The Last Words on Earth

The History of Love opens with the story of a day in the life of Leopold Gursky, an old Polish man living in New York City, whose biggest concerns are his writing, his estranged son, his long-lost best friend, and his death.

When I say one of his biggest concerns is his death this is what I mean:
"I often wonder who will be the last person to see me alive." (Krauss 3)
"I try to make a point of being seen... I'll buy juice even though I'm not thirsty... I'll even go so far as dropping my change all over the floor," (Krauss 3)

So maybe it's not his death but his life that he's truly concerned with.  If it was death, he might ask who would be the person to find him dead.  Instead he is concerned about who will see him "alive".  It's not as if he wants to leave a legacy... If he did he would want it to be a positive one, wouldn't he? All he does is go around basically making a fool of himself in public: spilling change on the ground, making people in Foot Locker put his shoes on for him, and fumbling around with his wallet every time the Chinese restaurant delivery man comes to his door.  It's the times that he is not trying to be seen necessarily that he shows his kind, intelligent side.  Like when he gets books on tape and a portable tape player for his best friend Bruno.  He's not even really alone in the world because he has Bruno, and being alone is the thing I thought would have lead him to be so attention crazed like he is in public.  Bruno and Leo really take care of each other; they're always making sure the other one is still alive, and they keep each other company.

But Leo has been through a lot in his life.  At a young age his home country, Poland, was invaded by the German troops.  His mother and younger brother were killed, and in running away from the Nazis he lost communication with the girl he loved, and she moved on.  So it is understandable that he feels alone, he has never been able to move on from his first love, who happens to be the mother of the son  he is not allowed to know.

His son brings me to another interesting theme in this chapter: writing.  Leo has wanted to be a writer his whole life, instead he became a locksmith because it was the trade of his cousin who took him in in America.  Plus Leo had given up on writing after he could not write something his old girlfriend liked. But now later in his life, he goes back to writing for himself.  It just so happens that his son is also a writer, a famous writer, and so by the end of the section Leo decides to send his work to his son.  The weird part is that he decides to do this posthumously.  He almost believes that when he is done titling and addressing the book to his son that he will just disappear and his life will be over.  Even when that doesn't happen he decides to send his son the book, and he actually gets really excited about it.

The last scene that really stuck with me occurs while Leo is wasting time before the post office opens:
"To pass the time, I dragged the slide projector out from under the sofa.  It's something I do on special occasions, my birthday, say.  I prop the projector up on a shoebox, plug it in, and flip the switch.  A dusty beam lights up the wall.  The slide I keep in a jar on the kitchen shelf.  I blow on it, drop it in, advance.  The picture comes into focus.  A house with a yellow door at the edge of a field.  It's the end of autumn.  Between the black branches the sky is turning orange, then dark blue.  Wood smoke rises from the chimney, and through the window I can almost see my mother leaning over a table.  I run toward the house.  I can feel the cold wind against my cheeks.  I reach out my hand.  And because my head is full of dreams, for a moment I believe I can open the door and go right through it.
"Outside, it was already getting light.  Before my eyes, the house of my childhood dissolved to almost nothing." (Krauss 34)
This scene is really sad to me.  Clearly, this picture of Leo's old house holds a lot of feelings for him. He didn't get to live out a normal childhood because of the Nazi invasion.  Now, even at his advanced age, he is clinging to any part of what it was like to be a kid that he can.  His imagination brings this house to life for him almost to the point that he can interact with it, but not that far.  I'm not sure if this practice is healthy, always reliving the past, but it is the way  he has chosen to live his life, never moving on.  Then at the very end of the section there seems to be a shift.  The light from the morning "dissolve[s]" his old house.  Removing the image from his view, and Leo embraces the change. At the end of the chapter we find him walking, "out the door and into the morning." (Krauss 34) Clearly we are going to see some change in Leo.  I think a change for the better.