So after I went through this process of crossing out
Waldheim's memoirs, I realized that I hadn't really
gotten it right.
So I decided to start over again and cross out his memoirs again
and find a different version of the world inside it.
Now I'll read to you the second time around,
which is crossing out the same text
but finding a very different account of reality.
In this version I tried to be as honest as possible.
"In November last year when every day was
a weary round of doubts and tension in the heart,
I became interested in the fate of a machine which
had been launched into creation and disappeared
during my boyhood.
The thought of it roaming our system
unconcerned about the policies of the regime
was a relief from the strains and suspicions at home.
In the days I would visit the library
and in the night overhead sought refuge in the parallel journey.
Abode, I read, was a deeply etched record
of the world that floated away.
I believe it was full of popular tunes
and beautiful technological problems.
Perhaps an observer far in outer space
might study this information in days to come.
He would have to weigh carefully in his heart
the words of a man who was, by some quirk of fate,
a spokesman for humanity.
Who could give voice to all the nations
and peoples of the world and, so to speak,
the conscience of mankind.
This man, legend states, likely knew of the mass execution
of groups of people as a capable officer required
to collect and analyze data, prepare reports, conduct
investigations, and, otherwise, facilitate operational projects
in the war.
Indeed, at the time he did not express concern
at this unfortunate action.
To a degree this is understandable.
His voice failed.
Now after years of passed the record
is carrying his intelligent clear words
as Secretary General of the United Nations
to a government high above.
Thus I built up a dossier about him
over a considerable period of time.
His story had for me some kind of freight
which entered my own voice and cast a shadow of unreality
over everything.
I found this beguiling.
The summer heat relentlessly continued.
At home my wife sent for a parcel of china
that one day will come.
Whether this will happen in the far distant future,
I cannot predict.
Even if he had intelligence of disquieting matters,
I do not wish to judge here the figure of Waldheim.
The dead do not cease in the grave.
The world is water falling on a stone.
True.
I began to consider drawing lines from his history.
If I were to cross out words from this representation
of the world, will the ruins see peace?
To cross out the prisoners bodies frozen in the camp
would not erase the war, of course.
But I did cross that insubstantial world out."