AN EXPLANATION OF HOW I CAME TO BE HERE
(Am I alive? Am I dead? How should I know!)
I do not know how it happened. It was as if I awoke from a bad dream to find myself alone in my favorite apartment, the Camesina House in the Grosse Schulerstrasse, but my wife was married to one Georg Nissen, my sons were grown, but I was still 35 years of age. Basta! It is enough to give one a most plaguing headache when one endeavors to weary one's noodle over it for very long.
When Primus, my valet and hairdresser, led my visitors in, I immediately recognized one as an old friend from my childhood, Dr. Anton Mesmer. As you may or may not know, the good doctor is the gentleman who is responsible for discovering a rudimentary form of hypnotism, or mesmerism as we call it.
“My dear Wolfgang!” He exclaimed, shaking my hand vigorously. “I would like you to meet my colleague, the illustrious Count St. Germain.”
My curiosity was immediately piqued for I had heard all manner of rumor and speculation about him in my Masonic Lodge. By all appearances he seemed completely mortal, but one must be cautious when scrutinizing a Time Lord and alchemist of his caliber and notoriety. Of course, one could not help but marvel at the many gems and precious stones he wore in rings, buttons and lapel pins.
Without pretension we introduced ourselves and, although I immediately made him out to be a pensive and quiet gentleman, I perceived that he had something he wished to say to me. I showed my esteemed visitors into the main salon and poured wine for each of us.
“I have with me a contraption, Herr Mozart,” the Count began in his basso profundo voice, “by which you would be able to communicate with people in the future -- a time in human history when your music enjoys great fame and you yourself are greatly loved -- the 21st century. What do you think of that, my good fellow?”
I quickly did the math.
“Two-hundred years!?” I cried. "I will be remembered that long? Potz Sapperlot! Papa was right all along!" I let a long breath escape my lips and took a copious draught from my glass. “Two-hundred years,” I repeated.
“Precisely," he said with a secret smile and narrowed eyes. He leaned toward me, speaking sotto voce, pinning me with his intense black eyes. "My machine is called a computer. I brought it back with me from my last sojourn into the future. Are you interested, Mozart?”
“Of course, Herr Count! I am above all things a curious man.”
He cleared his throat and took a sip of his wine.
“There is only one condition attached to my proposal,” he said, “and that is this: although you can peer into the future, see the things those people see, hear their music, and learn the things they know -- even make friends -- you cannot in fact bring any material thing from that time back here.”
He sat back in my blue damask wing back, crossed one leg over his knee and brushed a piece of lint from his shoe. “You may keep the computer for up to five years.”
I do not need to tell you that I was excited beyond measure at this fortuitous and intriguing opportunity.
“Will it cost me anything?” I asked apprehensively.
“No, but once you return it, everything you have learned and all of the people you have met will be forgotten, as if it never happened. You will not even remember our visit here today.”
Thus it was that this machine, or “Magic Box” as I call it, came into my possession. How long will I keep it? I do not know, so let us make the most of this time that we can!
