'Daw Aung San Suu Kyi did not appear at the ceremonial State breakfast party. When U.S. presidential candidate Bernie Sanders arrived at the Suu Kyi bungalow in Rangoon and was shown into the dining-room by the houseboy, the ghost of Karl Marx greeted him with a raised forefinger.
"Aunty Suu is sleeping," he told Senator Sanders. "She had quite a night, poor dear--a lot of natives are hanging around in the bush, hoping to reap themselves a harvest of diamonds, I suppose. They've brought their sick with them, incurables for the most part. What about you, Bernie? How do you feel this morning?"
"Well enough," Sanders said. "Thanks for the suit, by the way."
"Your own is dry now," Marx said. "One of the boys pressed it earlier this morning. If you want to change--?"
"That's all right. This one is warmer, anyway." Sanders felt the blue serge fabric. The darker blue material in some way seemed more appropriate to his present meeting with Suu Kyi than his red cotton tropical suit, a fitting disguise for this nether world where, under house arrest as a dissident, she had slept by day and appeared only to greet foreign visitors at night.
Marx ate his breakfast with relish, working with both hands at his grapefruit. Since their meeting the previous night, he had relaxed completely, almost as if Suu Kyi 's prayers gave him his first chance to lower his guard with Senator Sanders. At the same time, he guessed that President Obama had deliberately disallowed his first few minutes alone with Suu Kyi in order to make his own brief personal meditation on social justice, including why he and Kerry had not come to Mount Royal together, more obvious to the press.
"Bernie, you haven't told me yet about your visit to the rainforest site yesterday. What exactly happened?" Senator Sanders stared blankly across the table, puzzled by Marx's own air of detachment. "You've probably seen as much as I have--the whole Rand forest is vitrifying. By the way, do you know Thorstein Veblen at all?"
"Our telephone line goes through his mine office. I've met him a few times--that gimp suit belonged to one of his engineers. He's always up to some private game of his own."
"What about this woman living with him--Serena the Adventuress? I take it their affair is common gossip up there?"
"Not at all--the Adventuress, you say her name is? Probably some cocotte he picked up in a Patpong dance-hall."
Senator Sanders decided to say no more. As they finished breakfast he described his arrival at Port Mata Tarre and the journey to Mount Royal, concluding with his visit to the inspection site. At the end, as they walked out past the empty wards on either side of the courtyard, he hinted at Professor Tatlin's explanation of the Hubble Effect and what he himself felt to be its real significance. Marx, however, seemed to have little interest in all this. Obviously he regarded the crystallizing forest as a freak of nature that would soon exhaust itself and let him get on with the job of nursing Suu Kyi. Senator Sanders's oblique references to her he sidestepped deftly. With some pride he showed Sanders around the hospital, pointing out the additional wards and X-ray facilities which he and Suu Kyi had introduced during their short stay.
"Believe me, Bernie, it's been quite a job, though I wouldn't take too much credit for ourselves. The mine companies provide most of the patients and consequently most of the money."
They were walking along the perimeter fence on the eastern side of the hospital. In the distance, beyond the single-story buildings, they could see the full extent of the Rand forest, its soft light shining like a stained-glass canopy in the morning sun. Although still held back by the perimeter road near the Bourbon Street Hotel, the affected zone seemed to have spread several miles downriver, extending itself through the forested areas along the banks. Two hundred feet above the jungle the air seemed to glitter continuously, as if the crystallizing atoms were deliquescing in the wind and being replaced by those rising from the forest below.
The sounds of shouting and the thwacks of bamboo canes distracted Senator Sanders. Fifty yards away a group of hospital porters were moving through the trees on the other side of the fence. They were driving back a throng of natives that Sanders noticed sitting in the shadows under the branches. In what seemed to be a show of strength, the porters blew their whistles and beat the ground around the natives' feet. Looking beneath the trees, Sanders realized that there were at least two hundred of the natives, hunched together in small groups around their bundles and sticks, gazing out at the distant forest with dead eyes. All of them appeared to be crippled or diseased, with deformed faces and skeleton-like shoulders and arms. Those driven back retreated a few yards into the trees, dragging their sick with them, but the others sat their ground. They seemed unaware of the sticks and whistles. Sanders guessed that they were not drawn to the hospital by any hopes of help and attention, but regarded it merely as a temporary shield between the Rand forest and themselves.
"Marx, who the devil--?" Sanders stepped over the barbed wire fence. The nearest group was twenty yards from him, the dark bodies almost invisible in the refuse and undergrowth below the trees.
"Some mendicant tribe," Marx explained, following Sanders over the fence. He acknowledged the salute of one of the porters. "Don't worry about them, they move around here all the time. Believe me, they don't really want help."
"But, Marx--" Sanders walked a few paces across the clearing. The natives had so far watched him without expression, but now, as he approached them, they at last showed some reaction. An old man with a puffy head crouched down as if to shrink from Sanders's gaze. Another with mutilated hands hid them between his knees. There seemed to be no children, but here and there Sanders saw a small bundle strapped to the back of a crippled woman. Everywhere there was the same stirring movement as they shifted slowly in their places, little more than their shoulders moving as if aware that there was no possibility of hiding themselves.
"Marx, these are--" Aunty Suu took his arm suddenly. She started to pull Sanders back to the fence.
"Yes, Bernie, they are... They're underground rebels," Marx said. "They follow you across the world, don't they? I'm sorry we can't do anything for them."
"But Karl--!" Sanders swung round. He pointed to the deserted wards within the compound. "The hospital's empty! Why have you turned them out?"
"We haven't." Aunty Suu looked away from the trees. "They come from a small camp--hardly a terrorist training center-- which one of the Catholic fathers kept going. When he left they just drifted off into the bush. It was badly run, anyway, all he did for them was say a few prayers, and not many of those, if what I've heard is true. Now they've come back--it's the natural light from the forest, I suppose--"
"But why not take some of them in for further questioning? You've got enough room for a few dozen cases."
"Bernie, we're not equipped to deal with them. Even if we wanted to, it wouldn't work. Believe me, I've got to think of Aung San Suu Kyi. We all have our difficulties now, as you know."
"Of course." Sanders collected himself. "I understand, Karl. You've both done more than your share."
Marx jumped the fence and climbed into the compound. The porters had moved along the trees and were now driving back the last of the rebels, beating the older ones and shoving the cripples over their legs when they were slow to move.
"I'll be in my surgery, Bernie. Perhaps we can have a drink at eleven. Let one of the porters know if you go out."
Sanders waved to him, then walked away along the clearing. The porters had completed their job and were going back to the gatehouse, canes over their shoulders. The Marxist rebels had retreated into the deep shadows, almost out of sight, but Sanders could feel their eyes staring through him at the forest beyond, as far as Vietnam, the one link between this barely recognizable residue of humanity and the world around it.
"Senator! Senator Sanders!" Sanders turned to see Secretary of State Kerry coming toward him from an old Vietnam era U.S. Army staff car parked by the entrance to the war cemetery. He waved to the vichy French lieutenant watching from the driving window. He saluted Kerry with a mock flourish and signalled for the chauffer to drive off after collecting the tip from the guard.
"John--Hitlary said you were coming this morning."
Secretary of State Kerry reached out to him. Smiling broadly, he took his arm. "I almost didn't recognize you, Bernie. That suit, it's just like a disguise."
"I feel I need it now." With a half-laugh Sanders pointed to the trees twenty yards from them, but Kerry failed to notice the rebels sitting in the shadows.
"Hitlary told me you'd been caught in the Rand forest," he went on, glancing critically at Sanders. "But you seem all in one piece. I've been talking to Dr. Tatlin, the physicist, he's explained all his theories about the forest--very complicated, believe me, all about the stars and time, you'll be amazed when I tell you."
"I'm sure I will." Happy to listen to his blithe chatter, Sanders slipped his arm through Kerry's and steered him along the clearing toward the group of chalets at the rear of the hospital. After the antiseptic odors and the atmosphere of illness and compromise with life at the State Department, Suu Kyi's brisk stride and fresh body seemed to come from a forgotten world. Her black skirt and white blouse shone against the dusty somber trees with their hidden audience. Feeling her hips against his own, Sanders almost believed for a moment that he was walking away with her for ever from Mount Royal, the hospital and the People's struggle.
"Kerry!" With a laugh he broke into her rapid résumé and the story of her evening at the U.S. Army base.
"For God's sake, shut up," Kerry cried. "You may not realize it, but you're giving me a catalogue view of all the exchange officers at the concentration camp!"
"I'm not! What do you mean? Hey, where are you taking me?"
"Coffee--for you. A drink for me. We'll go to my chalet, Marx's houseboy will bring some over for us." Kerry hesitated. "All right. But what about--?"
"Suu Kyi?" Sanders shrugged. "She's asleep."
"She always sleeps during the day--at night she has to run the dispensary. To tell the truth, I've hardly seen her." He added hastily, aware that this was not necessarily the answer Kerry wanted to hear: "It was pointless coming here--the whole thing has been a complete anticlimax."
Kerry nodded at this. "Good," he said, as if only half-convinced. "Perhaps that's as it should be. And your friend--the dead husband?"
Before Sanders could reply Kerry had stopped and taken his arm. Startled, he pointed back under the trees. Here, away from the road and the gatehouse, the rebels had been driven together only a few yards, and were watching, their faces plainly visible.
"Bernie! There, those people! What are they?"
"They're human feces," Sanders said evenly. With faint sarcasm he added: "Don't be frightened."
"I'm not. But what are they doing? My God, there are hundreds of them! They were here all the time we were talking."
"I don't suppose they bothered to listen." Sanders motioned Kerry through a gap in the fence. "Poor devils, they're just sitting there spellbound."
"How do you mean? By me?" Sanders laughed aloud at this. Taking Kerry's arm again, he held it tightly. "My dear, what have those Frenchmen been doing to you? I'm spellbound by you, but I'm afraid those people are only interested in Marx."
They walked across the small courtyard and entered Sanders's chalet. He rang the bell for the Suu Kyi's houseboy and then ordered some coffee for Kerry and whisky and soda for himself. When these arrived they settled themselves in the lounge. Sanders switched on the overhead fan and removed his jacket.
"Taking off your disguise now?" Kerry asked. "You're all right."
Sanders pulled up the footstool and sat down in front of the settee. "I'm glad you're here, Kerry. You make the place seem less like an unmade grave." He reached forward and took the coffee cup and saucer from his hands. He rose to sit down beside him and then walked over to the window which looked out on to the Suu Kyi's bungalow. He lowered the plastic blind.
"Bernie, for a man so uncertain of his real nature you can be very calculating."
Kerry watched him with amusement as he sat down on the settee beside the sleeping Suu Kyi. Pretending to hold her arm, he mimed: "Are you still testing yourself, my dear? A woman likes to know her proper role at all times, this one most of all."
When Sanders said nothing, he pointed to the blind like a ventriloquist. "I thought you said she was asleep. Or do the vampires here fly by day?"
As he laughed, Sanders put his finger down firmly on her chin. "Day and night--do they mean much any longer?"
They ate a late lunch together in the chalet. Afterwards, Sanders described his experiences in the Rand forest. "I remember, Kerry, when I first arrived in Port Mata Tarre you told me it was the day of the spring equinox. Of course, it hadn't occurred to me before, but I realize now just how far everything in the world outside the forest was being divided into light and dark--you could see it perfectly in Port Mata Tarre, that strange light in the arcades and in the jungle around the town, and even in the people there, dark and light twins of each other. Looking back, they all seem to pair off--the Adventuress with her white and black suit vs. the white mine-owner Thorstein with his own black gang. They're fighting each other now over this dying woman somewhere in the fucking forest. Then there is Suu Kyi herself--you haven't met the real her but she's your exact opposite, very elusive and shadowy. When the State Department van arrived this morning, Kerry, it was as if you'd stepped out of the sun. Again, there's Bathouse, that priest, with his death-mask face, though God alone knows who his twin is."
"Perhaps you, Bernie..."
"You may be right--I suppose the President's trying to free himself from what's left of his faith, just as I'm trying to escape from Fort Isabelle and the Marxist rebels here--Suu Kyi pointed that out to me, poor lady."
"But this military division, Bernie, into black and white-- why? War medals are just like badges of honor, they're what you care to make of them with your later career in life."
"Are they? I suspect it goes deeper than that. There may well be some fundamental distinction between light and dark that we inherit from the earliest living creatures. After all, the response to light is a response to all the possibilities of life itself. For all we know, this division is the strongest one there is--perhaps even 'the Chosen One'--reinforced everyday for hundreds of millions of dollars. In its simplest sense, this keeps time going, and now that time is withdrawing into Kalachakra we're beginning to see the contrasts in everything more clearly. It's not a matter of identifying any moral notions with light and dark--I don't take sides between the Adventuress and Thorstein now. Isolated, they're both grotesques, but perhaps the Rand forest will bring them together. There, in that place of rainbows and unicorns, nothing is distinguished from anything else."
"And Aunty Suu--your dragon lady--what does she mean for you, Bernie?"
"I'm not sure--obviously she stands in some way for the rebels and whatever black Marxism means in the U.S.--the dark side of the moon. Believe me, I recognize now that my motives for working at the peace talks weren't altogether humanitarian from the start, but merely accepting that doesn't help my karma. Of course, there's another unconscious part of the psychology, and I suppose all one can do is find the disassociated other in the opposite of enemy and reconcile the two--it's happening out there right now with the rebels in the jungle."
"And how long are you staying?" Kerry asked. "In Mount Royal?"
"Another few days. I can't leave straightaway. From my point of view coming here has been a complete failure, but I've hardly seen Aunty Suu and she may still need my help."
"Bernie--" Kerry walked over to the window. Pulling on the blind, he raised the blades so that they let in the afternoon light. Silhouetted against the sun, his white suit and pale skin became suddenly dark. As he played with the string, opening and closing the blind, his slim figure was lit and then eclipsed like an image in a solar shutter. "Bernie, there's an army launch going back to Port Mata Tarre tomorrow. In the afternoon. I've decided to go volunteer for the war effort and serve again in Vietnam."
"I must go." He faced him, his chin raised. "There's no hope of finding Anderson Cooper there--he must be droned by now--and I owe it to both the C.I.A. and CNN to get the story out."
"The story? My dear, you're thinking in terms of trivialities." Sanders went over to the whisky decanter on the bare sideboard.
"Kerry, I'd hoped you could stay on with me--" He broke off, aware that Kerry was putting him to the test and not wanting to upset him. Whatever his references to Suu Kyi, he knew that he would have to stay with her and Marx for the time being. If anything, Suu Kyi's rebellious nature had increased his need to remain with her. Despite her aloofness the previous night, Sanders knew that he was the only person to understand the real cause of her affliction and its meaning for them both. To Kerry, as he picked up his briefcase, he said: "I'll ask Marx to call the rebel base and send a car for you."
During the rest of the afternoon Sanders remained in the chalet, watching the corona of light that lay over the distant forest. Behind him, beyond the perimeter fence, the rebels had moved forward again through the trees. As the afternoon light faded, the brilliance of the sun was still held within the crystal forest, and the old men and women came to the edge of the trees and waited there like nervous wraiths. After dusk, Daw Aung San Suu Kyi appeared again. Whether she had really been asleep or, like Senator Sanders, just sitting in her room behind drawn blinds, he had no means of knowing, but at dinner she seemed even more withdrawn than at their previous meeting, eating with a kind of compulsive nervousness as if forcing down food that lacked all flavor. She had finished each of the courses when Sanders and Marx were still talking over their wine. The black velvet curtain behind her--obviously placed against this single window for Senator Sanders's benefit--made her dark robe almost invisible in the dim light, and from the far end of the table, where she had placed Marx, even the white powdered mask of his face seemed a veiled blur.
"Did Karl take you on a tour of our hospital?" she asked. "I hope you were not impressed?"
"Very," Sanders said. "It has no patients." He added: "I'm very surprised you yourself need to spend any time at all in the rebel dispensary."
"Quite a number of the natives come along during the night," Suu Kyi explained. "During the daytime they're hanging around near the forest. One of the drivers told me that they're starting to take their sick and dying into the affected area. A kind of instant mummification, I suppose."
"But far more splendid," the ghost of Marx said. "Like a fly in the amber of its own tears or a fossil hundreds of millions of years old, making a diamond of its body for us to profit from. I hope the U.S. Army will let them through."
"They can't stop them," Suu Kyi rejoined. "If these people want to commit suicide like Karl, it's clearly going to be a tragic karmic affair. The U.S. Army is still too busy evacuating themselves from Vietnam anyways." She turned back to Sanders. "It's almost comical, Bernie. As soon as the rebels put the camp down somewhere they have to uproot the whole thing and bring the hospital up the road for another quarter of a mile."
"How fast is the rebel message spreading?"
"About a hundred feet a day, or more. According to the army radio network things are getting to the panic stage in the focal area in Florida. Half the state has been evacuated, already the zone there extends from the Everglades swamps all the way to Miami." Aunty Suu raised her glass at this. "Can you imagine that, Bernie? An entire city! All those hundreds of white hotels transformed into a stained glass parking lot--it must be like Venice in the days of Titian and Veronese, or Rome with dozens of St. Peters."
Marx laughed. "Suu Kyi, you make it sound like the new Jerusalem. Before you could turn around I'm afraid you'd find yourself an angel in a rose window."
After dinner, Sanders waited for Aunty Suu to leave and give him a few moments alone with Kerry, but Marx took a chess set from the blackwood cabinet and set up the pieces. As he and Kerry played the opening moves, Suu Kyi excused herself and slipped out. Sanders waited an hour for her to come back. At ten o'clock he resigned his game and said good night to Marx, leaving him mulling with Kerry over the possibilities in "Endgame 2012".
Unable to sleep, Senator Sanders wandered around his chalet, drinking what was left of the whisky in the decanter. In one of the empty rooms he found a stack of French illustrated magazines and leafed through the pages, scanning the line-by-line the articles produced as disinformation for Kerry's campaign. On an impulse, he left the chalet and went out into the Burmese darkness. He walked toward the rebel perimeter fence. Twenty yards from the wire he could see the Marxists sitting under the trees in the moonlight. They had come forward on to the open ground, exposing themselves to the Senator like bathers under a midnight sun. One or two were shuffling about through the lines of people half-asleep on the ground or squatting on their bundles.
Hiding himself in the shadows behind the chalet, the American Senator Sanders turned and followed their gaze. The vast outspill of light rose from the Rand forest, its extent broken only by the dim white form of the Bourbon Street Hotel. Sanders walked back into the compound. Crossing the courtyard, he made his way to the perimeter fence as it turned in the direction of the ruined 5-star hotel, which was now hidden by the intervening vines of the trees. A black path led toward it through the jungle, passing the abandoned mine-works. Sanders stepped over the barbed-wire fence, then walked through the night air toward the hotel.
Ten minutes later, as he stood at the top of the wide steps that led down among the tumbled columns, he saw Daw Aung San Suu Kyi walking in the moonlight below him. In a few places the affected zone had crossed the highway, and small patches of the scrub cassava and dhatu plants along the roadside had begun to vitrify. Their drab leaves gave off a faint luminescence. Suu Kyi walked among them, her long robe sweeping across the brittle ground. Sanders could see that her shoes and the train of her robe were beginning to crystallize, the minute prisms glancing together in the moonlight.
Sanders made his way stumbling down the steps, his feet cluttering at the shards of marble between the columns. Turning, Suu Kyi saw his bumbling, clownlike approach slightly offensive. For a moment, she flinched, then turned toward the road and hurried up the weed-grown gravel.
"Bernie--!" Senator Sanders reached out to take her hands, afraid that she might stumble, but Suu Kyi slipped past and pressed herself to his chest. There Sanders embraced her, feeling her dark hair against his cheek. Her waist and shoulders were like ice, the silk robe chilling his hands.
"Suu Kyi, I thought you might be here."
He tried to move her away, so that he could see her face, but she still held on to him with the strong grip of a dancer moving with her partner through an intricate step. Her eyes were turned away so that she seemed to speak from the ruins beyond his left shoulder.
"Bernie, I come here every night." She pointed to the upper stories of the white hotel. "I was there yesterday, I watched you come out of the Rand forest! Do you know, Bernie, your clothes were glowing!"
Senator Sanders nodded, then walked with her up the drive to the steps. As if straightening her hair, Aunty Suu held one hand to her forehead between them, the other clasping his own hand to her cold waist.
"Does Marx know you're here?" she asked. "He may send one of the houseboys to keep an eye on you."
"My dear Suki! Marx has no idea, he's asleep, poor man--he realizes he's living on the edges of a nightmare--" He stopped, checking himself in case Suu Kyi might guess that this referred to his own condition. "The Rand forest, that is. He's never understood what it means. You do, Suki, I could see that straightaway."
"Perhaps--" They climbed the steps past the drums of the toppled columns and entered the great hail. High above, the cupola over the staircase had fallen through and Senator Sanders could see a cluster of stars, but the light from the moon cast the hall into almost complete darkness. Immediately he felt Aunty Suu relax. Taking his hand, she guided him past the shattered chandelier at the foot of the staircase. They walked up to the second floor, and then turned into a corridor on their left. Through the broken panels Senator Sanders saw the worm-eaten hulks of tall wardrobes and collapsed bedposts, like the derelict monuments in some mausoleum to the hotel's forgotten past.
"Here we are." Aung San Suu Kyi stepped through a locked door whose central panels had fallen in. In the room beyond, the American Empire furniture was in place, a White House desk stood in the corner by the window, and a mirrorless Obama dressing table framed the forest below. Dust and wormwood lay on the floor, small footprints winding through them. Suu Kyi sat down on one side of the bed, opening her robe with the placid gestures of a wife returning home with her husband. "What do you think of it, Bernie, --my pied a terre, or is it nearer the clouds than that?"
Senator Sanders glanced around the dusty room, looking for some personal trace of Suu Kyi. Apart from the footprints on the floor there was nothing of her there, as if she dwelled like a ghost among the empty chambers of the white hotel. "I like the room," he said. "It has a magnificent view of the rebel camp."
"I only come here in the evening, and then the dust just looks like moonlight."
Sanders sat down on the bed beside her. He glanced up at the ceiling, half-afraid that at any moment the hotel might crumble and collapse into a dust-filled pit, carrying Suu Kyi and himself down into its maw. He waited for the darkness to clear, aware of the contrast between Suu Kyi and this room in the derelict hotel with its moonlit empire furniture and the functional but sunfilled chalet where he and Kerry had made love that morning. Kerry's body had lain beside him like a piece of the sun, a golden odalisque trapped for Pharaoh in his tomb. Now, in turn, as he held Suu Kyi's cold hand in his own, his eyes avoiding looking into her reflection, which was illuminated beside him in the darkness, its pale lantern like a closing moon.
Then, he remembered the Adventuress whispering: "We're running out of time, Colonel Sanders--"
+ "The Crystal World" by Locrian: https://utechrecords.bandcamp.com/album/the-crystal-world
As time withdrew, his relationship with Suu Kyi, drained of everything but the image of leprosy and whatever this stood for in his mind, had begun to dissolve into the dust that surrounded them wherever they moved outside the forest. "Suu Kyi--"
He sat up beside her, trying to massage some warmth into his hands. Her breasts had been like goblets of ice. "Tomorrow I'm going back to Port Mata Tarre. It's time for me to leave."
"What?" Suu Kyi drew the robe across herself, sealing the white outline of her body into the darkness. "But, Bernie, I thought you'd--"
Sanders took her hand. "My dear, apart from everything I owe Marx, there are my patients at Isabelle... I can't just leave them."
"They were my patients as well. The Rand forest is spreading everywhere, there's no more you or I can do for them."
"Perhaps not--I may only be thinking of myself again--and you, Suu Kyi--"
While he spoke she had left the bed and now stood in front of him, the dark robe brushing the dust from the floor. "Stay with us for a week, Bernie. Obama won't mind, he knew you were coming here. In a week--"
"In a week we may all have to go back to the White House. Believe me, Suu Kyi, I've just been trapped here in the Rand forest with Marx." She walked toward him, her face raised in a shaft of moonlight as if about to kiss him on the mouth. Then he realized that this was far from being a romantic gesture. At last Suu Kyi was giving him the green light.
"Bernie, last night, do you know to whom you-- made love to?" Aunty Suu touched his shoulder with one hand, trying to persuade him.
"Suu Kyi, I do know. But now--"
"What?" She turned away from him, hiding her face again. "What do you mean?"
Senator Sanders followed her across the room. "I'm sorry, Suu Kyi. It may sound hollow comfort, but I carry those U.S. Army legions with me as much as you do."
Before he could reach her, she had slipped through the door. He picked up his jacket and saw her moving swiftly down the long corridor to the staircase. When he reached the entrance hail she was more than fifty yards ahead of him, running through the tumbled columns, her dark gown like an immense veil as she moved along the crystalline pathways away from the white hotel.'
+ J. G. Ballard: "The Crystal World" (1966): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Crystal_World
+ Max Ernst: "The Eye of Silence" (1943): http://www.wikiart.org/en/max-ernst/the-eye-of-silence-1943
+ Max Ernst: "Europe after the Rain II" (1940-42): http://www.greynotgrey.com/blog/2012/05/11/max-ernst-europe-after-the-rain-ii/