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Histories, cont. Or, “Faith in the narrative”

When I started the entry entitled Histories…, I had planned on discussing the old woman’s stories in a rather critical manner. The motivation to do this was that the pieces of her tales dovetailed so quickly and completely that I was skeptical of the truth of it all. I still can’t decide whether this skepticism is due merely to my cynical nature, and thus at least partially inappropriate for the given context, as it amounts to an insufficient appreciation on my part of how age and wisdom can forge near miraculous narrative powers out of what might ordinarily be considered a mundane existence; or it’s rooted in genuine and obvious carelessness on the part of the woman in stitching together a historical tapestry, whether improvised or rehearsed, for the purpose of having some fun with me.

For example, if she had been visiting her father in the hospital, how could he have presented her with his life savings on the spot? Had he been keeping it under the mattress of his hospital bed? It’s also so dramatic as to be unbelievable that he delivered his final words of “Then I can die” and did in fact die promptly thereafter.

At the same time, there were inaccuracies and embellishments in my version of her story, too, which I didn’t design to explain because I thought them too tangential to the overall arch of the narrative. I translated my awkward German into confident, clear English. I left out the numerous times I asked her for clarification, the frequency of which would have led the reader to understand why I did not seek more complete information over the blindness and death of the woman’s husband. I rendered her voice in educated, intelligible American English, rather than a thick Southern accent which might better have conveyed her Bavarian dialect.

I do not believe that these modifications to the story altered its original intent. While it was necessary to repackage it in form in order to post here (in English, for example), I did not have to change the content of any of part of the story. Perhaps this is how the old woman felt when telling me all this: a few superficial elements here and there might need to be modified, but the overall feel and purpose of the tale remain intact.

I think the most troublesome question I have even now about the story is whether she married the man she did because she knew he wouldn’t have to go fight in the war.

But does any of this matter at all?

I think that truth in historical accounts is rather inconsequential, for the same reasons it is inconsequential in faith. While the adage “Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it” calls for scrutiny of histories in order to afford informed prudence in future generations, and thus for a solid appreciation of what actually did take place at certain junctures in the past, it is easily just as beneficial for one to listen to the synthesis of experience in the form of advice and storytelling. It is indeed rather presumptuous to suppose that more can be learned from analyzing historical events oneself rather than deferring to the opinions and intimations of those who actually experienced them.

Toward this end, I ask you to take my tale of the old lady in the courtyard for what it is, despite its possible shortcomings and curious logical lacunae. Please understand I’ve done the same with her story of her life. After all, what else can one do?