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

Then the idea popped into my mind. I remembered the motif from the second part of Ruthemir’s Mass. Once, twice, three times I played it in my head without any mistakes. I could easily play it on the piano. I sat on my stool, with my window open and then, the divine melody broke the silence of the night, like a storm of happiness, a genuine expression of the knowledge of the future. Then I approached my window. The physician, the hotel owner and the third man were still standing there talking, as if nothing had happened. Unbelievable! I think that even the hordes of peons that used to haul massive stones for the pyramids would be less indifferent to the sound of this melody.

In a few days I’m leaving for Athens. I’ve already made all the arrangements. I need a more temperate climate — the physicians agreed with me on that. My mind is sound, but my body is ailing; the tuberculosis never went away. I know I haven’t got much time left. Maybe a couple of years…

A NEW LIFE IN ATHENSAthens, October 20th, 1922

I feel so ensconced in the white city now. I have become accustomed to the warmth brought by the winter sun, the voices of the street vendors, the scent of chrysanthemums and the dust rising from the carriages. I think I’ll fit in just fine here. My greatest pleasure is, however, to go out in the evenings and get lost in the crowded streets, among the bright shop windows and the characteristic, rhythmic churning of the rubber cart wheels. You must be either ill or mad to stay at home at dusk. No one in this city finds pleasure staying home anymore.

The place is poor. It’s apparent from the many beggars on the streets and the amiable elderly men with their tormented violins. But the women here are all well-groomed and elegant with an inexplicable air of true nobility.

I just recalled, without really wanting to, the somehow unjust words that Stefan uttered one day in conversation when he wondered what it would be like to “suddenly find ourselves in the heart of the 20th century, among the most proud and rebellious of the underdeveloped and nearly uncivilised nations of the South” in order to emphasise that the cultural hubs had now moved up North. What ignorant opinions are formed in the absence of any historical knowledge! I now think, Stefan, my friend from the future, with all his pride and affection for the ancient Scandinavian blood that runs through his veins, easily came to unjustified conclusions about the “uncivilised South”. But I, on the contrary, am well aware of all the excesses into which that lucky race was pushed. And I say “lucky” because it could not have achieved anything on its own. They were merely representatives of the other big winning force, by the authorisation of whom they came and re-colonised this tortured continent that was almost annihilated by the fatal war of the year -87 (our 2309AD). This is when a medium-scale nuclear war took place, destroying all of Europe with the exception of Scandinavia. (Europe was then recolonised mostly by the remaining Northern Europeans).

And as far as the Greek nation is concerned, I think there is not a more relaxed nation under the Mediterranean sun. Unless everyone is pretending, including my landlady that does everything in her power to help and please me, and the little eight-year-old boy that was late for school so that he could take me all the way to the Herod Atticus Odeon on his own, and didn’t even accept the tip I gave him.

I don’t know about the rest, but I could walk the most remote and secluded streets and districts after midnight, feeling as safe as I would in broad daylight. Here I’ve met both decent morals and remarkable local culture.

These Mediterranean shores are where civilisation was born and I’m proud to live here now. I feel so light in this foreign, but so beloved country among strangers. I’ve now settled just fine in my humble room. The only thing I fear, however, is that I am starting to feel the same weight in my chest again, the one caused by the knowledge of my numbered days. Wednesday November 2nd, 1922

In a foreign country the first few weeks are quite difficult. Everything—the morning, the evening, one’s habits, the way one plans to spend the day—needs to be redefined. I truly believe, though, that with the passage of time things will get better; and I rely on the reassurance of Mr. De La S that he will recommend me to some of his German language students, whom he has in abundance. After my visit to the archaeological school with the recommendation letter from Mr. M., I have every reason to be optimistic.