That "Schau mich bitte nicht so an" (please do not look so).
Leaning against the railing of the bicycle shop waiting Else.
small drop of rain, her laughter drifted down the hill and then animated with that announcement, the sun emerged from the dream. The thin-soled shoes
not know friction, the same way as his long legs of a teenager so much so that to placate the centrifugal force, I was forced to pararmi before she mo 'star resigned to wait for the meteorite that will explode. It exploded, damn if it exploded!
She was a little weird Kofler Else, if he could have stroked the leaves floating in the parks Willhelmstrasse. Not that he suffered emotional superfluous, a provision was more elegiac hand. When he walked
turned constantly but do not remember ever crossed a street lamp, however, was difficult to understand the inner path that branched off from his person indeed, repeated thoughts "going on," he said in quell'ormai distant summer - air Pompei on two legs - so much so that one could understand his view on the question of how the Japanese simply crossing the street. Leda's mother was a singer with a soft popping and supple voice of geranium wet mannered performer of old songs, a sort of ethereal warbling punctuated by crashes of trains in the dark. Heinrich's father, a retired teacher of law, claimed to have defeated the fear of death through the terror of living, a situation that did not prevent him leaving home to go to the old, beloved high school every Sunday of the month. The school in question was at number 43 of Sophienstraße, just opposite the old cotton mill Brunner.
Misanthrope stone stern and selfish old school play as a solemnity withered by time, standing in perpetual warning whenever passing by in my youth as a student, except to become harmless, anonymous building on Saturday afternoon.
Years ago, back when the profile of Else was only a silhouette through the window of unintelligible Stock class, cherished love with blonde school girls from her face sprinkled with freckles, that human type blue-green eyes, her cheeks flushed like a brisk winter and incorruptible, intelligent enough to have a conversation about jazz overseas and not enough surface Amarna the outer side, exotic and purely aesthetic. In spite of what I
infatuai Else, though he had no knowledge of jazz, rhythmic gymnastics as German literature, and had dark eyes like two buttons of licorice. Maybe because I loved the scent of her blouse, or the freedom with which he pronounced his bizarre oracles from Walking ("Dieter, the eye is the only one who can look" solemnly announced in the afternoon we went to Dresden for the first time).
's mother, relcacitrante to our acquaintance, he feared that the young man abused dissolute imagination of impressionable daughter to the rhythm of Bix Beiderbecke's cornet solos or seventy-eight rounds of a few drunken negro, while he blessed with great enthusiasm among his union beloved and Stefan Meier, son of the blonde and sharp Cölestin pianist, composer famous twelve-tone converted to recognitions spiritual romanticism Schumann once exceeded fifty. Despite the stigma of the old chanteuse declining almost succeeded in attending every weekend of that, to me wonderful, millenovecentotrentasette.
At ten o'clock of a morning 's cool in August alone we set off at a slow pace towards the garden of the school, without the typical swarm of students who usually went about it the gravel paths during the academic year (giving the vitalistic atmosphere where it seems that germinate new ideas that will revolutionize the near future, a future where they will clash with the ideas sisters - because they are children of the same time - often sprouted two benches away, forgetting, however, that those are really amazing as the ancient civilization that created it.)
was a long time I wanted to move the axis of my speech hormone from the plane of propaganda statements to a real military campaign can make me sad to move from the role player of dispatches of others - many were in the way, send me letters from Karl, my cousin Bremen - with the heroic conqueror of avant-garde incandescent trenches "enemy."
We determined that in that garden, in the August circle of one of its halls, we isolated for the first time the inner essence, the golden section of our young love. But, alas, it was not like that happened!
We were stretched by even a minute when Else broke into a scream scary, I froze in my veins, and pushed me to give me a quick way incoherent behavior (precautionary useless since I had worn the vest to the contrary).
watched his face deformed, made from wild-eyed panic and dismay that crossed that caused her to utter a syllable without any finish prey to terrible convulsions, as if falling into an epileptic state while I held her by the shoulders, begging him to stop looking at me with that air demented and explain what happened to so dreadful.
Good heavens! As I was devoid of any experience, I was well aware that I could not be the cause of this incident, nevertheless did not understand what had prevented the much-longed conjunction. Finally she was able to take your hands off the head and tell the other side of my shoulders, giving me the opportunity to understand the reason for the torment unspeakable. The old professor
Kofler, reaching the end of a dark depression that accompanied him for some years, he was hanging from a tree, his face bluish and cramped hands to his sides, watching his daughter with his empty eye sockets, white as alabaster.
was then that I cursed my stupidity, recalling the journey of my parents who, for the Baltic parties the night before the grisly incident, would have vacated the apartment for the duration of the summer!
From left: Else Kofler, Leda Kofler Kofler Inge, Heinrich Kofler (1925 ca.)
postscript: Else Kofler enrolled soon after the Nationalsozialistischen Frauenschaft-after all, for her, jazz was written in Sanskrit.
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