The Man Between. Michael Henry Heim

what bothers me. In general—and I’d like to write about this sometime—it bothers me that people rush about without thinking, especially without thinking ahead. As a joke, I’d say that this is our contribution to the world, our Californian or American contribution. California is a good example: it only rains in two or three months out of the year, so when you leave home in the morning, you don’t have to wonder whether you need to take your umbrella with you, or if you will be able to have your picnic. You don’t have to think ahead, and from this, of course, many things follow. Almost all the stores are open non-stop—this is capitalism: you believe that if you stay open an hour later, you can make another dollar. But it also encourages people not to think, but to act impulsively, instinctively. We lower ourselves and reduce our lives through our refusal to think. I’m not saying you have to be serious, or even rational, all the time—I don’t want to give that impression—but the fact that we neglect cause and effect just because it’s simpler to do so . . . American capitalism profits greatly from this commodity. Thousands of things get thrown away . . . Someone put it well: we are not just a consumer society but a throwaway society. If you throw a bottle away, you don’t have to remember to take it to the store to refill it. That’s simpler. This means, on the other hand, that billions of these bottles are lost every year. This is just one example, but it shows how people waste their lives.

      Sorin Tomuţa: I’ve heard the same thing about Germany.

      Michael Heim: I wouldn’t believe it. Germans are, in fact, much better off than we are, as least as far as recycling goes.

      Sorin Tomuţa: People don’t have to think and are encouraged to avoid doing so.

      Michael Heim: Yes, they find it convenient. We Americans export this idea and the whole world welcomes it with open arms. Even if, on the one hand, it is a kind of American cultural imperialism, fashionably called “globalization,” on the other hand, it’s nothing we force on people. Take music, for example. I read somewhere that all types of rock have the same rhythm: the heartbeat. The music is meant to hypnotize you, in a way, keeping you from thinking. People who walk down the street listening to rock music on Walkmans look like they’ve been brainwashed. But this is just what they want: a type of music that doesn’t tax their brains. I don’t know what can be done about this, maybe we can try to show people that there are more useful things than short-circuiting their brains. Things that could help them find life more interesting. I don’t think it’s natural for people to do nothing, yet people do so little. I am sure you’ve read that in the United States, people spend on average six to eight hours per day in front of the television.

      Cornel Ungureanu: What do you think of Clinton?

      Daciana Branea: We were wondering about your politics . . .

      Dorian Branea: Are you a Republican?

      Michael Heim: No, Democrat.

      Cornel Ungureanu: We only asked you that as a goad.

      Michael Heim: I liked him at first, and I’ve tried to stay true to my first impressions. Yet, Clinton has made so many mistakes. And now, this scandal, so ridiculous . . . A friend in Washington says that his real problem is that he’s provincial and has never been able to shake it off. Bill Clinton comes from Arkansas and still has not learned that, if you want to do great things, you can’t allow yourself to get tripped up with small things. His sexual issues are a kind of small thing.

      Sorin Tomuţa: It’s interesting that this Sexgate incited such a huge political storm. There are conspiracy theories . . .

      Michael Heim: There’s no conspiracy, it’s just a small-time provincial who took advantage of his circumstances. This caused a ridiculous and embarrassing situation for everyone. We keep seeing how the European press makes fun of Americans for being so naïve. But in America, on all the call-in shows, people protested the nonstop coverage. There are much more serious and urgent things to talk about. And, in the end, the pressure of public opinion brought the scandal to an end. I was proud to see it. Up to now, I’ve been saying ugly things about Americans, but I have to admit that I was proud when this situation was cleared up. It is interesting that the scandal gave rise to a large number of political jokes, a genre I associate more with Communist Europe than America. For example, a poll was taken of all American women, asking if they would sleep with President Clinton. Twenty-five percent said no, forty percent said yes, and the rest: “Even if you paid me, I’d never do that again.”

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      Adriana Babeţi: How did you come to study the languages of Central Europe?

      Michael Heim: I was still interested in Russian and I wanted to visit Europe. It was difficult—now everyone travels everywhere, it’s normal, but then people didn’t have so much money. Furthermore, I had only just turned eighteen, and my family wouldn’t let me go by myself. For me, going to Europe in a young people’s tour group was degrading, I refused. I tried to preserve my independence, but I couldn’t make it work, so I split the difference. At the time—1962, when I was nineteen—the first student trips to the Soviet Union were being organized. Before then, it was impossible, you couldn’t go. So there’s the solution. A trip to the Soviet Union was still adventurous. Even dangerous. I showed I was no coward. But to prepare, I had to study Russian. So Superman’s father, my adolescent pride, and last but not least, Dostoyevsky drove me toward Russian. Then there was another story, somewhat . . .

      Adriana Babeţi: Romantic?

      Michael Heim: That, too, but I was thinking of something else. In Leningrad, I went into a large bookstore for Eastern Bloc countries, a so-called “Friendship Bookstore.” I wanted to buy some German books, since they were cheaper there. I was thinking I’d buy Goethe, Schiller, maybe Brecht. But I found a Chinese salesperson. I realized I could buy books in Chinese, too. I began to copy the book titles down in a notebook. At the time, I knew about two thousand Chinese ideograms, not enough even to read the titles, so I planned to copy them down and look them up later. When the Chinese clerk saw me, she was shocked. For two reasons: because I was an American, of course, and also because it was the first time that she had ever seen someone write left-handed, and in Chinese, no less! And the first time she had seen a ballpoint pen! This was ’62. It was too much for her, so she came over and spoke to me in Russian. Her Russian was even worse than mine. I responded in Chinese and she told me—today, I can’t believe I understood, but then I did—she told me the story of her life, married to a Russian who beat her, and other things. She wanted to go back to China. We met again the next day and she gave me some of her books, and I gave her my pen—a Parker—and left right away. She was scared to be seen with a foreigner. I knew I would not be able to go to China; it was impossible for an American to visit Red China. I was in Russia and told myself that I would never see China. But I could come back to Russia. It would be difficult, but possible. So I decided to major in Slavics.

      Marius Lazurca: So, you gave up on China because of a pen?

      Michael Heim: Not the pen, but the Chinese woman. Yes, we could say that was the turning point.

      Adriana Babeţi: And then?

      Michael Heim: I went back to the United States and continued to study Russian. So I had a double major: Oriental Studies and Russian Language and Literature.

      Daciana Branea: Did you ever go back to Russia?

      Michael Heim: I’ve been back a few times, but only on short visits. I was in Russia in 1970, while I was writing my dissertation.

      Daciana Branea: What was your dissertation topic?

      Michael Heim: Eighteenth-century Russian literature, and more precisely, the first translators of French and German into Russian. Trediakovsky, Sumarokov, Lomonosov. Lomonosov is wonderful, a genius. Trediakovsky and Sumarokov are important in Russian literary history, but that’s all. I compared their translations and discussed the role of