There is a German friar sitting on top of my file cabinet. When I was a teenager I took some markers and gave him purple eyeshadow and green punk-rock hair. His mouth is agape, exposing many tiny teeth that look like they are worn thin from gnawing on chicken bones. His deep red throat is meant to be crammed full of toothpicks. I bought him during my two week trip to Europe while I was a senior in high school. I don't remember much about the shop except that it was nestled somewhere in the Bavarian mountains. We were on a bus tour and stopped in a town that had a statue of the Virgin Mary which shed actual tears. I do remember the Alpine architecture with exposed beams of hewn wood. Most of the trip was spent drinking wine and beer as it was legal to drink at any age in Europe. It was great to drink with my teacher, Frau, who kept telling me that we were going to “talk turkey” someday. Frau died a couple of years ago, and we never did get to have that talk which I regret as she was a really cool lady. I don't believe in mysticism (at least not anymore) but on the day that I found out she had died, I had thought I had seen her earlier, driving in a car, or at least the woman had looked like her. It is funny how life can be so coincidental at times. I hadn't thought about Frau for a long time before that. She died of pancreatic cancer.
Frau was the kind of woman who could be delightful and frightening at the same time. She could take command of the class room in an instant with her shrill voice and she could roll an R like no other. I sometimes think we took advantage of Frau, some more than others. She had a youthful spirit and she enjoyed playing games with us. She knew what the word skulduggery meant though she wouldn't tell me. She had been a fan of The Who, though I don't know how I know that. She made us memorize and recite Goethe in German though that now escapes me too. I think I can remember the first line or two of Erlkönig:
Wer rietet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind...
There were tons things like that to memorize and recite. There was a poem called Was ist die Welt? in which it is explained that the world is Ein ewiges Gedicht (a beautiful poem). She made us translate countless short stories including the memorable Der Mann im Motorboot, a surrealistic story about a man that is trapped forever on a speeding motorboat and he can never get off and he hopes it will never run out of gas. All he can do is drive around and around on the lake. She asked us to interpret meanings as well, and I remember thinking in a very teenage way that that particular story was about the hopelessness of life, forever going in circles. That was the way Frau engaged you. She even once took an entire marking period off to teach us how to play Bridge.
The world is a beautiful poem, Frau. I really wish we could have talked turkey.
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Frau