Dear Marion,

At 9:19 a.m. this morning, I pulled up to the curb in Terminal B
at Logan International Airport, opened the right front door for
Margrit and set her moderately heavy (25 lbs) suitcase on wheels,
as well as three paper shopping bags only half-filled with various
items, next to the array of baggage-carts. I waited while Margrit,
with the intervention of her credit card, extracted one of the carts,
and loaded it with the heavy suit case and her shopping bags. She 
then pushed the diminutive vehicle through the automatic doors,
turned briefly to wave to me, and disappeared. While Margrit and I
were on our way to Logan, there was a telephone call to Belmont
from Elly Kirby, Roald's wife. Margaret suggested that Margrit might
be reached by cell phone. A patient who comes from Maine to see me
will be here in 35 minutes.

Meanwhile I ask myself whether it is permissible to try to put
the - agonies is too strong, events is too feeble a word - of 
the past 8 weeks behind me. A poem of Hoelderlin's, not wholly
apposite, but not entirely irrelevant, comes to mind:

IX

So will ich, ihr Himmlischen! denn auch danken, und endlich
Atmet aus leichter Brust wieder des Sängers Gebet.
Und wie, wenn ich mit ihr, auf sonniger Höhe mit ihr stand,
Spricht belebend ein Gott innen vom Tempel mich an.
Leben will ich denn auch! schon grünts! wie von heiliger Leier
Ruft es von silbernen Bergen Apollons voran!
Komm! es war wie ein Traum! Die blutenden Fittiche sind ja
Schon genesen, verjüngt leben die Hoffnungen all.
Großes zu finden, ist viel, ist viel noch übrig, und wer so
Liebte, gehet, er muß, gehet zu Göttern die Bahn.
Und geleitet ihr uns, ihr Weihestunden! ihr ernsten,
Jugendlichen! o bleibt, heilige Ahnungen, ihr
Fromme Bitten! und ihr Begeisterungen und all ihr
Guten Genien, die gerne bei Liebenden sind;
Bleibt so lange mit uns, bis wir auf gemeinsamem Boden
Dort, wo die Seligen all niederzukehren bereit,
Dort, wo die Adler sind, die Gestirne, die Boten des Vaters,
Dort, wo die Musen, woher Helden und Liebende sind,
Dort uns, oder auch hier, auf tauender Insel begegnen,
Wo die Unsrigen erst, blühend in Gärten gesellt,
Wo die Gesänge wahr, und länger die Frühlinge schön sind,
Und von neuem ein Jahr unserer Seele beginnt.

It is the last of nine stanzas of an elegy: Menons Klagen um Diotima.
The German is not easy, and the experience recited is not for everyone.
If you'd like a mini-seminar on Hoelderlin, let me know. Such an effort
would probably be more rewarding than trying to untangle my sister's
knotted psyche. If it's not impudent of me to say so: there are certain
obvious parallelism in the lives of my sister and yourself which make
you sensitive to her plight. I welcome your sympathy for her. On the
other hand, these similarities between you and Margrit probably explain
why you interpret my descriptions of her as criticism even when I intend
no disparagement at all.

I instructed Jeane Walls to switch on the Konnarock oil burner this
morning.  If it does not automatically shut off before tomorrow,
when Margrit arrives, the heating system may be deemed to be functioning
normally; the thermostat can then be turned up if Margrit is cold, and
the submersible pump activated to supply water. The house whould be
ready for winter occupancy if Russell chickens out and Margrit wants
to stay.

Thank you very much for your help with Margrit.  Please stay in touch
with her, and relay to me as much as your conscience will permit,
of what she confides in you.

Just now the phone rang. It was Margrit sitting in the plane. She
had a message for Margaret: the sandwiches that Margaret sent along
were very good. Margrit understands very well on which side her bread
is buttered, and she loses no time in making sure all fences remain
mended. The lividity which you perceived over the phone was for your
benefit only, and was not intended to obstruct future relations.

Jochen