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226. That day in 1965

Here I write a few sentences about something, which has been in my thoughts the last days now. It is about how we said goodbye to one another, after my father and I had visited the woman again, who we lived by in the little cottage in her garden, the first five years of my life, from 1955 to 1960. I am now pretty sure about that this happened after the summer vacation, and before the Christmas vacation, in 1965. I had been ten years old in June that year.

This has changed, and that is because she “influenced” me to remember it wrong. That was because I should tell wrong about it, when the criminals “influenced” me. She was sure about that they would do that against me, and that it only would make it worse and worse for me to try to escape from it. Nothing in our society would help me in trying to do that. The criminals had pointed me out, and they wouldn’t stop before they had got hold of me; she said.

The picture of the period around 1965 was characterized by strongly and deadlocked contradictory conceptions, which couldn’t be discussed by any of the different people with different deadlocked conceptions. All of them were wrong, and represented together an overall dangerous situation. This dangerous situation was a deadlocked situation, where the danger was the composition of these different conceptions. What, it was impossible to get people to understand at that time, was that this was a beginning for something else, something dangerous which at that time wasn’t known, something else which the criminals had, as the next step in their plan. And there can maybe be several following steps in that dangerous plan. It is the criminals’ plan that is dangerous. This dangerous situation around 1965 was in its own way a stagnant situation.

When my father and I stood outside the door, and she stood in the doorway, she said this to me: You will do well you David. You will never be evil and do evil things. No, I don’t want that; I said. I know that, and that will never happen; she said. Then we said goodbye to one another.

These days this is something which gets me to me to remember and understand, what really happened that day in 1965.

I had much to do with this woman from 1955 to 1960, a little bit now and then all the time these five years. I liked to look in books together with her. When I had learnt to walk, I came running to her every time I saw her.

It wasn’t me she was taken up with, when we lived there; she said when we were talking to one another in her living room. She had been taken up with finding out about what she had found out about. She hadn’t involved anybody else in that. Therefore she hadn’t disclosed what she was doing, for the people she found out about. This only became like this, because I always came running to her when she saw me; she said. And I always had a little time for you, she said. I was the only person she really had cared about after the war, she said.

January 4, 2019, David H. Hegg