her place. Though my sexual interest is almost nil, and I know why – I forcefully exaggerate it, hugging and kissing her constantly, and whether I need it or not, I insist on coitus, which is carried out with a shameful half-erection, and results in two or three [orgasms] for her and one ejaculation for me. Afterwards I would like most of all to leave; to make staying bearable, I disgustedly inject another .02-.03 in the WC. In the evening, after supper another .02, then .01 and .01 follow – the last shot with the excuse that it counts toward the next day.

  An infinitely loathsome, contemptible life is this. I am so revolting, weak, and pitiful that I must genuinely wonder at Olga, that she can still love me and not be unfaithful. That she doesn’t become utterly disgusted with my weak, breathy voice, my constant glancing at the mirror (the natural reflex gesture of the health complex), my cynical and shrivelled penis, my withered face, my witless conversation, my impotent, idle life, my suspicious income, my lack of will, the shamelessness with which I withdraw each day to the WC at length, my stupidity. I think I smell too; on account of my ruined olfactory sense, I cannot perceive the smell of my poorly wiped arse or my decayed mouth.

  Yet today I was strong. In the morning I started to dress properly, without poison. I worked. I took nothing all the way until 1.00. When I wanted to reach for the accursed PVZ,38 I always recalled that ‘uncle’ Pista is 68 years old and still has intercourse weekly. Therefore I, too, surely can hope to be an active male until I reach 60. My God, 34 more years, how much pleasure, how many good days, how many books, how many beautiful ideas, how many landscapes, smells, milk, cigarettes, flowers, possessions, money, glory, music, children, happiness, reading newspapers, the wholeness of life, thirty-four more years of life, of which every day is worth more than this life saturated with false ecstasy and bitter suffering, this life which is planned for only five years, but of which a hundred years aren’t worth as much as those thirty-four with their real, true pleasures.

  On this basis I had a chance to complete today successfully, to take the day’s single dose at night and in bed.

  What happens? Bozsi, who promised to come for lunch, is late. I wasn’t happy about her coming, but if she is coming, she should come on time. What does the poor, complacent-snotty little thing think she’s doing, breaking up the order of things? The little delinquent. All right, I’ll compose until she gets here. I sit down to Legend of the Sun, which I started yesterday, and so that I might enjoy it more, so that I might be able to go further in the construction of the exposition, I take .02 P in 4% solution. This was all well but I soon regretted it, because the liveliness of my spirit was lost.

  38. Almost certainly another codename for morphine.

  Another unpleasantness at O’s. Aranka Gardy’s maid and son were there, so I took the girl into the bathroom, wanting to be done with the + soon so that I could inject the next dose of P. O was terrified, she resisted and I had hardly any pleasure. At 7.00 I left, using the excuse that I was going to the …

  On the way, however, I had a 4% solution of M made up. Even before supper, here at home I injected .03 M. I played at writing, making petty calculations, little plans for the next month – self-deluding, silly lists these are, the brilliantly comic report cards of my worthless life. In the meantime Poli comes in to make the bed. I jump her. As an experiment, I want to see how she behaves lying under me, in bed. I stick myself with one of her pins. She is red, pants with desire, but clings to my hair, mentions the professor repeatedly, and cries out. I stop – and step outside. In the hallway Mariska is eavesdropping. She tells me – another unpleasantness – that she has still not finished typing Vajda’s case report, because in one place she was not sure about the remark appended. I have supper, but in the struggle the poison’s warm, even effect has been lost. Afterwards another .03 M in two doses (.015) at tenminute intervals. Diary writing, despair. Feeling of disgust.

  Tomorrow’s programme. No M. No substitute sex. No alcohol. No nicotine. I can look forward to a nice bit of suffering, but it doesn’t matter. You may as well suffer now, dog, wretched waste of a man, suffer and chew the carpet. For the night, after midnight only, .03 P is allowed subcutaneously.

  By the date of my mother’s death, 6 February, I will be completely free. Final injection on 5 February. The last one of my life.

  Ledger for January 1913:

  Earned: 260 crowns Spent: 390 crowns Coitus: 45 times Orgasms for Olga: 58

  In my life with her, coitus has occurred 424 times – in 345 days, which means that 1,268 acts of coitus occurred per day during these 345 days. (From 15 September 1911 to 31 January 1912 (sic), not counting the hundred days’ absence in the summer, the twenty Sundays and thirty days during Fredi’s illness (actually forty-two) when we could not meet and I was forced to resort to other women (to my immense regret).

  Consumed:

  M: 170 centigrams average per day therefore 5.6 cg. = .056

  6 F E B R U A R Y 1 9 1 3

  I smile as I read the last despondent diary entries. Their contents are actually quite serious. Desperate struggle, strain in the interests of liberation from the poison.

  Naturally I did not succeed in living through this morrow without poison, but the result was quite nice anyway. At noon I took .02 P and at night, .03 M. I hardly smoked. On the next day, however, I went up to .08, then on 4 February to .16 g. This last is excused by .06 of it being P. During this time depression pursued me constantly; I experienced the bitterest feelings. My sexual interest sank to nil, and I thought I would soon be a case of premature debilitation. Yesterday, however, I pulled myself together. In fact a fortunate circumstance interceded. At night the weather changed. From frost, the atmosphere changed to mild, spring-like, cloudy but pleasant-smelling. I couldn’t sleep. Though the daily dose was .10, at night I took doses of .02-.02-.02 one after the other between 2 and 3 o’clock, in order to sleep. It was all in vain: I lay in bed half-asleep, dazed. Today too, my opinion is that the real cause of the insomnia was the change in weather. But this became the insomnia was the change in weather. But this became the 2 an
d 5-9; but I felt quite fresh. I bathed, vomited, and took nothing right up to 7.30 in the evening. At that time I twice injected .02 P in 3% solution. It decidedly worsened my condition. So after midnight I again took .04 P. The night was not great. I slept from 2.30 to 10.30. Today I again behaved heroically, though waking up was much worse. Vomiting and bathing helped. Now I clearly see why those attempts at withdrawal in the autumn didn’t work. Though they weren’t serious, with luck they might have brought success. The problem was that I believed vomiting could be avoided, whereas without it all effort is in vain. By morning, as it were, the excreted poison collects in the stomach, and if we do not dispose of it in time, it is absorbed again, this time with no narcotic effect but – because it is a relatively small dose – it increases the hunger. This is the problem with Pantopon too. Therefore the most suitable principles of painless withdrawal:

  1 1. One dose per day, which must, however, create at least twenty hours of peace, that is, the next craving must last four hours at the most. (The craving begins with the beginning of salivation and the onset of the stomach’s hyperesthesia.)

  1 2. The daily single dose should at first be at least 2/4 of the total daily dose.

  13. Vomiting should be induced in the morning even days after withdrawal is complete.

  14. With the beginning of withdrawal, Arsycodile cure; the substance to be taken after each dinner subcutaneously.

  My heroism had its reward. In the afternoon, Olga and I experienced unforgettable joy. Coitus equinus gave such burning and sacred rapture, the likes of which I can hardly remember. Within half an hour another + in Cleopatra and Antony position. This too was regal pleasure. The .03 P (3%) taken after the ++ satisfied nothing; indeed, it increased the hunger. Because of this, on my way home after taking the little mother home, I purchased phials of 3% M and gave myself the gift of a .02 dose of M. Now I think I have got it right, my night will be good, and so will waking. Tomorrow’s plan: .02 P at 6 in the afternoon, and .01 M on going to bed.

  The previous days’ account:

  4 February: .10 M

  5 February: .02 M+.08 P=.10

  6 February: .07 P+.02 M = .9

  Tomorrow therefore: 0.05

  Saturday: 0.03

  Sunday: 0.02 P

  And by Monday: freedom.

  7 F E B R U A R Y 1 9 1 3

  Today took matters forward successfully. After vomiting, bathing, and defecating, I took .02 M. Then toward evening another .015. That’s how I achieved today’s .035 after yesterday’s .09. Naturally I kept my promise with regard to the AyAyAy39 at night. There was no +, but that will make it so much the better tomorrow.

  39. author’s private code

  1 2 M A R C H 1 9 1 3

  Shameful failures. I was unable to carry through my plan. And now, when Sandor (who was nearly driven to suicide over his pleuritis, due to my ugly lack of concern) and Gyula beseech me, crying and swearing and in despair, when Olga sighs, and quietly, anxiously, supplicating, sobs in my ear: ‘My boy, you love it more than me!’ – I now face harder work then ever. Because in the last week my dose jumped up from .22 to .36. This is a terrible amount, several times greater than the largest doses up to now. Nevertheless, more than ever, I must begin a final and irreversible withdrawal, because if there is no result by the 20th, if there isn’t complete success, then retreat to a closed institution is the only path left for me. That would mean the complete cessation of my professional clinical work.

  Tomorrow, therefore, the final attempt, for life or death.

  1 1. I just have to think about how smoothly the withdrawal of December 1911 went, even though I had strong doubts about success then too, while now I know that I am not attempting the impossible.

  1 2. Think, Jozsef,40 of poor Olga’s despair, and her terrified, beseeching gaze.

  13. Think of what grand, joyful days will follow, just like then [December 1911-12].

  40. Csath’s real name was Jozsef Brenner.

  1 4. Think of how nice it will be to return to life, to work, to be happy about everything, to live, real life.

  15. Think that you must live sixty-eight years, like ‘uncle’ Pista, who has + even now.

  16. Think of what tremendous spiritual progress can be anticipated in terms of the Mansfeld plan.

  17. Think of the lively, beautiful Casanova mornings and the colossal ham suppers.

  18. Think of your future, which you can raze completely, or build into something grand and beautiful.

  N O T E S T O D . 4 1

  1. I stress that I was always a sadistic man, and never jealous. I started the same way with O. I ruled over her, but M and jealousy weakened me, giving her the courage to turn the tables.

  1 2. The first M injection should be written up at length with many details, along with the fear that accompanied it. Then later, the conscious, reckless and successful use of M in small doses.

  1 3. Degenerate birth should also be stressed. Illusions about the deceased mother. The boy is devoted to his father: however, certain matters lead to perpetual misunderstandings.

  1 4. Ambition that is too great, then suddenly broken, should also be stressed.

  15. The fact that there is no more glorious, beautiful thing than to be a young intern at a spa.

  16. Detailed descriptions should be written of the trip to the spa, packing, hopes, arrival, mood changes.

  Andor’s tragedy is self-contained. Here, however, many things are united:

  1a) the father abandoned the boy. 1b) the … .[unfinished]

  41. Dezso Kosztolanyi. Csath wanted Kosztolanyi to write his story.

  Csath at Stubnyafurdo in 1912

  ‘…there is no move glorious thing than to be a young intern at a spa.’

  G E N E R A L R E M A R K S

  I do not condemn my wife because she cheated on me many times, and finally bore a child by another (she could have freed herself of the embryo, as she had before – approximately eight times). I am a scientist and a philosopher, therefore capable of understanding desire and the rights of the flesh. I understand human nature: no matter how well and happy we are, we wish for ever more pleasure.

  On the other hand, the following are unforgivable:

  1 1. Before the wedding she told others that I would marry her or she would kill me. A slut has no right to say this, only a woman in love, who lives or dies for one man.

  1 2. She ruined the first weeks of the marriage with her constant abuse, only to divert attention, because she was already pregnant by someone else.

  1 3. She knew that she was unfaithful by nature, and she saw at the sanatorium how much I suffered from the presentiment of that, and still she did not agree to divorce.

  1 4. She stopped me from settling in Szabadka (where my best professional prospects lay) – because she wanted to go to Pest. (She did not want to be under my family’s supervision.)

  1 5. She caused my estrangement from my brother.

  16. When she recognized my bodily and spiritual degeneration, she did not take me to a doctor, she did not do everything she could to help me, but instead left me to my fate. I didn’t see myself, I could not observe myself

  – it was she who had to see. It would have been her duty (and her family’s), but they all pretended they saw nothing the matter with me. (And at the time I believed it too.)

  17. She humiliated me, because later she gave herself to everyone and hardly bothered to conceal her sluttishness. 18. At Regoce,42 she drove me, chased me, compelled me to do the hardest, most exhausting work; though she already knew what my problem was (the medical orders called for a moderate lifestyle), she made me believe I was a hypochondriac, and I worked until I dropped. (During my Spanish illness, she forced me to get up and go to the farm.)

  19. She allowed us to get settled, she allowed me to live in fantasies of the future, when she already knew the horrible catastrophe she was preparing for me. Knowing me, it would have been essential for her to divorce – using any possible means – before givi
ng birth. She would have known the way to accomplish that with me, because at that time it still would have been possible.

  10. She allowed me to investigate the matter of the child, to go here and there, to make myself ridiculous (as an honourable person, I looked for certain facts, not wanting to throw a woman out on the basis of mere suspicion). She dragged me all over the place, drove me crazy with all kinds of terrible machinations, made me travel to Szabadka, Baja, etc., She destroyed my desire

  42. Ridjica

  to work, my joy in living, my reputation. Until then, no one had suspected I was a morphine addict. By the end the whole region was talking of my having gone insane. And she did actually get me sent to the madhouse.

  11. When I escaped back home she was quite embarrassed, and received me reluctantly. That same night, there were two quiet knocks on the bedroom window. I think the deaf pharmacist was her newest boyfriend, whom she seduced because he was engaged. That excited her.

  12. On the very next day, she did everything she could to vex me. She constantly called the little child ‘my little lover’. She combed her hair the way the suspected father wears his. She insulted my family, suggested that they had stolen her money (my earnings), which I had given to my father for safekeeping.

  13. The most abominable was the following: I asked the maid to tell me when she first noticed that my gait had become poor. The girl answered: ‘Only recently.’ Whereupon she [Olga] rails at me – Why am I trying to get information from the maid? I saw that she felt guilty and didn’t want me to keep on putting two and two together. What kind of vile, ignoble woman recognizes her husband’s tabes and says nothing, but continues to torment him: to abuse him so that the problem will get more serious.

  Postcard to Desiré

  T O D E S I R É :

  I was pained also by the woman’s ingratitude to me as a doctor. I cured her of tuberculosis. For years, she ran a fever in the afternoons. I cared for her, taught her. I treated her with IP, and when she became well, when her hitherto constantly hot body became nice and cool, soft, when her shoulders (which the apicitis had pulled down) straightened out, then – she looked elsewhere.