Merci, Monsieur Marceau!

In autumn 1986 he gave me about an hour of his life. We talked about Auschwitz and love, about language and absolution, about Chaplin and apartheid, about poetry, Picasso and power, about resistance and reconciliation, about . . .

At one point he said: Shshsh, and now let's five minutes talk without words.

Magic?
Eyes talking.
No ears needed.
Silence.
Thoughts flowing, waving.
Question and answer dancing.
Dreams.
Understanding?
Yes.
It is possible.
Magic!

May the one and the other think I am (too) sentimental: Afterwards I felt these had been very special moments in my life. I had met a wonderful wise human being.