ABSTRACT
June, 1997 was beautiful and I was back in Vienna for a short visit. Off the plane and into a light outdoor supper with Liese and Karl, both mathemati cians, in the amusement section of the Prater.
“What would you like to do on this visit?” “Nothing special. Talk to people. Relax. Talk to Franceska.” “Why Franceska?” Liese asked me. “Well, the last time I was here, she told me that she had been talking to
Pythagoras, and I think that might be the basis of a story for me.” “She’s weird, I have to tell you.” “I know. You don’t have to tell me.”
