I cannot really call this a chronology of my life as it is not detailed enough to deserve that title. Rather, these are memorable moments, plucked out of rich history of a man, who now frail and old, can barely see the scribbles written by a liver spotted hand, trembling in disease that will be the end of me very soon, I fear. My wife Sophia, another cause of distress throughout my long life is kind enough to leave the house almost every afternoon, visiting friends and a few family members who have not moved away, allowing me blissful peace and quiet to save the last few memoirs, which are rapidly escaping my rotting brain, one by one erasing the names from well known faces, which creep inside my head each day.

We are rapidly approaching the twentieth century, preceded by a mass of new inventions, which are to ease our everyday lives. I am too old to enjoy most of them, if any at all. I can only watch from afar, smile in amazement and sometimes in wicked sarcasm, reminisce on ‘good old days’, which inevitably sends my grandchildren and great-grandchildren running away in horror, trying desperately to avoid the old man’s tales, while being polite enough not to laugh in my face.

That is all that I represent now, an old man with a shuffling gait, decaying brain who continuously keeps forgetting the names of the loved ones, confusing the dates and places, telling the stories, which in their own minds are probably pure invention, or at least, minor occurrences blown out of proportion by whatever reason I have left.

But I have not always been a useless and pathetic creature, unable to hold my farts from the public and completely incompetent to care for myself. Good sixty years ago, I was a young man too, quite dashing I must say, although you might think that yet another exaggeration.

I enjoyed life with my childhood friends and later with acquaintances from the University. I too, strolled through the streets of Hamburg with a jolly step, beautiful ladies on my arms, hurrying towards new adventures with anticipation of a fool.

My father finally got tired of unending trouble with fiancés and husbands of the ladies I liked to spend time with. Constant hushed conversations in his study, which inevitably ended in raised voices and fists being pounded against his desk, while he promised he would have a word with me and sort things out have tested his patience one too many times. He had given me an ultimatum. ‘Calm down and get married or move out of Hamburg to one of the numerous country houses our family owned, most of which were in a desperate need of repair, its previous inhabitants being evicted for non-payment. I chose marriage.

I married quite young, I believe, in my early twenties I was hardly more than a child myself and life with Sophia was never easy, although she was a loving mother to our four children. She never understood my great passion for life and everything that it had to offer. She has never found pleasure in arts and literature, which were an inevitable part of my interests, or for that matter anything that I found beautiful or good, earned nothing more than a sniff from her. Sometimes I believed that she defied me out of spite alone, always seeking the negative in everything. These days, having spent good sixty years with her, I simply believe that she has been born a miserable soul and that is how she will die, too.

Our wedding night was an indication of what our married life would be. She barely allowed me to glance at her body, well wrapped in heavy nightclothes, complete with a thick robe and nightcap, making her look more grandmotherly than a blushing bride as I wished her to be. My kisses disgusted her, my prying hands terrified her and after what she thought was a full intercourse, I left her in bed, crying in horror, while I retrieved to my own room to finish in frustration what I could not do with her.

I could count the times we had slept in the same bed over a span of a year on the fingers of one hand. Each time, she would sob inconsolably, no matter how gentle I tried to be, and it is a true miracle that she gave me four children in four years. It seemed that every time we spent the night together as husband and wife, she got pregnant.

I did not distress about it much, though. I never really loved Sophia, although I was proud of her delicate beauty when we first married. As much as I promised my father I would change my ways, I soon changed my mind instead. I was a frequent visitor of the brothel in Hannestrasse, where Madame Frieda, a small and robust, peasant-looking woman from the north was more than happy to please each customer by coupling him with an appropriate girl, who worked for her. Besides, it seemed that being a married man, women perceived me differently and despite still being more than willing to lay down with me, they no longer obsessed over me and my fortune, which I had saved by obliging my father. No man had ever knocked on his door again and demanded that he deals with me.

Soon after marrying Sophia, I started working in my father’s import and export firm, dealing with ship cargos that sailed in and out of the Hamburg harbor. After my father’s death, my best friend Johann became a partner in business. Johann’s wife Herminna was the equivalent of my Sophia and we had much in common. We’d prowl the bars and whorehouses together, always covering up for each other. He was like a brother to me.

Every summer Johann and his family left Hamburg and headed for their summerhouse in the country, something Johann absolutely hated. It was funny to see him trying to find an excuse good enough to weasel him out of two months of absolute hell in peace and quiet as well as isolation with Herminna and his children. Unlike me you see, Johann had no money of his own, he married into it and had to do a lot to please his wife or the money flow would stop. That meant he had to spare at least two months a year for holidays away from his beloved Hamburg and its hedonistic life.

As Johann and his family were leaving this particular summer, I solemnly promised that I would keep a careful watch on his house in Hamburg, which was now deserted of all servants and cooks, undoubtedly grateful for a break from the screaming children and never satisfied Herminna. The only person left was Liselotte, a young country girl whose duties in Johann’s house were to clean, cook, do laundry, look after the children and be a personal maid to Herminna.