Dear Marion,

Thank you for your considerate and thoughtful
letter about Margrit. The drainage from her abdominal
wound is diminishing, but this evening her diarrhea
seems to be returning. For nine days now, she has been
taking metronidazole to suppress the clostridium difficile
diarrhea that complicated the antibiotic prophylaxis against
peritonitis at the time of her surgery. She's eaten very
little of the non-pasteurized lactobacillus yoghurt that
I bought for her, because she didn't like the taste. The
issue now is whether she has had too little metronidazole
or too much, whether to stop the metronidazole, continue
it, or increase the dosage. Whether she should in any way
limit her dietary intake. I'll ask Klemens by e-mail after
I have finished this letter.

Margrit hasn't checked her e-mail since she wrote to you
on Monday. I have two computers on the local area network
connected to the Internet, and I told her she could use
either one at any time. Initially she said, this afternoon,
next she said, tomorrow morning. Probably she will read
your letter then and reply at that time.

Obviously it would be much easier for Margaret and myself
if Margrit lived somewhere nearby, as I have urged her for
many years.  As you probably know, some time ago she had
rented a house in Mattapoisett on Buzzards Bay about 50 miles
from Boston, which she furnished with her belongings,
transported at that time from Windsor, Ontario.
Then abruptly, ostensibly because Klemens and Laura were
frightened by her eccentricities - she wanted to drive their
children around the city in her convertible sports car -
without discussing her plans with anyone, Margrit pulled up
stakes and moved to Detroit, where she believes she has many
friends, a few of whom might be relied on to telephone 911
in case of emergency, but none who would take her into her
home, - or do anything else for her, if she were sick.
Since her arrival in Belmont on October 18, she has received
two deliveries of flowers and a number of telephone calls,
no visitors as yet.  Last week, when it appeared that I might
have a round-the-clock nursing job, I asked her if any of her
many friends might be willing to come for an hour or two while
I went shopping for groceries. The answer was, no.

As of today, none of her Boston area friends has been here
to visit her. A friend, Tanya Nicolette is scheduled for
Thursday. The lunch that Margaret has offered to prepare
for Tanya and Margrit does not meet their social needs.
Margrit has asked me to drive them to a restaurant. The
friend whom Margrit will see on Friday, a lady named Helene
Fine, whose life, to the best of my knowledge is devoted
to the care of one or two dogs, so large and unruly, that
even when Margrit was driving around in a rented car,
she was reluctant to visit Helene for fear she would be
knocked down. Helene has directed me, as a matter of her
convenience, to deliver Margrit to the Hebrew Rehabilitation
Center in Brookline. It's about 45 minutes' drive through
city streets. Helene doesn't yet know when she will be ready
to receive Margrit, because that morning, Helene has
scheduled a conference with her lawyer about refinancing
her house.  After the conference with the lawyer, Helene
will visit her mother at the Hebrew Rehabilitation Center,
and Margrit's presence will make it possible for Helene
to discharge three obligations with one trip.
How much help do you think Margrit could expect from Helene, -
or for that matter from Tanya, if I became very sick next week
and couldn't look after her?

In my judgment, Margrit is unable to continue living by herself.
She can't live with Helene, because Helene lives with her dogs.
She can't live with Tanya, because Tanya needs restaurant food.
She can't live with any of her other dear friends in the Boston
area, because they won't return her telephone calls. You understand,
of course, that Margrit has wonderful friends who really understand
her, and who will sympathize profoundly when she tells them how
difficult her life has been on account of her brother.

As of tonight, the question if not whether Margrit is able
to find on her own, suitable living quarters in or near Boston, 
but whether she would require readmission to a hospital before
being accepted by a nursing home. How many weeks or months
of improvement must elapse before Margrit would be accepted by a
retirement home for "assisted living", I can't predict. Whether
she will ever recover to the stage at which a retirement home
would accept her for "independent living" is an open question.
I haven't seen her income tax returns, and I don't know what income
she has, but I don't think she has any savings, and I doubt that
she can afford institutional care of any kind. Her shuttling
back and forth between Detroit and North Carolina in a 12
year old, overloaded miniature convertible sports car with
a leaking roof is an invitation to catastrophe to which I
will not subscribe. That chapter of the novel remains to be
written.

With respect to Chapter Seven, it occurs to me that Albert's
sermonizing over the sleeping, snoring Doehring is the weakest
part of the chapter. Should this sermon be shortened? Should
it be stricken? I can't imagine any sequence of actions or
descriptions within the time-framework of one evening, which
could dramatize the issues that are of concern to Albert.
Can you?

Jochen