The publishing of an autobiography is often a high-wire act stretched between fact and fiction, massaged and
manipulated by both the author and his editor to challenge the belief of a reader. This is not an autobiography—it is a journal, a stream of consciousness noted and recorded by the mind of the recorder for nearly sixty years. There
is no fiction involved, only the facts as perceived by the author and so noted. The publishers have attempted to preserve the swirls, snags, and currents of the author's perceptions. Originally written in his native language, Hungarian,
Krinski delivered his own translation in English. For all of its awkwardness and beauty, it is an ideal marriage—the writer blending his own words in another language, best suited for poetry. And this is a poem... a journal, a
journey, a life.
Another evening at Sheila's. ZoŽ is sitting next to me as usual and she asks me for a date. She tells me up front:
"Tomorrow I'll come see you so we can have a night out together." As she is telling me this, several eyes turn toward us. I follow my first impulse to say a flat-out no to her sudden, unexpected invitation. After careful thought, though,
I change my mind to a yes.
I spend the morning reading. By 2 p.m. ZoŽ is standing
outside my door. We take her Holden white car to the beach.
Holding hands, we are running up and down the sand. I hurl a flat stone on the water. It bounces three times, then
disappears in the water. I am stiff; must loosen up a bit.
Forgive and forget. I pretend to enjoy ZoŽ's Company. She comes home with me. But before we take Mrs. Caldwell,
her mother, home from town.
I take ZoŽ to dinner. Following that, we are planning to watch a ballet, but learn that yesterday was the last
performance. Back home then. I lay her down on the bed.
"You know how to sweep a woman off her feet. Just the kind of lover I need."
I start stripping her of her clothes. "Turn off the lights, darling," she instructs me.
I climb out of my own garments and lie beside her. Her hands are cold, fidgety. She observes: "I don't know what to
do with my hands on stage. So awkward!"
"Act naturally and everything will fall into place. Forget about your hands. Gesticulate as much as you want. Raise
them to your face! Clasp them in front of you, if need be."
Most people, actors included, have no idea how to use their
hands expressively. Legs and feet can normally take care of themselves, but arms and hands are another matter....
After yesterday's "love" affair, I am longing for ZoŽ again.
It may not be love at its deepest, but something may well be budding....
I spent the whole day with ZoŽ. She has a soothing effect on my frazzled nerves. Life feels more bearable with her.
I have dinner with ZoŽ. She doesn't beat around the bush: "Let's go to your room!"