Liebe Herr Nielsen,

Herzlichen Dank für Ihren Brief mit seiner gewissenhaften Exegese des
Buches Judas von Amos Oz. Ich sollte mich schämen, - und ich schäme mich -
mir ein Urteil über diesen Roman zugetraut zu haben, nachdem ich ihn nur
zur Hälfte gelesen hatte. Erlauben Sie mir also bitte dies Urtail zurück-
zuziehen.

Die Ursache meines Schweigens mögen sie folgendem Auszug eines Briefes
von vorgestern an eine amerikanische Freundin entnehmen:

Time rushes so violently and events occur so precipitously that I find 
myself unable to maintain the historical record which life deserves.
Since June 15, the last date on which according to my computer files
I wrote to you, our lives have changed drastically, in that Margaret is
no longer able to stand or to walk. 

It happened on June 25, two days before I turned 85. The late supper 
which I had prepared at about 9 p.m. consisted, if I remember correctly,
of potatoes, cauliflower, and ground beef. After I had put away the
dishes, Margaret said she was not ready to go to bed. At 10 p.m. we 
went together to my third floor study where I might work at the 
computer. Margaret sat next to me. Intermittently we held hands. 
At midnight, when she said she wanted to go to bed, it became apparent 
that she was unable to get up out of the wheeled office chair in which 
she had been sitting. I rolled the chair next to an unused bed in the 
adjacent room, but even with my help, Margaret was unable to move.
I telephoned Klemens, but Laura, my daughter in law declined to wake 
him. Instead she came herself, helped me hoist Margaret into bed, and 
provided me with an air mattress on which I might spend the night in 
the same room. Laura urged me to get help to take care of Margaret.

The next morning on Friday June 26, I succeeded in getting Margaret
into a chair. Nathaniel helped me move a second twin bed into the
room where Margaret was now sleeping. I ordered an hydraulic patient 
lift, delivery of which was promised in 3 to 5 business days. I was 
able to manage the transfers between the bed and the chair until the
evening of June 28th, when Margaret slipped out of my arms and 
descended to the floor. It was a controlled, gentle landing, she was
not hurt. I rolled her onto the deflated air mattress, on which, once
it was pumped up, she was able to rest comfortably. She did not complain
about her inability to sit or to walk. She refused both food and drink.
Aside from calling on the fire department to carry Margaret down the 
two flights of stairs to have her taken to the hospital, there was 
nothing we could do but but await delivery of the hydraulic lift.
Meanwhile in the night of June 29, there was a further complication.
In attempting to reposition the adjacent bed, I accidentally punctured
the air mattress. Margaret was now lying on the hard wooden floor.
but with some effort I succeeded in maneuvering her onto a mattress 
placed next to her, on which she spent the next three days.

Finally on July 2, at 4 p.m., the hydraulic lift was delivered.
As soon as I assembled it, I discovered the sling and the chain
to be missing. The local medical supply store was closed until
the next morning, when I was able to buy a substitute sling.
At Home Depot I bought two 3 foot sections of heavy chain, and
managed finally with Klemens' help, by means of the hydraulic lift 
to get Margaret off the floor and onto her bed.

Now I am able to hoist Margaret from the bed to a chair where she
spends much of the day. She has eaten virtually nothing for the
past 11 days. Her fluid intake has been less than half of the
theoretically required minimum. Surprisingly she is in no distress,
tells me that she is "feeling alright", and hallucinates that we will
have trouble getting the key to the gate. I assure her that because
of my acquaintance with the gate keeper, we need no key. With some
anticipation I ask, the gate to what? - Her reply, the gate to the
animal zoo. She has the right idea.

Es ist bekanntlich ein Kunstfehler auf Seiten des Arztes sich anzumaßen
die Lebensdauer eines Patienten einzuschätzen; und wenn ich sage, dass
meine Frau im Sterben liegt, so wäre das Gleiche von uns allen zu sagen,
recht eigentlich vom Augenblick der Geburt. Sämtliche Stunden meiner Tage,
und etliche Stunden meiner Nächte sind der Pflege meiner Frau, die
bewegungslos im Bette liegt, gewidmet. Ich habe weder Zeit noch Kraft
zu schreiben, beabsichtige jedoch so gut ich kann einen jeden Ihrer
Briefe zu beantworten.

Die Ruhe und Gelassenheit, nicht selten an eine milde Heiterkeit grenzend,
mit welcher meine Frau auf ihre schwere Behinderung reagiert, erinnern
mich an Hölderlins Menons Klagen um Diotima:

                          2
Ja! es frommet auch nicht, ihr Todesgötter! wenn einmal
    Ihr ihn haltet, und fest habt den bezwungenen Mann,
Wenn ihr Bösen hinab in die schaurige Nacht ihn genommen,
    Dann zu suchen, zu flehn, oder zu zürnen mit euch,
Oder geduldig auch wohl im furchtsamen Banne zu wohnen,
    Und mit Lächeln von euch hören das nüchterne Lied.
Soll es sein, so vergiß dein Heil, und schlummre klanglos!
    Aber doch quillt ein Laut hoffend im Busen dir auf,
Immer kannst du noch nicht, o meine Seele! noch kannst du's
    Nicht gewohnen, und träumst mitten im eisernen Schlaf!
Festzeit hab' ich nicht, doch möcht' ich die Locke bekränzen;
    Bin ich allein denn nicht? aber ein Freundliches muß
Fernher nahe mir sein, und lächeln muß ich und staunen,
    Wie so selig doch auch mitten im Leide mir ist. 

Zu erklären was es bedeuten möchte, dass ich dennoch meine, Ihnen und Ihrer
Frau Grüße von uns beiden übersenden zu sollen und zu können, das, Lieber
Herr Nielsen, ist eine hermeneutische Übung mit der Sie beauftragt sind.

Jochen Meyer