A Time of Confinement
Tuesday Afternoon
Soft, enthusiastic knocks were heard to the door of the master rooms. "Come in!" called Maria from a comfortable chair by the window, looking up from her mending. Georg, in turn, put down his newspaper to look at the door.
As Brigitta, Marta and Gretl came in, he exclaimed, "My goodness! I have never been visited by three such great ladies before!"
All three girls giggled, and Maria smiled, putting down Georg's shirt and her needle. "Hello, girls! Have you brought something for us?" asked Maria, looking at the way all three girls had their hands behind their backs.
Brigitta's item was not at all surprising. "I just wanted to bring you the mail, it just arrived." Maria took the bundle of letters with a smile, placing them on the small table beside her, next to her sewing box.
"Thank you, postmistress," said Georg, making Brigitta smile. "How did your arithmetic exam go today?"
"I'm pretty sure I did well," said Brigitta. "I know it's not my best subject, but after how much I studied and all of your help, I at least was not surprised or scared by any of the problems."
Georg gave a satisfied nod. "Good."
"What have you two brought?" asked Maria, smiling at her two youngest daughters. Gretl, ever eager, answered immediately, revealing a painted picture. "I wanted to show Father the picture I painted in school today!"
"Ah, yes," said Maria, who had seen it upon picking her up from school. "Go and show him then, but remember, be gentle."
Gretl walked quickly to the bed and handed the picture to her father. Her eager, almost clumsy, but talented hands had painted the sun, blue sky and mountain in the ground, with the whole family on a green hill dotted with purple flowers: all seven children standing in a line smiling, with Maria and Georg on one end, holding hands.
Georg smiled as he looked over the painting done by his youngest. "This is absolutely beautiful, Gretl," said Georg. "Truth be told, I never would have guessed a five-year-old or kindergarten student produced this! I'm going to frame this and put it in my office as soon as I am not confined to my bed."
Gretl's eyes widened and suddenly looked worried. Even though two days had passed since the accident, Gretl still felt bad her Papa couldn't get out of bed. She wasn't allowed to be out of bed when she was sick, and it wasn't a fun feeling. "You aren't hurting, are you, Papa?"
"Oh, no, little one, I'm not, come here," reassured Georg, opening his arms to embrace his baby girl. "I feel fine, and I will be better before you know it. Now, no more worrying. All right?"
As the father and daughter were hugging each other, Marta had come up to her mother and whispered a request to speak to her and Father alone in her ear. So when Gretl and Georg had let go of each other, Maria said, "Brigitta, Gretl, why don't you both get a head start on your homework before dinner?"
"All right, Mother," said Brigitta, who had noticed the exchange between Maria and Marta. She stepped up to Gretl and took her hand, and said, "Come on, Gretl, let's go," after kissing her father's cheek.
When both of them had left the room, Maria asked the seven-year-old gently, "What is it, Marta?" She had seen something like a shadow in Marta's innocent brown eyes from the start.
"Mother, Father, I was just wondering…" began Marta, a little afraid.
"Come here, sweetheart, it's all right," said Georg, holding out a hand to Marta from the bed. She walked over to the bed and got on as carefully as she could, as if every movement on the bed would be painful for her father. Smiling at this, Maria got up from her chair and sat down on the bed, with Marta between her two parents.
"Father…" began Marta, beginning to play with and wring the skirt of her dress, speaking in a quiet, confused and sad voice. "Am I really like a mouse?"
The question so surprised Maria and Georg that neither could help but laugh a little, but not too much in case Marta's feelings got hurt. "A mouse?" asked Georg, gently squeezing Marta's hands with one of his. "My lovely daughter? Who gave you such a silly idea?"
It looked like Marta was tempted to smile, but she didn't. She kept her eyes on her skirt which she still was twisting as she told her story. "Today, at recess, while I was playing with my friend, Annaliese, a mean boy from my class named Gunter sneaked up behind me and pulled on my braid. I yelped, turned around and said, 'Don't!'
But then he stepped right up to me and said, 'Or what?' I tried to speak but was too scared – he is bigger than me, after all, so the only sounds I could make were these little squeaks. Gunter laughed loudly, pulled my braid again and said, "Mousy Marta!" His friends started chanting it with him." Marta's eyes welled up with tears. "I wanted to run away and hide but then Kurt came – he must have heard them – and because he's bigger than all of them, when he told them to go away or else, they did. I felt better after he and Brigitta hugged me, but…Coming home from school today, Frederich said I was as quiet as a mouse today. Is something wrong with me?"
Maria, who was stroking Marta's now-unbraided hair, felt her heart breaking a little. As a child, she'd been no stranger to teasing – though for different reasons – and she knew how much it could hurt, especially to a shy, sensitive child like Marta.
Georg had a look of anger and sadness on his face, and held out his arms to Marta. "Come here, sweetheart," he said, and Marta happily leaned down to rest on her father's chest in a protective hug. "Don't listen to those mean boys, there is nothing wrong with you. The next time they or anyone else bothers you like that, go to your teacher or the headmistress. If you feel too afraid to do that, Kurt or Brigitta will gladly go with you."
Marta nodded, and blinked back her tears, allowing the feeling of her father's embrace and her mother's gentle hand stroking her hair to soothe her. "Why aren't I as brave as everyone else? Sometimes, when I talk, people can't hear me. Is there something wrong with me?"
Her tone made it clear that she had reached the crux of her insecurities. "Hush now," said Georg, holding her tighter. "Just because you're more quiet than others does not mean they are better. Quite the contrary, there is a greater power than speech in what you have, Marta: the power to listen. There's a great power in listening, Marta. Remember that, and you will understand someday."
Maria continued to stroke the seven-year-old's hair as she spoke. "Marta, it's not only shy people like you who get teased; everyone is at some point in life. I was teased when I was your age, too."
Marta's eyes opened wide, and she sat up to look at her mother. "Really? But why?"
"Yes, why?" asked Georg, who sounded both curious and indignant.
Maria chuckled to herself as she remembered. "Because I was a tomboy. I was more interested in climbing trees and running races than in dolls or tea parties."
Marta smiled a little. "Sounds like Louisa."
Maria chuckled again and nodded. "I suppose so. Well, I was often teased for looking less than prim and for being too rough 'n tumble. It's a sad fact of life, sweetheart: because no human being is perfect, you will always meet someone who will point out the imperfections."
"Or," said Georg, and Marta looked at him, "there will always be someone who is jealous of the blessings you have and can do nothing but pout to you in the form of teasing."
Marta managed to smile a little and said, "I like that."
All three of them laughed. But then Marta remembered something that had confused her, so she said, "Father, when I told Liesl about what happened, she said that Gunter probably did that because he liked me. Why would a boy be mean to a girl he likes? Do all boys do that, or just ones who aren't that smart?"
Georg's eyes widened at the question, and opened his mouth to speak but found no words. His eyes drifted to his wife, who was covering her own silent laughter at Marta's statement by pressing a hand to her mouth. But when their eyes met, Georg seemed to find the word. "Oh, no, Marta, it's not only the dim ones who do things like that. Even full grown men can behave very rashly and stupidly when it comes to the girl they hold a torch for."
Maria's laughter disappeared from her throat as she heard the seriousness of Georg's tone that matched the somberness in his eyes. It was clear he was referring to his past behavior to her, and Maria was the one who now found herself speechless. Though she had heard his explanation for his behavior long ago, hearing this very simple explanation reminded her of how her brain had trouble wrapping around the situation: without any intention, he'd been attracted to her.
Her mind coming back to the present situation at hand, Maria fought the small blush in her cheeks and said to her daughter, "Well, whatever the reason, Marta, don't let him get you down. You are a wonderful person. Do I or your father wish you were different?"
Maria's gentle smile reassured Marta. "No."
"Do your brothers and sisters wish you were different?"
The seven year old thought for a moment. "No."
"How about your friends?"
'No."
"And what about you? Did you think there was something wrong with you before he teased you?"
"Well…not really…sometimes I wished I weren't so shy, but…"
"Then that's something you can work on, sweetheart," said Maria, kissing her daughter's head. "If you and the people who care about you don't want you to change, that's all that matters. We love you so much just as you are."
"That's right, sweetheart," said Georg, taking her little hand. "God spent no less time on you than on anyone else. In fact, sometimes I'm inclined to think he spent a little more."
At last, a full and genuine smile spread across Marta's visage; she felt better now. She reached down into her spacious dress pocket and pulled out a small, bright white bunch of blossoms. "I found your favorite, Father."
"Edelweiss…" he murmured, touching the blooms lightly with his forefinger. "Thank you, my sweet heart." He pulled her down for another hug, which she gladly returned with a peck on the cheek.
"Get better soon, Father," she commanded.
"Yes, ma'am," he said with a salute, mimicking Maria on her first day at the villa. Maria made a face at him over Marta's shoulder when the little girl embraced her, but returned the embrace powerfully.
When Marta had left their rooms, Maria exhaled and leaned back against the head-board, a pillow behind her back; she was very comfortable. She looked at the doorway Marta had just left through with both pride in her daughter and sadness, too.
Georg felt it as well. "I always hope that none of my children have to go through being bullied like that," he said softly. "But it always seems to happen, even if no more than one, mild case. With Brigitta, it was her books; Louisa, her tomboyish ways, like you; Kurt, his fondness for sweets; the list goes on and on…"
Maria looked at the concerned father and smiled. "It happens to everyone at some point in life; no one can please everyone. When did it happen to you?"
Georg gave a surprised chuckle and ran his hand over his face as he remembered. "I believe I didn't get seriously teased until I was Kurt's age. A new girl had come to school and she was amazingly pretty. I got a huge crush…and it showed at the worst time: my class presentation."
At first, Maria was at a loss, but when she saw the blush in Georg's cheeks, she gasped and covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide. "No!" she exclaimed.
"Oh, yes," said Georg. "I don't envy my sons right now, that their own bodies are going through that stage of over-excitement and little to no control. Thankfully, nothing like that has happened to them. Hopefully it never will."
"My goodness," said Maria, now patting her cheeks to get the red out of them. "Another reason to be grateful I'm female, I suppose."
"Yes," said Georg, with a little bit of schoolboy resentment. "They never have to go through anything like that."
"Oh, really?" said Maria, turning to him with a challenging, almost indignant but playful look in her eyes. "Try getting your…" But she stopped, blushing furiously.
"What, Maria?" asked Georg, whose curiosity had peaked to the point where he had to hear her finished thought. "What did you go through that was worse than my revealing experience?" Now he got the challenging and playful tone.
Maria's lips pressed tightly together and sighed in resignation. She closed her eyes as she spoke. "Try getting your first menstrual cycle in class and having the evidence on your skirt during all of recess without realizing it as everyone else silently giggled." She opened her eyes to gauge his reaction.
Georg's face blanched and he looked away, grabbing the mail Brigitta had left on his bedside table and beginning to rifle through the letters. "All right, you win," he said, signaling the end of the embarrassing conversation.
Maria gave a dry chuckle and said under her breath, "Thought so," then more loudly, "Well, I'm going to speak to Cook about dinner."
But before she could move off the bed, Georg's hand taking hers stopped her. She looked at him.
"I am sorry that happened to you," he said softly.
She smiled. "Touché," she replied.
"Come here for a minute."
She scooted closer on the bed, curious. What Georg did next surprised her: he took one of the edelweiss flowers and gently put it behind her ear, his fingertips grazing her cheek and ear for a moment. Then he handed her the rest of the blossoms. "Could you find something to put these in?"
Her cheeks were now a pretty pink. "Of course."
Wednesday Afternoon
Maria came into the bedroom, absently brushing her short hair. "So, I've just reminded Frau Schmidt to not set Liesl's place at table since she's having dinner at her friend Heidi's house."
"What time is she being brought home?" said Georg, absent-mindedly reading the paper.
"Her mother told me nine o'clock at the latest when she called me this afternoon," replied Maria, setting her brush down on her bureau. "She's promised the girls will do their homework."
"Good," said Georg from behind the paper.
"Anything interesting in the mail today?" asked Maria, just as absently.
Georg's attention snapped away from the paper and put it down on the bedside table, grabbing a certain letter instead. "Yes, actually," he said, his voice more lively. "You have a nice thick letter from Dominik."
Maria immediately turned to him with a radiant smile, and immediately got onto her side of the bed. She took the letter and opened it quickly, pulling out the letter. When she opened it, both were surprised to see four elegant tickets fall into Maria's lap.
"What…" Maria murmured and immediately began to read the letter. Within a minute, her face had lit up in a huge, radiant smile and gasped like her heart had taken flight; when she looked at Georg her eyes were sparkling with happiness.
Georg's breath was taken away for a moment, seeing such radiance and happiness on her face for the first time. She'd never looked so beautiful. Her smile was contagious, and he said, "Good news, I assume?"
"Oh, Georg, this is such good news!" she exclaimed. "Dominik has been asked to play organ with the orchestra of the Vienna Opera House next month for their next show!"
His smile widened. "Oh, Maria, that really is amazing news. What an honor! He must be at least as good at organ as he is in piano, then!"
"Oh, yes, he is!" said Maria, her smile never fading. "In our village, Dominik learned how to play the organ at our church at the same time he played piano. His first job was being one of the accompanists in our church. He's being modest as usual in the letter, but he's so excited!" She paused for a minute, looking at him. "Georg, the tickets must be for the show." She picked them up and looked at them. "The fourteenth of November…Opening night, my goodness!" She immediately looked at Georg with pleading eyes. "Please, Georg, can we go? I'd never forgive myself if I didn't come to see Dominik do this, and I haven't been able to see him perform in Vienna until now. And since it's in between yours and Liesl's birthday, we won't miss anything important here. We could give the extra tickets to Max and Philemona, or Philemona and her husband, or just…"
Georg began laughing – he couldn't help himself – and Maria quieted, still looking at him with those big eyes. "Maria, Maria, calm down. Of course we'll go! I'll call Max and Philemona as soon as I can get off this bed."
Maria's smile was as radiant as ever, and she began to move her arms in a way that made as if she were trying hard not to throw herself at him. "Oh, if it weren't for your back, I would hug you none too gently!"
Despite her exaltation and excitement that he had caused, Georg really cursed his condition for the first time.
"Oh well…well," said Maria, calming down somewhat but still with a huge smile on her face. "How can I thank you then that won't hurt you?"
His first impulse was to ask for a kiss – any kind of kiss, he had no real preference, for she had never given him one in any way – but stopped himself and said, "Keep me company at dinner?"
"Of course I will! And I'll make your favorite chocolate dessert myself! I'll do that right now. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Georg!" With that she got up from the bed and skipped out of the room, singing as she went.
Georg didn't stop smiling for a long time, even while at the same time wishing that the day would come that she would thank him in actions he dreamed of.
Friday Evening
"Maria, what's wrong?" The tear on her cheek immediately concerned him.
"Huh?" Maria pulled her head up from the book in her lap to look at him. "Oh, I'm all right," she said, wiping the tear away. "It's just…poor Ophelia."
"Mmm," said Georg, nodding in understanding. "It is tragic, but personally, I don't believe that she killed herself."
"What?" asked Maria incredulously. "What in his fine words doesn't make sense to you? That description describes something that was clearly suicidal. Even though the branch broke by itself, she had a lot of time to get herself out."
"And how do we know about the death?" asked Georg, in the tone of a patient teacher.
"Gertrude tells Claudius and Laertes; she saw it."
"So answer me this, Maria: If Ophelia's death really happened like that – slowly and with plenty of time for her to save herself or for someone witnessing it to rescue her – why did Gertrude just stand by and watch? Obviously she was close enough to get all of the details and therefore close enough to help Ophelia."
Maria opened her mouth to retort but then realized that Georg made a very good point. "Wow…" she murmured, looking at the passage again:
There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
There, on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
Maria shuddered reading it again; reading it aloud especially made the picture incredibly vivid in her mind. "You make a good point, Georg," said Maria. "If Gertrude really cared about Ophelia, which she seems to, she would have tried to help her. Why would she just let her die then?" Maria laid the book on her bedside table and laid on her side facing Georg, the better to discuss his favorite Shakespeare play.
"Well, it's my opinion that Ophelia didn't commit suicide but was killed by order of Claudius and Gertrude came to tell her husband the deed was done, but with Laertes being there, she made up a beautiful suicide story."
Maria's eyebrows immediately raised. "Well, that's quite a theory. But please answer me the question of why they would want Ophelia dead. Because she has lost her sanity?"
"No," said Georg. "Because there is a very good chance she is carrying Hamlet's child."
"What?" asked Maria, shocked. "Are you sure that's a valid theory?"
"Why do you doubt it?" asked Georg. "Because they aren't married?"
"Well, that's one reason, but not the biggest one. I just…can't picture Hamlet forcing Ophelia to do that."
Georg looked at her with confused, narrow eyes. "I don't think so, either. If they did consummate their love, Ophelia would have been willing."
"Mmm…" said Maria, looking very skeptical. "I don't understand. All I've ever heard about what this…experience, from a woman's perspective, is that it is something that must be endured, is rough and hurts; for a married woman it's a duty, which makes it sound like she must lie back and think of her favorite things while a man has his way. Why would Ophelia, who isn't bound by marriage, willingly submit to that?"
For long minutes, Georg said nothing but just looked at her, as if a puzzle were coming together in his head. Indeed, it was. If this was really all she knew of the act, it was no wonder she was so terrified when she came to him the night of the autumn ball. And she had offered herself to him anyway…Georg had never been more touched.
Soon, Maria began to feel uncomfortable that he wasn't saying anything and began to fidget with the duvet.
"Maria," he said with tenderness. "Is that really all you've heard?"
Maria nodded. "I lived on a farm before the abbey, and I've seen animals mating; it always looks like the male is trying to kill the female. The Bible is no help either: 'Wives, submit to your husbands.' That sounds like we have to let them…beat us or something."
He gave her a gentle smile, his head turned to her as he lay immobile on his back. "Oh, Maria, I am sorry about that. You've been terribly misinformed, or only heard one single opinion. For a woman, it is true that the first time is a little painful, because the maidenhead is torn. But if it is ever brutal for a woman, it is because of her partner, who either cares only for his pleasure or derives pleasure from pain." His look became even more intense. "But when there is mutual love and trust between the man and woman, making love is one of the most joyous, beautiful and fulfilling experiences of a person's life."
Maria suddenly felt very vulnerable under his gaze, talking about this subject. Could what he was saying be true? Well, it was very probable. After all, he and Agathe had created seven children together while sharing a love so great it caused him to fall apart when she died. Perhaps it was true…
"And, after all, Hamlet did love her. As I recall, he said, I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum. If he truly felt that, he would have treated her right."
Just like that, she felt at ease again, because he was not talking about the two of them. She wasn't ready for something like that yet.
Deciding to move onto safer ground, she took the book off her bedside table and handed it to her husband. "Show me the places in the play that made you arrive at your theory of Ophelia being pregnant."
"Gladly," he said, and began to rifle through the pages.
Saturday Afternoon
"Go on, Frederich, open it!" prompted Louisa, who sat next to the proud birthday boy who was staring in awe at the big package in front of him.
He looked at his parents on the bed for permission, and both smiled and nodded. He looked at Louisa. "Can you help me?"
They exchanged a smile and opened the package together. Everyone smiled at the sight of the usually bickering siblings getting along splendidly. In no time, the walls of the package dropped revealing a beautiful sled that could easily fit three of the children or two adults. All of the children gasped, and Frederich looked so touched his eyes shone. "It's…it's…" he tried to speak, but found no words. He looked up at Maria, but she just shook her head as she smiled.
"Don't look at me, Frederich," she said. "It was your father's idea."
Frederich's gaze turned to Georg, who was modestly smiling. "Thank you, Father," he said sincerely.
Georg motioned for Frederich to come closer, which he did. Georg grasped Frederich's hand and pulled him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Placing his other hand on his son's shoulder, Georg said softly but firmly, "You're becoming a fine young man, son. A father couldn't be prouder."
Frederich had lived his whole life wanting to hear that, and he couldn't help but bite his trembling lip.
Georg smiled. "Fifteen is not too old to hug your father."
Father and son embraced, but Georg still kept it brief and gave Frederich's back a firm pat so as not to embarrass their manly pride to much.
But a more sincere gesture of love could not have been expressed between the two of them.
Saturday Night
"What about this one?" asked Maria softly, touching the outline of what had once been a long burn on his upper back before resuming her massage.
"Hmm," groaned Georg, his head resting on his arms beneath his head, both enjoying his favorite time of the day and digging through his memory for that particular one. "Ah, I remember now. We were on the deck, and our destroyer was fired on. The explosion was so big that my back caught fire."
Maria's hands froze in shock. He hastily continued.
"But the burn on my back was minor, though long, and the most damage was done to my coat, so much so that I doubt even you could fix it."
He'd said it hoping to put her at ease, but when he felt her hands withdraw from his back, he became worried. By now, his back was close to normal, so he managed to roll himself over onto his back so he could look at her. She was sitting beside him with a sad, heavy look on her face. Gently, he touched the back of her hand with his fingers. "Maria, what's wrong?"
She looked at him with tears in her eyes. "I never thought about what you would have gone through at war, how many times you came so close to death. I don't know how you found the strength to endure all of that."
He offered a gentle smile and shrug. "It was my job, Maria, and my duty as an Austrian in the navy. I'm sorry if my battle stories scared you." He was still stroking her hand.
Maria shook her head. "No, it just…surprised me…you're very brave, to have gone what you went through and still be here."
Georg said, "I prefer to think of it as luck. I saw braver men than me die by the war."
Maria took a deep breath and slowly reached out to touch his cheek. A moment later, she had cupped it in her hand. He was so warm. "Would you settle for a mixture of both?"
Georg closed his eyes at the wonderful sensation of her soft touch, and raised his hand to touch hers. "All right," he said softly. Very gently, he kissed her palm.
Her cheeks went pink as she smiled. Both could feel another string stretch between their hearts in the tender moment. But the moment was just that: a moment. Maria soon withdrew her hand and grabbed his pajama top. "Could you turn back over so I can help get this on you?"
Sunday Morning
"And here, Georg? How does that feel?" asked Dr. Falk, who sat beside Georg on the edge of the bed, touching a place in his back.
"A bit tender but otherwise fine," said Georg, glad he was now allowed to sit up.
"Good, good. Now, let's see how you fair standing up." Georg managed to do it without any support. "Now be honest, Georg"
Georg rolled his shoulders a bit. "Mmm, a little stiff but no pain. Nothing I can't handle."
"Well, then, I give you my pass for being on your feet. Just be sure to take it easy for the next week and you should be better than normal. That means no ball games or strenuous activity."
Georg nodded. "Of course, Hans. I've had worse than this and learned long ago to follow your instructions to a T."
Dr. Falk laughed. "Yes, I recall Morocco, too."
After sharing a brief laugh, both men walked into the private sitting room, where Maria had been waiting. She stood up with a smile at the sight of Georg on his feet. "He is better then, Doctor?"
Dr. Falk nodded. "As long as he takes it easy for a week, he'll be better than better."
They shook hands. "Thank you, Doctor, for everything."
"Please call me Hans," he said, smiling. After shaking Georg's hand, he left.
Maria turned to Georg and smiled. "It's a nice feeling, isn't it?"
He chuckled. "I'll say."
A moment of silence. "I'll go and tell the children the good news."
She turned to leave, but Georg stopped her by taking her hand and gently pulling her to him. He looked at her with great appreciation and tenderness. "Thank you, Maria, for taking such good care of me. I couldn't have been in better hands."
He leaned forward, and gave her forehead a kiss. She also leaned forward and welcomed Georg's embrace, her head resting on his shoulder. Her arms embraced his torso, and her hands gently massaged his back.
Georg smiled, his cheek pressed against her hair. As much as he loved being mobile again, he couldn't deny that he would certainly miss being under such tender care.
Both let the quiet moment last as long as it could, knowing they had become much closer over the past week.
A/N: The passage is from Hamlet, my favorite Shakespeare play and also Christopher Plummer's favorite role, Shakespeare or not. I have the BBC version of his Hamlet, which he did just before "The Sound of Music" and which Julie Andrews called "revolutionary"; he's brilliant in it. I highly recommend anyone who hasn't read it.
