Mrs. Lydia Grosz: "The Germans have remained a mystery to me. They are educated and hard working, have produced a Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, a Goethe, Schiller, and Lessing, but they have not understood the Faust, the Bell, or the Nathan. Take the ring parable in Nathan. It's the legacy of tolerance and justice. The punch line comes in the question of which son is right. Nathan says the right ring is not demonstrable, almost as unknowable as the right faith is. The father had the copies made with the intention that the rings are indistinguishable. That is the lesson we have to draw from Nathan: the commandment to tolerance and magnanimity. The hubris of the Nazis has gone severely out of hand, as if there were only Germans who have "culture and the right faith." Boris: "For their mistakes and assessments, German people have been severely punished." Mrs. Grosz: "I agree with you, because many good Germans were also met terribly."
Ünett appreciated the understanding and affection by her teacher Adele Bardenbrecht that stabilized her personality and gave her trust. The encounter brought the deeper consensus regarding the fundamental problems and the real values in life. The friendship lasted through the years of life of both like a red thread and became the cornerstone and foundation of practiced humanity.
. 1985-1998 Arzt und Chirurg/Unfallchirurg am Hospital in Oshakati (im Norden Namibias nahe der angolanischen Grenze) . entwickelte eine Operationsmethode, Kindern mit chronischer Schienbein-Osteomyelitis (Knochenmarksentzündung) den langen Knochendefekt nach Sequesterentfernung mit vitalem Knochen aus dem Wadenbein zu schließen und so das Bein vor einer Amputation zu retten. (publiziert April 1994 im American "The Journal of Bone and Joint Surgery")
Boris once again went to the barrier with the continuous crossbar and did not see his father. He was startled when he heard the call of his name. Where did it come from, who was the caller? He saw none among the standing people who had turned the face to him. He wanted to be sure that it was his name that was called and wanted to see the caller's face. So he did not respond, so that the call would be made a second time and no doubt that he was called by the same name. He also wanted to see who was calling for him. Boris now heard the call up close. It came from the left, not far from him. Did the call come out of the wheelchair? The caller had a different voice than his father, the call was powerless, and the syllables hooked or were hacked. He felt a reluctance to look for the wheelchair, which was only five metres away from him. He was overcome with anxiety, looking for the seated person in a wheelchair who had called his name powerless and hacked. The horror was perfect when it was his father sitting in a wheelchair.
"My son, let me hug you," said the father, whose language had not only lost its power, but suffered greater damage, for it stumbled frailly over the syllables. To embrace the son the father had raised his left arm and put it around the neck of the deeply bowed and terrified son, because he could do it only with left and not with both arms, as he had wished so long. Boris cried at the embrace and his tears dripped into his father's face. "I am so glad to see you again my son. Now do not be sad that the greeting is taking place over the wheelchair", Ilya Igorovich stumbled around in a weak voice. Boris sensed that his father's left arm had become thin, struggling to pull his neck down to kiss his forehead. "Above the wheelchair is still better than above the grave," the father said. That sentence, which had dropped out of the "puzzle box", where the puzzle was undressed and naked "transparent" and unclothed carried the solution on hand, it should be a smile from squeeze off the son's mouth that could not. Instead, the phrase hit him like a hammer.
Boris had set out to never forget this sentence and the world view of the transience of a human life that had been imprisoned with him, and to take it with his own grave the chiselled character of place and time, as his father said. The collapse of Ilya Igorovich's constitution was quite unexpected for Boris. Although he had had his fears that something was wrong with the father, he had heard his calls to the intellectual ear in the Andante of Tchaikovsky's Fifth and understood as cries for help from the vastness of the Volga landscape. But he had not expected that it was so bad for him. Then the horror had seized him and made him speechless, because that state in which Father was now was a passive state, from which only death could redeem him.
So Boris met in Moscow with the father of horrors. The once strong and proud man had become a powerless wreck whose language stumbled awkwardly and helplessly back and forth. The right side of his body was paralyzed, which is why he sat in a wheelchair and had to rely on this wheel frame for the rest of his life. The infirmity consumed him, it had perforated his personality, made him vulnerable and defenceless for the coming in its finality. Ilya Igorovich held his arm around his son's neck for a long time and kissed his forehead with his mouth crooked down to the right corner of his mouth. Ilya Igorovich did his best to make Boris unaware of how annoying he was to the crumbling condition. On the contrary, he laughed and stumbled over the syllables in a brave and self-sacrificing way to convey to his beloved son the false image of the illusion of being not-so-bad and becoming-to-be again, despite his fearlessness and speechlessness let mediate. That Boris had to understand the meeting with his father as a sign of fate, it came to mind later.
Ilya Igorovich released his left arm from the neck of his son and pointed to the woman standing behind the wheelchair. "I want to introduce you to Marina, my wife," he said, trying to keep the words reasonably smooth. At the name Marina, Boris recalls the Russian poet Marina Tsvetaeva, two verses from her poem "Glaze" (Eyes) in one of his letters [17. April 1974] and noted that they particularly appealed to him while reading. Boris wiped the tears from his eyes and greeted Marina with the kiss on both cheeks. He was embarrassed to greet her with tear-stained eyes. But at the sight of his father, he had lost control of himself and his feelings. Marina understood and gave him a friendly and understanding smile. She was a woman who was significantly younger than his father and had to have been a beauty in her youth, who, with years of worrying and nurturing, retreated to Father with the early onset of first gray in her full dark hair. "Then let's go," Father said, his voice tripping weakly. Marina turned the wheelchair with the reclining seated father, who held the right hand of the son in his left hand when the son carried the case through the great hall with his left hand. The father squeezed the son's hand as hard as he could to show that his will was unbroken, not "perforated," which the son doubted, who now endeavoured to understand the palmar language of the father, that with his left hand was expressive and "readable". Meanwhile, Marina pushed her husband in the wheelchair towards the exit, which she did attentively and with the silence of course. On leaving the terminal, Marina pushed the wheelchair to the left onto a black 'SIS' sedan, in front of which two young Soviet soldiers stood, waiting to lift Father onto the back seat. They did that with great caution. Then they folded up the wheelchair and stowed it and Boris's suitcase in the spacious trunk. Marina and Boris took the seats on the bench. Ilya Igorovich was on the left, Boris on the right and Marina in the middle. The soldiers sat In front. The engine hummed softly as the limousine left the airport building. "Did you have a good flight?", the father asked with tripping syllables. "Yes, father, it was a good flight. After the stopover in Kiev I fell asleep. Since I was awakened by the stewardess before the approach to Moscow," said Boris. "And now you're from Warsaw, where you played the second piano concert of Brahms. Were you satisfied with the concert?", the father added. Boris: "I was very satisfied with the Warsaw performance. It was a great success. Maestro Kulczynski was enthusiastic and hugged me after the concert." Ilya Igorovich: "I'm glad. I thought of you very much and never doubted your success for a second. You know that in my early years I tried this concert." Boris: "Yes, you wrote that". Ilya Igorovich: "That's when I realized that it was too difficult for me. So I put it aside and no longer touched it." Boris: "You are such a gifted pianist." Ilya Igorovich: "At least I was an average, and loved playing on the grand piano." Boris: "Ilya, you were my first piano teacher and so patient with me. Without you and your efforts, I would not have become the Boris I am now." Ilya Igorovich: "You have always been a dear son. But to your glory your extraordinary talent and extraordinary diligence has guided you. I made only a small contribution. "
Boris: "Now do not be so modest. As Mother used to tell me, you were a dazzling pianist playing Bach, Beethoven, the Russians, and then your own improvisations. Ilya, you are one of the most musical people I remember." Ilya Igorovich: "You speak very kindly of me. Maybe I would have become a good player if I had used my fingers more on the piano and left off the officer's career. You know that I regretted becoming an officer of the Red Army. As a pianist, I would have been happier, I soon found out. But there was war, and there was no turning back for me. So I got stuck in the wrong profession, which was anything but a musical and did not make me happy." Boris: "You wrote that you had become a pianist rather than a general in the Red Army." Ilya Igorowitsch: "That's the way it is. But what should I talk about it now? These are things that belong to the past. Now I cannot even hold my right hand over the keys, let alone play with my right fingers." Boris was silent. He struggled to keep from crying.
The limousine had made its way back from the airfield to the city and drove through the illuminated streets of a Moscow suburb. Since it was after midnight, the traffic of the nine-million metropolis was quiet except for a few oncoming vehicles. The car turned into a medium-wide street. It was enlightened, with the "light heads" above the middle of the road, marking the ends of towering masts, then alternately curved to the road, alternating from right and left. "Light heads" and stands gave the image of high gallows with the light heads attached to the top. The limousine came to a stop in front of one of those streetlights. "Here we are," said Ilya Igorovich, and Boris let himself be told, though he did not hear what his father meant by 'there'. But he suspected that father meant the house in which he lived with Marina.
Boris got out of the right rear door of the limousine and gave his hand to Marina to get out, while a soldier took suitcase and wheelchair out of the trunk, opened the wheelchair, closed the trunk, and the other soldier opened the left back door, lifting Ilia Igorovich from the...