An old score settled in the final act. My story of being robbed while directing at the National Theatre of Latvia. Sadly this is not a pleasant story.
It was all because of the shawl. Even now, years later, the theft gave a punch to my gut. Who could be so malicious? I tried to recall the faces of the actors. Was it one of them? Did they hate me so much? My mother gave me that shawl; it hailed from deep in the Latgale countryside, where she came from. It was handmade, wool, a tender shimmer of violet and dark blue, shot with pink and yellow stripes. Now my mother was dead, and my shawl was gone, and it was all because I had worked at the National Theatre, some ten years before.