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The
pianist
(...)
Using one hand Erika Kohut just played on the piano of sense; using the other she played the piano of passions.
First the passions have been celebrated,
now the sense,
that drives her home, quickly over dark alleys, has a turn.
But others too have achieved the work of the passions in her place.
The teacher has looked at it and given it a number appropriate to her possibilities.
Almost she was drawn away in one of those passions, if someone had caught her at it.
Erika is running between the lines of trees, where the dying is already wandering around because of the mistletoe. Many branches already said goodbye to their spot in the trees and have fallen into the grass.
Erika is leaving her watchtower to return to the warm nest.
On the outside nothing of the confusion is showing. Inside there is a whirlwind blowing when she sees the young male bodies wander around the Prater, she could almost be their mother if you look at her age!
Everything that has happened before that age is irrevocable over and can never be repeated.
Who knows what the future will bring.
New accomplishments in the medical science can make the woman keep her female functions until her old age. |
