Monday, March 28, 2005
I am reading this book write now that is made up of letters written by German soldiers during the battle of Stalingrad. There's one letter written by a soldier to his wife letting her know that he too passionately dreams of the day when they will be lovers again. He tells her that she must be strong because things are harsh and things will not be the same.
He knows that she's implying something in her letters and her pleas that she isn't outright saying. Between the missives that plead with him to return to her and be a husband and a lover again, she longs for him to be a pianist again. He knows that's what she wants and he avoids addressing it because it breaks his heart.
He lost the little finger on his left hand and the middle two fingers on his right.
There won't be an piano playing. All he's good for is shooting.
He tells her that maybe after all this is over he should be a game warden.
He laughs.
He knows that she's implying something in her letters and her pleas that she isn't outright saying. Between the missives that plead with him to return to her and be a husband and a lover again, she longs for him to be a pianist again. He knows that's what she wants and he avoids addressing it because it breaks his heart.
He lost the little finger on his left hand and the middle two fingers on his right.
There won't be an piano playing. All he's good for is shooting.
He tells her that maybe after all this is over he should be a game warden.
He laughs.
