Pain Log #2: Letter to My Sister
I listen to Arvo Pärt’s sacred music and think of his native Estonia, which reminds me of that Tallinn lawyer and historian whom I met one November at the American Academy in Rome. She wore an outlandish costume for our communal dinners—mauve taffeta suit with matching hat—and she had a flat face and a cold affect. Ingeniously, she found ways to direct every conversation back to jaw-dropping stereotypes: Jews were stealing all of Europe’s wealth, how unclean Jews from her home- town, “stink like horse shit,” and “Jews are taking all the best jobs.” Our table of diners grew silent, shocked and embarrassed by her casually professed hatred. Thus, I conclude that Estonia, like all countries, is capable of producing both enlightened men like Arvo Pärt and highly intelligent hate-mongers. The body, too, produces joy machines like endorphins (absent right now), and cells bent on destroying their neighbors. We always inhabit or contain at least two worlds simultaneously.
