urge to focus on the images of the past again. The atmosphere of the years before the war, the manipulation of the people by the Nazi regime and its propaganda, the preparation and training for war and the killing of millions. He witnessed, how an inhuman ideology began to rule over the beliefs of a whole nation and destroy its sanity and reason; he saw, how it began and he could think only one thought: "Thank God I was not part of this!" With this thought, the nightmare ended abruptly.
He hid in his room until the next morning. Paul did not even go for breakfast and ordered the room-service early. Then he went for another long walk through the city. He was determined not to allow fear to reign his behavior. He wanted to face the images of his subconscious mind. But today it stayed calm. No images. No visions. He walked through the streets and tried to figure out what had triggered the sequence of scenes that he had seen with his inner eye yesterday. He even passed the same place, where it had started the day before, but his mind remained unstirred.
Before returning to the Hotel, Paul had enough time to stop at a little bar across the street for a strong, hot espresso. The bar reminded him of the place in SoHo, even though it felt and smelt much more European. He took a seat at the counter and ordered a Macchiato, when he saw a man´s face in the large mirror behind the bar. Was that the elderly man, who had listened to his rehearsal the day before, Paul wondered and got up to approach him curiously.
“Good morning, Sir. Sorry to disturb you. Did you listen to my concert rehearsal at the Hotel vis-à-vis yesterday?” He pointed toward the Hotel entrance on the other side of the street.
The elderly man looked at him shrugging his shoulders and shook his head. “No English!”
Paul looked at the waiter helplessly. “Could you translate for us, please?”
“My English is not the best, but I will try”, the waiter promised willingly. “Haben Sie gestern die Orchesterprobe im Hotel gegenüber gehört, hat der Herr gefragt.“
The old German looked at Paul with widely opened eyes and nodded insecurely.
“May I invite you for tomorrow's concert at Gendarmenmarkt?"
“Er möchte Sie zu seinem Konzert morgen ins Konzerthaus einladen.“
„Das ist sehr freundlich von ihm. Aber ich habe schon eine Karte.“ The man laughed.
“He already has a ticket, Sir.”
Paul started laughing, too. “May I invite you for a coffee, then?”
“Der Herr möchte Ihnen dann wenigstens einen Kaffe ausgeben.”
„Sehr gern. Aber er muss sich zu mir setzen. Ich würde ihn gerne etwas Wichtiges fragen.“
„He would like you to sit with him. He says, he wants to ask you something important.”
Paul felt nervous. He pulled a chair back and sat down, while the waiter kept standing.
“Ich kannte seinen Großvater, müssen Sie wissen.“
The waiter seemed surprised and translated the words of the German. “He said, he knew your grandfather.”
“My grandfather? Where from?”
“Ich war sein Schüler.“
Paul did not understand. Which grandfather?
The old man looked at Paul seriously and began to tell his story, while the waiter translated almost fluently.
“Your grandfather was very talented. Just like you. He played the violin like no other. But he did not compose at that time before the war.”
“Where was that?” Paul needed to know.
“Here, in Berlin!”
“I am sorry, but I have no ancestors in Berlin. You must mistake me for someone else.”
The elderly man seemed to get upset and the waiter had trouble to keep up with his translation.
“He says, he knew your mother and grandmother, too. Katharina und Susanna.”
Paul´s grandmother's name was Katherine and his mother was called Susan. Could the old man speak the truth?
“They had to leave the country during the war. But he has never again heard anything of your grandfather. He would like to know, how he coped with the difficult situation.”
“Which situation?”
The old German looked at him stunned. He took Paul´s hand and said. “Sorry, boy.” Then, he turned towards the waiter beseechingly. “Ich muss mich geirrt haben. Bitte entschuldigen Sie.“
„He apologizes. He must have been mistaken.”
The old man got up abruptly and left the bar. The waiter looked perturbed. “What was that?”
“I have no idea. He must have mistaken me for someone else.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I don´t know. He seemed to know you. He knew your work. He even comes to see your concert.”
“You have a point there. But my ancestors are all American. No one has ever been to Berlin.”
“Mysterious!”
Paul nodded. But he felt calm and at peace with himself. The old man must have seen someone in him who he was not. There was something scary about the mind of older people playing tricks on them, he had to admit. But this man´s wrong memories did not affect him. He gave the waiter an extra tip and thanked him for the help.
“Would you like tickets for the concert?”
“I would love to come, Sir, but I have to work. I am very sorry. Maybe next time you come to Berlin.”
“Will I ever come back”, Paul asked himself. He did not know. His future seemed more unpredictable than ever. Whenever he tried to see what was lying ahead of him, he could see nothing but a gray fog.
During the next rehearsal, Phil watched his friend closely and concerned. But he did not dare to ask Paul again if he was alright. He tried to give Paul more space and freedom by taking care of the group. Paul was able to retire to his room alone whenever he needed to.
The final rehearsal at the Konzerthaus went well. Paul had struggled successfully to gain back his inner balance for the last concert of their trip. When he took a cab all by himself that evening, he started again wondering about the old German and his weird story. Would he come to hear the concert tonight? Did it matter? Yes, somehow it did because when Paul had seen him the first time that morning in Senator Hall of Midtown Hotel, he had thought that the man´s tears had flown because his music had touched him. Paul had felt close to the man, understood and recognized. But when he found out that the man confounded him, these feelings had been fully erased. Paul had been sad and disappointed. His strongest desire had not been fulfilled. Once again.
The cab stopped as close to the artist's entrance as possible. The tour bus had not arrived, yet. Paul paid the driver and when he slammed the door shut, his eyes fell on an advertising pillar right next to him. Adrenalin shot through his veins, and he almost lost balance. The woman! The woman from SoHo! It was her. No doubt. Karen Garin was her name. She was a sitar player?! And she would give a concert here, right here, at the Konzerthaus on Monday. In two days. She was in town. His thoughts were rushing too fast to grasp.
Phil found Paul in his dressing room.
“She is here!”, Paul said in a low voice meeting Phil´s eyes in the mirror before even saying hello.
“Who?”
“The woman from SoHo.”
“Here at the concert?”
“In town. She is giving a sitar concert here, exactly here, on Monday.”
“Man, that´s hard to believe.”
“I have a ticket for Monday night. It´s true.”
Phil could not believe what he heard.