Therefore Choose by Keith Oatley Page B

reach it, not quite.”
    â€œYou think I’m a bit mad, like my distant cousin.”
    â€œHeinrich von Kleist. When I came back to London, I read some of his stories, and I read about him. He had a breakdown when he read Kant and realized that there is no way to distinguish what is true from what one believes to be true although it’s not.”
    â€œEnglish pragmatism. You think a mere philosophical paradox should not cause a breakdown.”
    â€œThere he was, writing all these stories of misunderstanding.”
    â€œYou think we misunderstand each other?”
    â€œMy father …” said George. “Perhaps it was an accident, but really I believe he committed suicide. If I had not left him, so that he walked off on that path on his own … I could have prevented it.”
    â€œAre you saying that this experience remains with you in some form? Are you saying it has made you tentative?”
    â€œI should have continued to do what I was doing, which was to go along with my father. Instead, I followed an impulse of my own, to go back.”
    â€œYou decided something.”
    â€œYou asked me to decide. Now I wonder whether I decided in the wrong way. I think perhaps I should have kept going along with you, stayed with you in Berlin.”
    â€œYou think the situation is like the one with your father. You think you might have left me to a terrible fate, on my own in Germany.”
    â€œDon’t be angry at me, but you do seem to make it difficult. I don’t understand why you won’t simply say, ‘We want to be together. Let’s work out how best to do it.’”
    â€œI didn’t say that. But we seem to be doing it, nonetheless. The English way, to muddle along. Perhaps that is what we have decided.”
    â€œAnd then I wonder whether, if you really loved me, why you wouldn’t come over here to live with me.”
    â€œBut here we are.”
    â€œIs your offer still open?”
    â€œIf I said, ‘Yes,’ does that mean you would come back now, to Berlin, with me?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œWhy not come here, to England? We could live here.”
    â€œI don’t think I can leave Berlin.”
    George thought, If we wait until the summer, we shall be able to see how things are turning out in Germany. Perhaps everyone has been worrying too much about a war. It won’t be long before I’m qualified, and if things are not bad there, I could say, Yes.

    At the beginning of January Anna went back to Berlin, and in the middle of February George invited Bernardette out.
    He started to like her a lot, and the third time they went out, at the end of the evening, he kissed her, tentatively but definitely. She kissed him back, in an affectionate way.
    â€œI’m sorry, George,” she said. “You’re a nice boy, but the timing’s not good, not good for me at all just now.”
    â€œI shouldn’t have done that.”
    â€œI don’t know why you say so. I found it rather satisfactory. Do I look offended?”
    â€œNo … I shouldn’t. I have an attachment myself. I’m sorry.”
    â€œAn attachment.”
    â€œI’m not sure. Not in this country.”
    â€œYou’re looking for a bit of naughtiness?”
    â€œThat’s not it … I don’t know.”
    â€œPerhaps in the future some time. But we can be friends.”
    Her affection was able to overcome his awkwardness, and they did remain friends.

    In March, Anna wrote, Perhaps what we are doing suits us both, writing, with visits every half year. Perhaps it expresses a certain truth about us. Keeping each other close. Keeping each other at a distance.
    George wrote back, When I’m finished training, that’s called getting qualified, I shall have to do house jobs, that is all: six months as a house surgeon and six months as a house physician. It’s still a kind of