Chapter 3.
I left Berlin for Paris, not able yet to come to terms with my Ludwig experience, sanguine about Rudi's difficulties with Moscow and Himmler's paranoia, worried about Freni's future as a musician and not so sure I could do anything to help either Freni or Rudi, or myself for that matter. My transfer bothers me. I can't explain it rationally. Deathly thoughts take hold of me in an unbearable embrace. It must be my conscience judging, not particularly liking me. I stop at a modest Auberge covered with mauve wisteria, door and windows still closed. Because of the early hour I knock and wait on a bench outside the house, watching the mist of the night slowly lifting to reveal the perfect contours of a landscape, an apparition that fuses mind and body into indolent beatitude.
The l
