[The Swiss Girl]
12 September 1917
Max came to the station with me this morning, which was kind of him.
He was not in as good spirits as was I, for he does not have the joy of escaping Prague to assuage our parting.
I obviously did not help matters when I pointed to the two men carrying my things, and said that they could be carrying my coffin.
He did not even attempt a forced smile.
Or force an attempted smile.
My possessions were bundled into the baggage car, and I was prepared to be folded away there too.
But they allowed me a compartment, and as we parted, I shook the empty hand of Max.
13 September 1917
This might even be the type of place for the Swiss girl. Unfettered – perhaps singing.
I’ve had the strongest desire to be with her this morning.
Maybe I had a dream.
The strongest desire to contact her – regardless of what we promised.
But – after all these years – I probably could not find her, even if I tried.
And I have no idea who I might find if I succeeded. Not the girl of memories.
And who, anyway, would she find?
What look would cross her face and still her song?
Because – I have become me.