Belinski’s Opinion of Matters as They Now Stand
Steiner’s death would be a blessing, but Belinski is a bureaucrat. Accountability is the key. People never look at the act, only the papers relating to the act. Records can provide a shield during any inquiry. But instinct tells him to forgo the paper trail. It will be difficult to prove this case as black or white, and grey always has so many more forms in triplicate. So it would be better for Belinski to secretly take Steiner to the woods and do the deed himself. The more he thinks about it he is positive, knowing his limitations, that this is the correct action. Steiner is a limitation. Limitations are generally placed in holes. Belinski knows where one can be dug.
Steiner Has His Worries Also
Steiner’s mind is wandering. Things are not in their true perspective. He is a man whose life has been structured on a rococo theme, hence the bare cell, straw mattress add to his deprivation. The time was when he soaked his hands in olive oil before a performance; now they are cracked and swollen. He is only asked to confess to being a German infiltrator, a mild sin if one at all, but an affront to the dignity of any artist, let alone a violinist. The trouble with these Poles is that they have yet to forgive Mozart for overshadowing their Chopin.
What Will Become of Frau Bremmer When Steiner Is Gone?
Frau Bremmer is a beautiful instrument. Superb craftsmanship she. A masterpiece of design; something made to be played but only by a master virtuoso. When this is done her soul comes alive. It would be such a pity to waste something this precious on Steiner alone. No, the instrument lives on. It matters little who brings out the tone.
What Will Happen to Belinski Once Steiner Is Gone?
Belinski has a country home outside Warsaw. The road is lined with poplars and white birch, behind which and set far back into the fields sit the peasant cottages. The trip there is scenic, peaceful and quite a change from the kowtowing, bureaucratic life that Belinski must adhere to. At his house he will greet his lovely wife and two growing sons. There will be an excellent meaclass="underline" stuffed meats, wine and fresh bread. Belinski will eat and drink his fill then take time to recapture the exploits of his sons. After that he will spend the evening with his wife reminiscing their many years of hardship. They will go to bed and perhaps in the morning he will confide his thoughts about Steiner to her.
A Letter Which Steiner Has Found the Time to Write
My Dearest Wife,
If those about me have their way, this will be the last time I shall communicate with you in word or spirit. If I were at liberty to explain the circumstance into which I have blundered then I would gladly do so, but, alas, this is not the case, and I therefore must beg your forgiveness for the lack of specifics you will find missing from this note.
Let it be known that I have tried, though failing on many accounts, to be faithful to you. My downfalls can be attributed to excesses of the flesh. It is a sad fact that throughout my lifetime I have never been able to control my appetites though, as I sense death approaching, I have seen, at long last, my folly in its true perspective. My tragedy, if one as insignificant as I can be said to have one, is that the sins for which I am being punished have gained me nothing.
In a word I became a victim of my own lust to the extent that I not only surrendered my body to it but allowed it free reign over my mind. Hence it led me blindly (no, I cannot say “blindly” for had I given reason the courtesy it is due, matters would be different — I shall use foolish); it led me foolishly to the well-deserved edge of my destiny where it has now become the task of others to proceed with my eventuality. The true tragedy (and this will be the last time I shall use that word) is that I am cognizant of my downfall, were it the other way, were it that I had no insight into my sins (in this event as well as others in my past) then I would not be due as much pity as you might be able to spare.
Enough then, I have rambled on, most of it meaningless to you as certain liberties in communication have been stripped from me. Let me say in closing, my sweet, that now, at the end, I realize that it is you I love because I have been given a dying man’s last reward, that of insight into my own soul. My death, though in vain, is deserved; your pity is my shroud.
Until our spirits meet,
I remain your devoted lover and husband,
Steiner
As Suspected
Steiner is dead. It happened last night. Swift and without much noise. Belinski, an audience of one, was there to officiate. Steiner was calm, accepting. He asked that his hands remain free and refused a hood as he knelt. There was no moon and the leaves on the path through the woods muffled any undue attention. Steiner spoke at great lengths of music. Mendelssohn in particular. He recalled his performance of the E Minor Violin Concerto, opus 64 at the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam. The applause. The encore. Death.
The Aftermath, September 1939
It has begun to rain in Poland. It is a hard rain, one with a rigorous, relentless persistence. At times the westerly wind rises and scatters it in flying shards which knife through the nation. It is the type of rain which, with the aid of time, will fill up all the holes Poland has had to dig and will soon cover the land with a thick brown mud. From now on no Pole can safely tread across an open field without fear of dropping to a watery death in the abyss. All is lost.backplanes and drive control development, not that you care. We’ve sold to Lucent and Cisco Systems in the states
Secure Your Own Oxygen Mask Then Assist Others
I’ve been married for sixteen years. Denise is an educational psychologist for the Burlington, Vermont school district. When we are invited out she’s the center of attraction. People ask her advice about their children. She’s big on programs, especially acronyms that spell out cute words. My son, Joey Stalin, keeps exterminating people. Any suggestions? Get him into PAP (Prevent a Pogrom). They do wonderful work.
My own profession isn’t very exciting, not that I’m in any way jealous of my wife. I design computer programs for television weather forecasters. The next time you watch the news and weather, note the clicker in the meteorologist’s hand. My action graphics and dynamic colors make the next cold front, tornado or hurricane a feast for the eyes. But who the hell cares. It’s too complicated and boring to explain to anyone at a cocktail party. I usually say I’m self-employed and let it go at that. I’d rather stand on the periphery of Denise’s conversational campfire, basking in the glow of human wackiness as she dispenses guidance to the paternally clueless.
We are going out. There is a get-together at the Doblers. They live in Shelburne Falls. Link (short for Lincoln) Dobler is a substance abuse specialist. He’s important, someone Denise thinks she needs to network with. He’s into programs that have several numerical steps. I dislike these affairs. I don’t socialize very well. When I hired Ed Sizemore to help me with a project for Channel 8 way over in Bangor, Denise wanted to ask him and his wife to dinner so we could get to know them better. I said that I really didn’t want to know him better. To which she uttered her famous catch phrase, “I sometimes wonder what I ever saw in you.”