Come Back
Page 6
End this—
I can do it. To hell with money here I go.
In bed by 9:45 p.m. Wednesday o sweet sleep of the dead be dead
DAILY PLANNER 1984: July Thursday 26
Frankfurt leaning on hotel balcony. And below me, there’s Denn’s blond head! In lobby Mom, Dad, Denn Colin & parents, then Ailsa
Then Ailsa.
They had so sensibly planned everything, coordinated the city, the day, the hotel, the day trips—Europe for Joan was art, art—Yo and Hal and Dennis would arrive in Frankfurt by rental car from Vienna, Grant and Joan and their two children by air from Edmonton, Gabriel by train after a day sightseeing in Amsterdam. And within an hour of the planned 15:00 everyone was there, Hotel Stein across from the Frankfurt train station; everyone except Gabriel. They waited in the hotel lobby, waited on the Allee jammed with travellers flooding around the enormous Hauptbahnhof. Finally they left a message at the desk and went to their rooms to clean up for dinner, and Denn went out on their balcony to watch the people swirling over the Platz and suddenly a familiar voice shouted his name from above. Gabriel! Leaning down over a higher balcony railing. Already there the night before! And so all was—should have been—well, the two families together as they were so often in Edmonton—but without Miriam’s quick laugh calming everything—in a strange city surrounded by crowds of strangers, but easy, Hal thoughtlessly thought then, good home friends and easy, let Denn and Colin natter—
—“then Ailsa.” Gabriel printed the words with blue ballpoint in his University of Alberta Planner 1984. After their loud dinner already filled with travel adventure (inevitable toilet?) stories—none from Gabriel, going back up to his Frankfurt hotel room alone for the second night; but then Denn moved in with him.
DAILY PLANNER 1984: July Friday 27
Frankfurt saw Roman ruins, Drei Roemer, the ugly gaps still left from WWII.
A: Are you really going to stay away for a whole year?
G: I probably won’t be able to stand it.
A: Good (quietly)
G: What?
A looking down, smiles. Scotland in her name. The great rock, “craig,” in the sea off Ayr is called Ailsa. Joan told me, laughing like she does, they had so little contact with their Scottish relatives they at least gave their kids Scottish names.
Dinner after Goethe Haus—pasta, A beside me. She found my hand on my leg.
July Saturday 28
Drive early, Dad & Grant & boys to Marburg, his old Uni, and Mom, Joan, Ailsa & me to Mainz. The Chagall windows in St. Stephan, still rebuilding it from the war (40 years), a blue shimmer over the chancel. Joan entranced. But A whispers: “Why are you mean to me?” I couldn’t answer. Evening, walk streets alone, too many others.
And same-day notes in the third tan notebook: unlimited space, for whatever he felt, and could write:
SPIRAL NOTEBOOK (3): July 28, 1984
I feel so terrible. Walking the Rheinufer/Gutenberg Museum in Mainz, Ailsa showed clearly she likes me, all I ever wanted. And I couldn’t talk to her. Felt like I was chained shut. She doesn’t /nobody/ knows how much I care
Hope: feeling expectation and desire
a person or thing giving cause for this
Give me your hand again, anywhere, I’ll kiss every one of your thin fingers
why can’t we be alone no people no church no age just all I ever wanted have mercy please one dream growing three years—can it already be three? so long so young please forgive me for
DAILY PLANNER 1984: July Sunday 29
Heidelberg, after Castle hiked over bridge & Philosophenweg for view. A tries to put her arm in mine. “Are you mad at me?” Meal (pasta again) in Altstadt, sit beside her. Her hand again. “A year away, you’ll forget me.” Walking to cars we find a girl (dope, valium?) curled on street cobblestones. Scary and sad, we all just let her be. I drive our rental back to Frkfrt, A in back like always with kibitzing boys, no touch possible. But we have held hands twice.
SPIRAL NOTEBOOK (3): July 29, 1984
Ailsa Helen: born May 19, 1971
- Gaellic/Scot./English, Elsbeth/
Elizabeth: consecrated to God
- Greek/Helen: light, a torch—a flame, yes
loves pasta perogies ice cream
burns the outside of hot dogs before eating them
hates garlic swimming pools has great marks in art not phys. ed.
Dear Ailsa, Dearest Helen,
Consecrated, dedicated to all that is light and beautiful, flame of my being. Forgive me for acting so cool, for almost seeming mean/mad. It is absolutely not that this is really the case—just that my feelings are so strong I feel very awkward and apprehensive with both our families always so close around. Your pretty thin fingers, your lovely eyes are all that is beautiful in the world. Your affection for me is beyond dream. Forgive me if I at times seem standoffish, really that’s NOT what I mean, I care for you so deeply and do not want to hurt you ever, in any way. Hopefully the future will be better for us.
With all my hope, my love, Gabriel Thomas Wiens
DAILY PLANNER 1984: July Monday 30
(W Germany–France–W. Germany) Had to leave Frkft.—but with great hope—they’re driving to Paris. Parents, Denn, I drove to Alb. Schweitzer town Kayserberg, Fr. Good to concentrate on traffic, crowded Autobahn. Night in Freiburg Ger. hotel, ate pasta in memory now more than dream!
July Tuesday 31
Climbed Freiburg huge gothic spire, Denn hung out waving, scared Mom. Drove through Black Forest.
Round hills, bent roads. Crazy laughs with Denn.
Lonely
August Wednesday 1
Dostoevsky plaque at Baden-Baden, baths sulphur, high castle ruins, mountains and forest. He never got over being a gambler, but wrote—dare to be a gambler!
August Thursday 2
(W. Germany–France) lv. alone again, Strasbourg tr. station, lots of strangers, evening 8:00: this, all this that we love within us … the dried up riverbeds of ancient mothers, the whole silent landscape under the clear heavens—all this, my dearest girl, preceded you (Rilke)
August Friday 3
Nice, arrive 8 in the morning small “Terror in Nice” got it stopped walking, to Albert Hotel and there was Fred, as planned quiet Karen O is with him
Fred: Deo gratias for that year at Winnipeg College where Gabe met young people from all over Canada—so why didn’t he meet a Karen too? He must have, there were dozens.
August Sunday 5
(France–Italia) Chagall Museum, Nice: whole Old Testament floats for him, in blue, stunning. But the thick erect snake and Eve with red apple, Adam groping. O Joan mother mother. All 3 of us on evening train to Milano
SPIRAL NOTEBOOK (3): August 7, 1984
Dearest Ailsa,
I’m in Italia sitting on a rock embankment in the resort town of Desenzano overlooking the lake called Lago di Garda. It took an hour and a half by train to get here from Milano. It is 10:30 in the morning and the big French boys who were playing in the water near me, making the usual beach sounds, have rented paddleboats and are disappearing into the hazy lake.
Since I cannot remember your family’s art itinerary, I can’t place at this moment, August 7, 10:40 am, your whereabouts. (Oh Ailsa, I do care, very much. Back in Edmonton, if I hadn’t had the opportunity to see you for a while, I would drive past your house to see if your bedroom light was on or off.) Here the only closeness I can get, so much feebler, is by my meals. I’ve eaten lasagna 3 times already, in memory of you and your hands and Chagall blue. I saw an enormous museum of his paintings in Nice, and every painting had something of you and blue in it.
I would never deliberately be mean to you. There are times, like in Mainz, when I’ve seen your sensitive soul, at least I think I have. I would so much love to know more about what goes on behind those green eyes.
Please, forgive me when I acted foolishly those few days we had in Germany. I have nothing but tender feelings towards you, Ailsa, it’s that I
felt extremely awkward near you so long and together with our parents and our always joking brothers; which is why I want to be alone with you, and we never have been, or were walking then, so I never felt I could explain what I am trying to do making this trip. You said so quietly in Frankfurt, “Good,” when I confessed I probably couldn’t stay away for a year. And believe me, I felt so good then, too.
Now I took a walk, got some things to eat at the market here, there are hundreds of sellers. And the thought struck me: I don’t really want to be here, at this dull, supposed to be beautiful! lake—and it is, I can see that—in the middle of north Italy. But I am, far away from you, here, searching to try and say what is on my mind, but I don’t really know where I could stand with you, or what I could explain. To show my feelings I tried to arrange some verses from the Song of Solomon that I was reading in Nice August 3, 4, in the Holy Bible (with pictures by Chagall too). I admit I’ve walked the streets of Nice and Milano trying to find you. Once in a while I found someone with eyes like yours, or very young with lovely shoulders, but of course they were never you. And those girls didn’t care about me, or even noticed I was alive in front of them.
Yet, there are some places I want to see here in Europe. I must say that I will be back by at least Christmas, most likely a lot sooner.
But then what! This question was already on my mind on the street in Heidelberg, the night of the unconscious valium (?) girl. I was in a state of melancholia because I knew those few seconds walking beside you were going to pass, so fast, everything goes. Your affection and goodness … there, in Germany, I had the opportunity to show you how I care for you, and because I’m so shy and feel so awkward in front of the others, because I (stupidly) keep thinking ahead to when we won’t be together, I couldn’t show you. Only hide my worry, think ahead and worry. Isn’t that foolish?
So this letter is a declaration to you, a sensitive, beautiful and very young lady.
I love you, Ailsa Helen, birthday Wednesday May 19, 1971. How I long for you to be here, to talk with me. Please write me so I know you exist.
Even now, in this letter, I cannot express the feelings and thoughts … there is so much we could say, but never do, and so much we shouldn’t say but barely do. Here I don’t know if I can even try to mail this letter.
DAILY PLANNER 1984: August Thursday 9
Can $1 = 1330 liras
At 10 o’clock walked from Monfalcone, Hotel Excelsior #15 to Duino, arrived 12:30. Everyone friendly—found zimmer across from Duino Castle, Albergo Susy #7, walked to Sustiana met Yugoslav family, invited us to their place—tried to get into Duino Castle—no luck, closed—that’s me every time
August Friday 10
Long wonderful shower—off to write some letters home here in Duino. Found out stuff on Castle, took pictures in the grey rain, the sea, the white cliffs snarled with trees, the castle roofs and thick towers—perfect for elegy and longing. Re-write, re-copy letter to A Long after midnight, still rain.
SPIRAL NOTEBOOK (3): August 10, 1984
Duino, Italia
My dearest Ailsa,
As I write this letter, one of many drafts, you are still in Europe. Since I was not told your family’s exact itinerary, I can’t place your whereabouts. However, when you receive this letter in Edmonton you will obviously be at home, a place I remember very well. I helped your family move into that house when you bought it, and I put your bed together in the bedroom you chose. Remember?
I started one, many a number of letters; August 3 in Nice, France, on August 7 another in Desenzano, Italy but have mailed none. Now in Duino, a small town overlooking the Gulf of Trieste; Trieste is a city located 50 km south of Duino, I write what will hopefully be the final draft of a letter which will be mailed.
Oh, I will write you and write you, Ailsa, I will never forget you
The main problem in writing this letter was has been the choice of motif. The mo theme chosen has been the declar confession. A person can never reveal everything that is on his/her mind, especially if it is complex, and even more so if it has to be told in a short letter.
First off I want to tell you why I came to Duino
I came to Duino, Italy, because a great German poet, Rainer Maria Rilke (a male), stayed at the castle, the high grey structure on the cliff in the postcard picture enclosed, on invitation from the Princess who lived there in 1912. At the Duino Castello he started what were later called The Duino Elegies—his greatest poems. Here are a few lines from the 7th Elegy, translated from the German (not by me):
Nowhere, beloved, can the world exist but within us.
Our life is spent in changing. And ever lessening,
The outer world disappears.
That’s what I feel here, the world changing in me. Presently Prince Raimondo della Torre e Tasso owns the Castle, and when the flag is flying, which you can see on the tip of the tallest tower, the Prince is at home. The flag is flying as I write, so no visitors are allowed inside. My luck as usual.
I have been debating whether to include a poem here that was written in one peak of despair in a Nice hotel [August 3], selecting and changing a few words from a Holy Bible version of Song of Solomon. It’s kind of contradictory, both lament and joy, but that seems the way things are now:
Sorrow
Whither is my beloved gone,
O thou fairest among young women?
Thou hast ravished my heart, my beauty, my rose;
Thou hast ravished my heart with both of thine eyes,
and with just one of thy looks.
How fair is thy love, my beauty, my rose;
How much better thy love than wine,
and the presence of thy being beyond all others.
I will rise now, and go about the city,
and in the streets I will seek her whom my soul loves:
I sought her, but I found her not.
Whether is my beloved gone,
O thou fairest among women?
Ailsa, I do care I love you. You are the most beautiful young lady in the world. I would never be deliberately mean to you. I will never, never, forget you. I’ll be back before Christmas.
I’ve been entranced with you ever since I first noticed first really became aware of your existence. This occurred at the 1980 church Sunday School Christmas program. You, Ailsa, were nine years old and in the children’s choir, and you were not singing. You just stood there in the front row while the other children joyfully sang, including your brother and mine, but you with a pained sad face and a silent gaze into the congregation. I was enchanted. Then for one song you did begin to sing. In the song there was a pause, most likely a verse change. Well, you started singing before the rest of the choir. You immediately noticed your mistake and stopped but some children beside you looked at you and laughed and your cheeks flushed, you scuffed your arms in extreme embarrassment. And you never did sing again, not any song that entire evening.
At that moment, and at many other times in the three and a half years since, I have felt that I could see into your inner being. Perhaps it is just that as I am an extremely sensitive and shy person, and I feel other people’s pain, but esp. yours
I felt very sorry for you, a sensitive and shy person, because I too know the pain of extreme embarrassment. I also felt that I could see into your inner self something that one does rarely with most people which I have had a number of opportunities since then to witness
???????? Bullshit confusing !!!!!! and horrible transition
Ailsa, speaking of embarrassment—(better awkwardness—no one with any sensitivity would ever be embarrassed with you wanting to be close to them) in Germany I felt very awkward with our family members always around and so I outwardly showed little affection for to you. You were so very kind and tender, I didn’t mean to be mean or cold: I just didn’t know what to do, where to look. But you are so brave, you talk right out loud.
On the viewpoint over Heidelberg when you asked me what was on my mind, what I was thinking was
our being together would not last. So silly! I’ve been longing for you to enjoy my company, and here you were showing great tenderness and I due to shyness apprehension the future the others could not respond. The sadness I felt was that my chance to show you how much I do care for you was being wasted, just like that poor girl curled together on the street that evening. The whole world walking those cobblestones after our beautiful meal was suddenly so helpless, so sad.
Why did I waste that moment? Always apprehensive, about what’s coming
Ailsa, this is my confession today: I love you. How this will be experienced in the future, just as how this letter works, I don’t know. Please forgive me for seeming cold and silent in the near past, it was not meant against you. Better—think of the Chagall blue heavens in Mainz, and I’ll think of his Nice paintings: of the great ladder going up into blue heaven and those winged people like flying flowers everywhere. That’s a way we can hope together.
I am presently with Fred and his friend Karen O, and we are hostelling/camping our way to Athens, Greece. I intend to be in Greece till the end of August, maybe a week longer. Please answer, mail your letter to me at the Canadian Embassy, Athens, Greece, address on the back of this letter. Please—answer.
With all my love, Gabriel Thomas Wiens
DAILY PLANNER 1984: August Saturday 11
Parents/Denn back in Canada today **mailed
recopied letter to A **
mailed postcard to parents from Duino, did laundry Venice tomorrow, @ 4 hrs.
SPIRAL NOTEBOOK (3): August 10, 1984
Panorama Di Duino (Trieste)
Dear family,
I’ve been staying in Duino since Thursday noon, we will be leaving Sunday morning for Trieste and perhaps a short day trip into Yugoslavia. The Castello (centre of picture) is still owned by relatives of the Princess who invited Rilke to stay here in 1912 and he worked on his Elegies. Presently Prince Raimondo lives there, and it is strictly a private place and nobody can get in to see the rooms where Rilke stayed when he’s home. Right now as I write it is raining quite heavily, and my laundry which I hung out to dry is getting a second rinse. I plan to be in Italy/Greece for the rest of August.