Pair case

There is such a game – “Memory”. It contains two identical decks of cards with pictures. They are mixed and laid out evenly on the table, shirts up. That is, there are two on the field of each picture. The task of the players is to find these pairs by turning over the cards and take them for themselves. We turn over one card at a time, look at it all and put it back face down. Until someone takes another card and remembers where her pair is. Then the lucky one takes a pair for himself. Whoever has more pairs in the end wins. At first it seems? that it’s impossible. That is, no one really remembers anything. But as soon as three successful attempts happen, things move forward and the couples gradually unite. And still, for absent-minded people like me, it looks incredible.

At the Goethe Institute, where I studied German, they teach in such a way that it is not boring and that everyone communicates and hears each other. There were various other games. Among them is this. Each of us conceives a film. And then he tells the story to the partner, without giving out the name. And he must guess. Your counterparts change all the time – you train to speak and listen. It is interesting, of course, to intrigue a partner, and not just to declare was ist das at the end. (But this excitement, alas, is hopelessly drowning in pathetic attempts to find words.)

I already know my film. One of my favorites. Few people saw him, that is, almost none of my acquaintances. It’s about a couple who couldn’t have children. They negotiate with a surrogate mother, a friend of his wife, a modest daughter of a grocer (divine Isabelle Huppert) – and she gives birth to a son from this man. Gradually, the hero falls in love with the mother of his child. This is a very strong, but almost hopeless connection – he is a high-ranking officer in the Hungarian army. She is a poor Jew. It takes place in the late 30s. The Nazis come to power. The lovers continue to meet. It’s getting more and more dangerous. But he is sure that, thanks to his position, he is immune from suspicion in connection with a Jewish woman. He straightens his beloved forged documents. In the end, the legal wife betrays them both. The last shot shows him and Huppert in different columns with yellow stars on their cloaks. For me – with halos over their heads.

Read more:

• We choose each other for a reason

I’m telling a movie to a strange quiet girl. Slightly autistic. She knows the language quite well, better than most of us, but no activity in the lessons. She has such a special look – always to the side. Mouse. Answers fluently, but barely audible somewhere on the table. Her notes (I once sat opposite) are incredibly detailed – small, neat handwriting, such dense lines. The pages are written from corner to corner. None of us not only did not remember, but, it seems, did not even know her name. One day, we all took turns reporting how each spent the weekend (auf Deutch, naturlich!). Just a couple of sentences. Commas were dachas, walks with children, gyms, theaters. I was lucky that time – I got to the concert of Zubin Metta, the great conductor. I report it. After the lesson, the mouse came up to me and congratulated me. Her congratulations looked like this: Israeli Philharmonic?