A long, long time ago

It was a long, long time ago during the Berlin concert season of 1964 or 1965. I am pretty sure it happened at the new Philharmonie.  I was at the time a secretary for a pianist who may have the strongest and most gifted hands to play Johannes Brahms on a piano. Secretary is a nice term to designate a glorified luggage carrier. I was earning money during my time attending schools and I loved the experience and proximity to music. It was the best and worst job I had ever had while in school.

As it always happened, the young maestro was followed by a flock of admiring and rich patrons who usually congregated in after-concert dinners to celebrate the event. I was sitting in the patron’s row of reserved seats. An imposing and big man was sitting next to me accompanied by a young woman. It was impossible for any one sitting nearby not to notice his maneuvering. His perverse hand was actively resting on his companion’s thigh. I was mesmerized and could not refrain from peaking. His game was there for every one to see and notice, but no one seemed nor wanted to pay attention. Being so flabbergasted by his behavior, I must have let it be obvious because both had noticed my stupefaction. The young woman had turned crimson, me too. And he was there, one of the masters, in all tranquillity, sitting. I did not run away, my job was keeping me there. By the time we left the hall for the after-concert souper, I had been appraised of the great wealth of the family he had been born in and, … we happened to be sat at the same dinner table. He must have been informed about my standing as well because he immedialtely entered a conversation telling me that, if I studied very hard in school as he did, I would be able to do in life anything I wanted to do, the way he was doing. I hated his aplomb and replied that the fact of his birth, not with one silver spoon in the mouth, but with a complete solid gold soup spoon service in his must have helped the process. He seemed to have enjoyed my retort and he indulged me. We spent the dinner talking about Paris, the Latin Quarter and its students.

Since the beginning of the Harvey Weinstein scandal, this odd couple has been in my mind. Quite often when I wake up in the morning, my mind rambles around, with two vivid images, one of a disgusting and horrible old man, the other of simple beauty.

The big monster was already old in these days. So he is long dead and slowly roasting in some eternal inferno. 

Lady friend, who seemed then just a few years older than I, may still be alive. I wish and dream she has found peace, serenity and some form of happiness. She is for ever, for my ever, one infinite image of a mother goddess

Times have changed and voices now speak, louder and louder