Dear Marion,

At 2 p.m. tomorrow afternoon Margrit has an appointment
with the surgeon who repaired her hernia and resected 
her bowel, - I presume it was ileum, but I have no clues
other than the location of the hernia, and gastro-intestinal
anatomy faded from my memory years ago. The surgeon is
Dr. Tarnoff; this is the first post-operative visit;
although he had a good look at her abdomen, when he 
operated on Margrit, her face must have been covered
by the surgical drapes, and tomorrow will be the first
and probably the only time he sees his patient face to
face, - unless of course this too is delegated to a flunky.
Dr Tarnoff did not examine Margrit pre-operatively, because
hers was emergency surgery, and he was busy operating when
we arrived in the emergency room. The fellows, residents
and nurses supplied the post-operative care in the hospital
and I took over from them, when Margrit came home. Last
Friday, after a telephone conversation with the surgeon
on call, I removed the penrose drain, and when I changed
the dressing today, the gauze was free of all discharge.
The diarrhea has again responded well to the metronidazole.
This evening at dusk Margrit took her first walk outside.
She had asked me, how far should I walk, and I suggested
to the end of the block and back.

Using a cane, she hobbled down the sidewalk and disappeared.
When she had gone out of sight, I backed the car out of the
driveway and followed her.  Fortunately she didn't
recognize the car or me, so no harm was done. This evening
she asked when were Margaret and I planning to go to Konnarock;
I replied that our plans depended on hers. She retorted that
it wasn't necessary for us to take her, she could perfectly
well fly by herself. Later she asked me when I thought she
could go; I replied, any time, but that she had to cope
with the winterized, waterless house, and that she had to accept
the circumstance that she needed to continue to take the
metronidazole, a strong antibiotic, Klemens thought for a month,
and that she might have side effects; that the diarrhea might
recur because of the medication, inspite of the medication,
or after the medication had been stopped; and that she would
need to have access to physicians in Konnarock, Durham,
Greensboro, and Detroit, or wherever she happened to be
if she had a reaction to the medication or if the diarrhea
came back, - as it often did. Well, no, she would stay here
until I thought she was ready to leave, and I explained that
I didn't know when that would be, but would defer to Klemens'
judgment. I understand now that I'm trapped in a soap opera.
I wonder that will happen next.

Just now I read the addendum to your letter. You needn't be
concerned. I neither interpolate nor extrapolate. I do not
look beneath the surface. My reaction to your description
of the Farm is unqualified and unsophisticated admiration,
and so indeed is my reaction to your autobiographical
sketches; I borrow Schiller's comment on Goethe's Iphigenie
auf Tauris: "Ganz verteufelt human." (Most ingeniously humane)
At the same time I understand that the relationships you
describe have been built and are maintained at substantial
emotional (spiritual) effort and expense. The three of you
have my inapparent and inconspicuous appreciation. An example
of friendship.

It is, I think, a mistake, to take the relationships between
human beings for granted. I perceive a broad spectrum both of 
intensity and quality. There's no reason why one should assume
such relationships to be uncomplicated.  The almost universal
reduction of friendship to sexuality in American culture seems
to me an emblem both of its immaturity and of its vulgarity. My
experience suggests that there is no absolute distinction
between friends and family members. I'm also aware that each
of us needs his or her freedom, and that emotional closeness
while often a great blessing, may also be experienced as
an oppressive burden. In the last three pages of his only
novel, die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge, Rilke
proposes the thesis that the story of the Prodical Son 
is the history of one who could not tolerate the closeness
of family relationships, who could not bear to be loved.
I'm appending this text without translation. If it causes
you trouble, please write me, and I'll come across with
one of my "off the top of my head" translations.
Jochen