Chronicles From The Future: The amazing story of Paul Amadeus Dienach

In the early days, not even Anna had realised a thing; she merely looked forward to my next visit so that she could give me a different present each time: travel books or coloured pencils. I still remember the first time I saw her at church dressed in white. “How did her eyelashes grow so long all at once?” I wondered to myself. I also remember that during my last year in secondary school, all the margins of my notebooks were scribbled with her name.

One day I couldn’t help myself and she noticed my teary eyes. We were in the drawing room with a huge book open before us on the table. Her mother was seated right next to her. I will never forget her gaze. It took the form of a huge question mark. It was so serious — too serious for her years.

We exchanged not another word and quickly closed the book. Angry with myself, I wiped my eyes, hastily bid farewell to her mother and rushed out. I cried myself to sleep that night. I would be to blame if I never saw her again.

Eleven days passed. Early one afternoon, on my way back home, I heard noises coming from the drawing room. I walked in and—who would have thought it?—Anna was there with her mother! Before I could gather my thoughts I had to greet the ladies. Anna was completely unabashed, like nothing was going on. A boy could never have disguised himself as well as she did! The visit had been her idea.

Then it was my turn to go away for studies. I was absent for a year or two. By the time I returned, she had become a proper lady. The first times I saw her she did not talk to me the way she used to or look straight into my eyes. And my mind went blank, like a fool, unable to utter a few words to form a sentence. I blushed and answered her every question in monosyllables. But still, I was so happy…

Now I go back to the places where I used to meet her again and again. What else is there for me to do so as to come to grips with my misery? While writing, my tears drop over the fresh ink, blurring the letters. It’s ridiculous—I know—for a 32-year-old man to cry like a baby. I’ve been told so many times by now, enough to know it very well myself. But please forgive me. I’m just a miserable man that has been through too much in life.

Nobody knew about our love back then, no one except her best friend, Amelia. I had not even told my mother, my own best friend, my hero! How much has she been through herself, with my misfortunes and my sickness! And even now, on her deathbed, she is still my shoulder to cry on, instead of me being hers. I remember you, Mother, crying at nights and me not knowing what to do. I remember you going to her house to see her, during her own sickness, and her parents telling you there’s nothing else that can be done, no hope whatsoever. And they didn’t let you see her. They did not even let me see her. December 4th, 1918

Our secret happiness lasted several months. I do not recall what season it was. Did other people talk about us? I don’t recall that either. The only thing I do recall is you. My every future plan, my every thought, my every hope was formed by you, and took your form.

Then I was offered the position at that school. I took it as a good sign and was quite happy since I was financially independent and was able to see her every three months. Then another year passed. Her mother died. I had finally saved some money to start my life with her. She used to write to me saying she was very sad. I assumed that her mother’s recent death was the reason. I was mistaken.

When that man appeared and asked Anna’s father for her hand in marriage, her father begged her to accept, lying to her about his financial situation. He kept pleading with her for months, bending her will little by little. Only after Anna’s passing did I learn the whole truth about how her father took advantage of her love and affection for him. Had her mother been alive, she would have sensed the pain in her heart.

Even now Amelia speaks to me about how torn Anna was between making her father unhappy and shattering her own heart forever, knowing how much that would make her suffer. She would cry in her arms for hours and Amelia would urge her to leave home directly, but she could never take that step.

Her mother’s last wish from her deathbed—that Anna obey her father—was pinned in her mind and defined her every move. And so, from a misconception of duty, she was consumed by the idea of sacrifice.

One morning I received a letter from my mother. Anna’s brother had been looking for me. I met with him. He asked for my help. They still hadn´t managed to convince her to marry that man. “Have you ever thought about how you´re going to live, in what conditions? What do you have to offer her?” he asked me. I asked him to leave, cursing him, and then I went home and wept, for I had offended someone she so dearly loved.

I managed to see her a couple of times. She looked happy. “Don’t worry, they can’t force me to marry him against my will,” she said.