back full concentration on conducting. For him, the conductor was the only one in the orchestra who had walked the road outlined by the score personally. He knew every danger, every cliff, every hole. He knew each dead end and also the beautiful spots, the peaks and the climax of the journey. He had to guide the orchestra through unknown territory every time, even though the musicians had played the piece of music countless times before. They trusted him that he was able to lead them through, and he was absolutely sure that they were capable and willing to find their way and make the best out of it.
The strings had their part now and filled the entire hall with sound so rich and meaningful to him, that he could only feel and surrender to it. This was the pure beauty to him, the beauty beyond words, beyond description; the beauty of life itself, hidden in everything, every being. Paul had to fight down his tears because he was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to find this beauty in his own life, not only in music but in life itself. He swallowed strongly several times and almost lost concentration, but then other instruments echoed the theme of the strings and the emotions released him.
When he looked up, he saw an elderly man standing at the entrance. Their eyes met for an instant and even though there were more than twenty meters between them, Paul noticed that the man was moved to tears, too. But when he looked up from the score the next time the man had disappeared.
This time Paul did not dare to turn Phil´s invitation for a late lunch down. They walked through the snow, warmly packed in thick coats, hats and lambskin gloves watching their breath turn into white clouds of chimerical forms.
“Do you want to talk about it?" Phil dared to ask when they sat in an Italian bar in a small side street only a few minutes later.
“Talk about what?” Paul reacted cold and defensively pretending to concentrate on the menu.
“Something is burdening you. I am afraid it is my confession that I admire you.”
Paul looked out of the window not ready to lie into Phil´s face, but also not willing to admit that the friend was right.
“It´s not that. I told you, I am generally having a hard time.”
“Because of the fortune teller!?”
“She was not a fortune teller.” Paul almost shouted, surprised by his own emotionally strong reaction. The waiter came to take the order, and Paul wanted to stop the conversation here, but Phil did not let him off the hook.
“I am sorry. I thought she told you, you would travel to Berlin before you even knew.”
“She did, but she was not a fortune teller.” Paul tried to put into words what he felt about her. “She was more like a messenger; a person who knew me, who wanted to let me know that I will be facing a major change in life.”
“It´s still because of the audience!?”
Paul took a deep breath. “No, Phil. And that is precisely the point, why I do not want to talk about it. Because I can not explain what I am experiencing and feeling right now. I don´t even know what is wrong myself.”
“Why don´t you try. Sometimes that helps.” Phil looked at him innocently and Paul felt that he still trusted him. He cared and he wanted to honestly help. Paul was unable to turn this empathy down.
“It is not because of the audience. I mean,… the audience is not the cause of my mental and emotional turmoil.”
Phil nodded understandingly. Paul felt encouraged to search for words and explanations.
“The audience is more like a mirror. It is showing me that something is wrong with me. I want more or something else than I get and I don´t know why!”
“Is it because of Kaya?”
“Kaya? No. That is long passed. I suffered before, when and after we split. But I think the worst is over now. That is another strange aspect of the whole story: why now? Professionally, I have the best time of my life and the private waves have calmed."
“Could it be a depression or some kind of fatigue?”
“It could. I don´t know. But it doesn´t feel like an illness. It feels more like an impending change.”
“A change to what?”
“I wish I could grasp that, Phil. I dreamed of the woman last night and she urged me to `awake`.”
Phil looked at Paul seriously. “You are a lucky man. But I think you have to prepare for some things that you will not like.”
“I don´t want changes. I like my life!”
Phil laughed. "Don´t resist, Paul. Learn from your music. It keeps flowing with any change and in the end, this is what makes its wholeness, its completeness: its willingness to be anything – joy and pain, loss and gain!"
◊◊◊
They separated in front of the restaurant because Phil needed to buy a few things at the KaDeWe department store, which was only a five-minute walk from here. Paul meandered around, not ready to return to his hotel room and still fascinated by the atmosphere of the German capital. Something drew him through the park towards the Reichstag, once again home to the German parliament since 1999 - sixty-six years after it had been destroyed by a raging fire. During the long walk, Paul allowed his thoughts to flow freely. He studied the landscape, the architecture, cars, and people when all of a sudden he heard the metallic sound of a military band in his mind. He started trembling when the inner sound of the military parade became louder and stronger, and at the same time, he caught the sound of soldiers marching lock-step. There was a dark and alarming feeling in these sounds, which grew even louder when matching images appeared in front of his mind's eye. The soldiers were dressed in brownish green uniforms, reminding him of pictures he had seen from the time of the Second World War. When he looked up within the inner space he beheld long red flags hanging from the Reichstag building, showing huge swastikas, the sign of the Nazi regime. His heart started beating as fast as this morning. Paul was ready to panic again. The inner image suggested danger so strongly, that he actually felt threatened. He stopped and turned his sight to the outside world only, reconnecting with the current time and space. He followed the cars to assure himself that this was 2013 and not 1933. He looked at the people, walking, riding bikes, busily heading hither and thither. They were modernly dressed, using cell phones and drinking coffee. Paul stepped close to the street, waving for a cab. Luckily, after a few minutes, a taxi stopped in front of him. Only when he felt the cold black leather of the seats underneath him he was able to relax a little. But the inner images still held him captive.
In the lobby, he bumped into Phil.
“Gosh, you are totally pale. Are you okay, Paul?”
“Yes, no. I don´t know. I need to be alone!”
Phil was extremely worried but did not know what to do to calm Paul. He let him run into the elevator and helplessly watched him disappear behind its closing doors.
In his room, Paul fell in an armchair without taking his coat off. His heart was still beating fast and he could not control the images that swept over his mind, visions of Berlin more than sixty years old. He saw several places he had never been at knowing that they had existed at that time. Soldiers and girls dressed in uniforms practicing to goose-step. The entire city was colored by a dark, daunting atmosphere that swallowed any positive emotion and even action. It was like a nightmare he could not wake up from. After a while, he remembered the woman´s advice given on a cold November night in SoHo: “You will go to Berlin and you have to be very aware of your perceptions and your feelings. You have to listen to your inner voice. And please, do not judge your experiences. You are safe and you will be guided…!”
Paul did not feel safe, and he did not feel guided, but the woman´s voice and her words calmed him. She had warned him. Maybe Phil was right and he was a lucky man after all. "What does this inner voice tell me by projecting these pictures", he started to ask himself, immediately gaining more distance to the horrifying scenes and more strength to face them. "It forces me to look back, to see what Berlin has once been and at the same