Kashi. Daniela Jodorf

might want to talk to him at this place and this time, yet, it was not completely unusual that people recognized and approached him.

      “You don´t have to be afraid”, she said.

      “Afraid?! Of you? Why would I.” He did not like the situation and tried to get up.

      She grabbed his hand and almost pulled him back in his chair. "Not of me, but of your thoughts, your emotions, your experiences!"

      He did not understand. “My experiences?”

      “Yes, the experiences you have just run away from.”

      “What the hell are you talking about?” Again he thought about getting up, but somehow he could not. He was unable to move, while the woman still held his hand and looked at him with a facial expression that suggested she was delivering a highly important message.

      “You are starting to doubt your life and your work.”

      That was true, but he had not talked about it to anybody. How did she know?

      “Who are you?” he wanted to know.

      “That is of no importance. What is important is that you find out who you are and what you truly need. You have to listen to me carefully now.” The pressure of her hand got stronger and painful. “You will be flying to Berlin soon.”

      “No. I won´t. I have several engagements in Europe next month, but not in Berlin.”

      “This will change. You have to believe me.”

      “This is ridiculous. Are you some kind of fortune teller? I will not pay you."

      Her face turned angry for the first time. “I am surprised that you are such an idiot. Never mind. You will go to Berlin and you have to be very aware.”

      “Aware of what?”

      “Of your perceptions, your feelings and surprising coincidences!”

      This woman was crazy, he thought, but he finally gave in. He did not want to upset her even more. “Okay. I promise. I will try to be aware, if I go to Berlin, even though my schedule does not permit any change.”

      “You have to listen to your inner voice. And please, do not judge your experiences. You are safe and you will be guided.”

      She suddenly let go of his hand, got up and left without looking back. He was still unable to move and began to shiver. Paul called the waitress to pay. When she brought the bill, he felt the strong irresistible urge to ask her about the woman.

      “Did you see the woman, who sat on my table with me?”

      “No! There was nobody, Sir.”

      “You mean, you have been too busy to look at my table?”

      “No, Sir. There is not much going on at this time of the night. There is only you and three more guests over there.”

      “You did not see a brown haired tall woman, wearing a light brown leather jacket with jeans?”

      “No, Sir.”

      He was shocked. Fear crept into his heart. Was he about to lose his mind?

      When he opened the door to his apartment ten minutes later, he relaxed for the first time this evening. Yet, he avoided the habitual glance at his face in the mirror across the entrance door. Instead, he looked at the photography on the shelf below that showed his son and his wife. “Would this not happen, if they were still with me”, he thought with a strong sense of loss. He had to admit that he did not know. He did not know, what was wrong with him, and he did not know, what brought about this serious crisis. He took off his coat and went straight into the bathroom. After a long, hot shower he felt better. All the dark thoughts had gone, vanished without leaving the slightest trace. But he knew that they would return. It was not over yet.

      The phone woke Paul early the next morning. “Yes!”

      “Paul, this is Emerson.”

      “Emerson, do you know what time it is?”

      “I would not wake you up, if it wasn´t urgent, Paul.”

      “Okay. What is it?”

      “I have Germany on the line. Hamburg has canceled. They have trouble with their new concert house. But Berlin is asking if you can play on the same day. This is perfect. Fantastic. Berlin. In December.”

      Berlin? Paul was in a state of shock. He remembered last night´s encounter; the face of the stranger, her self-confidence, the urgency of her words. That was impossible.

      “Paul!?”

      “Yes, Emerson. Berlin. Have you talked to anybody about this before?"

      “No. I told you, I just got the call!”

      Paul was gasping.

      “Paul! Are you there? I need your okay!”

      Paul forced himself to speak. "Yes, Emerson."

      “Great! This will be the greatest Christmas season ever.”

      Paul was unable to share Emerson´s enthusiasm. Last night's fear was back; the appalling fear of losing control.

      It was only six, but Paul was used to getting up early. Still, in his pajama, he took a cup of strong black tea into his study, his personal hermitage. Nobody was allowed to come in, not his ex-wife, not his son and no telephone call. Here, he felt alive and true, he was always calm and concentrated and he had never spent an hour without witnessing a new piece of art coming to life within him. He sat on his high chair, the feet still bare touching the cool wood of the floor. Taking his green soft pencil into his hand he did not have to wait for inspiration and creativity to flow onto the piece of paper in front of him. He heard the strings, the harmonies, the interplay of the instruments weaving a web of different melodies into one piece, the rise and the fall of the melody, leading to a dramatic moment of intense density with his inner ear. There was an urgency in the composition that surprised him. It was the first draft of a soundtrack for a British motion picture about Shakespeare and the minute he began, Paul could feel Shakespeare´s pressing need to express himself as the main theme of the work. The famous author had found strong words for his intense emotions – personal and universal at the same time -, and Paul did not have to do much, but convert these feelings into his own language, the language of sound.

      He still loved his work. The crisis was not a crisis of ideas, a creative blockage or some stress related fatigue. He worked a lot, but not too much. The crisis, that had crept into his life gently and slowly first and then increasing in intensity and speed, was more about the way his work was received and perceived. It was less about him and more about his audience. But that made it only worse. He could have changed his attitude, or his way of working, but he was unable to change his audience. In fact, he resented his own reaction strongly. Paul felt arrogant and out of touch with the people he wrote and played for, the people, who paid for his concerts and CDs. What could he possibly do, he asked himself ashamed and desperate.

      Before he left for school, he called his son in L.A. But the answering machine informed him, that he and his mother were out for the whole weekend. Kaya had a new partner in San Diego and Sean seemed to like him. Paul was not jealous. It had been hard for him to let Kaya and his son go, but that was five years ago. They wanted to stay in L.A.,when he had been called to Julliard School in New York. Of course, he had had strong and offending arguments with Kaya. She had accused him of loving his work more than his family and of sacrificing his son. How could a mother think like that!? He had tried to convince her that that was not true. For Paul, it was not a choice between career and family, but a choice between ignoring that they had lost their love and admitting this painful truth; a choice between dishonesty and sincerity. For a whole year, she had refused to talk to him, but she had never withheld their son. Today he knew that he had taken the right choice, even though he had paid for it with loneliness. Sean visited him often, but this was not enough to heal the wound of separation. He was Sean´s father and as a father, he had failed, because he had left for whatever reason. There was no