Professor Schintz was his name…

As we left, he introduced himself. Professor Schintz was his name. I revealed my name in return. He offered me a skjaper. I declined, out of politeness, before accepting, out of politeness. Already we felt like good friends. I asked him what he did. He had, it turned out, taken early retirement from the University of Berlin, where he’d taught for twenty-five years in the department of physics. I told him I’d had him down as a teacher in the humanities. ‘Ah, the old stereotypes!’ he laughed, ‘they survive, alas, because they’re largely true. But some of us scientists do read novels. Whether we think they’re worthy of further study is another question entirely. But we read, and we look, and we listen. Music, after all, is physics.’

Segment six of my award-winning memoir* is now available. Praise to all ye gods and cherubims!

* Pedants beware: I use phrase ‘award-winning’ loosely. In actuality, I have yet to win a single award for this work. In my dreams, however, I cannot build the trophy cabinets fast enough.

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