Chapter 1 

The Pole was berating me as I sat in the good old house on Oxford Street. "You think by depriving yourself, of going Spartan as you call it, you will somehow become better. I have news for you. Many all over go without and don't become better. It's a stupid thing and a waste of time."

I shrugged my shoulder. "Well, I have to adjust to the market conditions for the art of writing."

Ah yes, you protect yourself with your art, I know the old trick but let me tell you there will come a time when you regret it." And he winked quickly before leaving the house.

The Pole was a graduate student in his 30's and eventually became an executive of sorts in a credit card company. Poland at that time was under communist domination so I could understand his animus although I told him over and over again that my poverty was not a choice. "I either live spartanesque or give up the art."

I saw him only a few times after that. A mutual acquaintance related this story to me about him. "He was in the house and up drove a large black limosine with very large eastern european types in it. They went into the house and went to his room where they conducted a shouting match for a long time. When the men came down the stairs they were flustered and huffing. I immediately thought, "KBG, KGB," but when I asked him he didn't say anything. He told me to ignore it and apologized for the loud noises.

David Eide
January 24, 2014