The More I Suffer, The More I

It Wasn't That I Forgot Hanna. But At A Certain Point The Memory Of Her Stopped Accompanying Me Wherever I Went. She Stayed Behind, The Way A City Stays Behind As A Train Pulls Out Of The Station. It's There, Somewhere Behind You, And You Could Go Back And Make Sure Of It. But Why Should You?

...i Had To Point At Hanna. But The Finger I Pointed At Her Turned Back To Me. I Had Loved Her. I Tried To Tell Myself That I Had Known Nothing Of What She Had Done When I Chose Her. I Tried To Talk Myself Into The State Of Innocence In Which Children Love Their Parents. But Love Of Our Parents Is The Only Love For Which We Are Not Responsible. ...and Perhaps We Are Responsible Even For The Love We Feel For Our Parents.

She Was Struggling, As She Always Had Struggled, Not To Show What She Could Do But To Hide What She Couldn't Do. A Life Made Up Of Advances That Were Actually Frantic Retreats And Victories That Were Concealed Defeats.

Why? Why Does What Was Beautiful Suddenly Shatter In Hindsight Because It Concealed Dark Truths? Why Does The Memory Of Years Of Happy Marriage Turn To Gall When Our Partner Is Revealed To Have Had A Lover All Those Years? Because Such A Situation Makes It Impossible To Be Happy? But We Were Happy! Sometimes The Memory Of Happiness Cannot Stay True Because It Ended Unhappily. Because Happiness Is Only Real If It Lasts Forever? Because Things Always End Painfully If They Contained Pain, Conscious Or Unconscious, All Along? But What Is Unconscious, Unrecognized Pain?

I Certainly Know German Colleagues In The Us Who Try To Be Americans, Try To Melt Into Americanism, Even Before They Get Married And Become American Citizens. But I've Never Tried That.