A letter from B. mailed to Henry Schnautz in Indiana shortly after his visit to Mexico and Esperanza. From the beginning of Esperanza and Henry's references to "the writer" there is never any name used except el viejo or mi padre. Here Traven puts aside any naming pretense he always uses publicly and just signs it B.
None of Henry's letters to Traven exist, no drafts, no clues except what is in the replies from Traven. Henry obviously referred to Traven as psychologically disordered. Everything Henry knows about Traven comes only through Esperanza.
Above is a picture of Martha Schnautz, Henry's mother, holding a mother possum and babies.
June 19th, 1946
My dear son:
My daughter delivered your amazing letter. I was acquainted with you though her and had an extremely opposite idea of you, of your ideals, of your talents. My dear boy, permit me to tell you that the psychological disorders are only on your part. I deemed you a courageous intelligent, unprejudiced man, and now I come to be aware that you are fed up with all kind of prejudices and that you subordinate your ideals - if you have some - to biological needs easier to quench than hunger (Ovbiously you had the opportunity to prove it while in Europe)
You made a long speech about the word bastard. This word has for bouorgeoisie throughout the world the same meaning and importance you give to it. Any dandy punches the nose of another dandy who dares to call him bastard. So you did. But she, and me and the few who have belonged to my tribe, don't give a damn for it. We are no dandies, we are men, just men, and we know all the animals which crowd this funny world come to it by the same mechanism, so, where is de difference? This man who is writing to you never knew his parents, but he is sure they were nice stuff, since they begoted a grand-daughter as wonderful lovely and damn intelligent as my girl.
On the other hand, you are right when you say I have done and I will do nothing for her, right. But you, what can you do for her? You came to see her after years of separation and you had to claim that you did a great sacrifice, that you spent your last cent just for spending a week by her side, only a week. Think about the sacrifice it might represent to devote her your life and to work for supporting her. Do you believe you are able to buy her even her nylons? To give her all the petty things she adores, (clothes, perfumes, flowers, books music) plus food and house? All these things she gets by her own effort. Now, do you thing you could be able to afford her with them? I sure you are not since a single week deprived you from all the money you could get in "years and years".
What you intend to do is to "liberate" her by obliging her to support you while you wander and talk like a chatter-box about your so called ideals. And that, my dear son I wont permit you. - Im going to make you a proposition, the only fair and possible one: work, work, work, make out of yourself somebody (bastards in my world don't need to know their "Pedeegri" for becoming men, real men, but they are always hungry tor maternal love, believe me) so, I think you have an advantage over we bastards, you have parents you know who they are, you have a mother who has worked all her life like you should like to see my nena work for you and who notwithstanding does not deserve at her age ither your love or your help. Now listen here, you will get enough money you will send to her, first to pay her the hundred dls. she gave you (she had to work hard for getting them) then you will get the dough to pay her airplain tickets and support her entirely plus perfumes, flowers, books and music. This you will do for as long as you will be able to and you will have as much love as you may deserve. - Otherwise, if you dare to injure her life by depriving her from the real and ideal things she has achieved by means of her inteligence and through hard honest work, I will kill you.
This is the first and will be the last letter I write you, Im old and have piles of work to do, so, my son, accept my proposition or be careful.
Good luck, my beloved dandy. Your bastard father,
B.
