Original subtitles

NOT RECONCILED

or, Only Violence Helps Where Violence Rules

Tell what, boy?

Three times I had seen how they threw the ball

with all their strength in his face, at his legs, in his loins.

Nettlinger had risked our chances of victory

merely so that one of the opponents would have the opportunity

of hitting Schrella with the ball.

And Vacano, our own sportsmaster,

whom those from the Prince Otto School had accepted as referee,

must have been in league with them.

Why, why did they do that to Schrella,

put out a leg as he came down the steps during break,

fall upon him on the way home, drag him into doorways,

beat him up between dustbins and abandoned prams,

push him down dark cellar steps.

Only a few didn't join in: Enders, Drischka, Schweugel,

Grewe and Holten.

- Are you Jewish? - No.

What are you then?

We are lambs, and have sworn never to eat of the Buffalo Sacrament.

Lambs? I must know exactly.

I'll show you, come on.

They do it down in the old barracks near the Wilhelmskuhle.

Vacano and Nettlinger.

They call it auxiliary police.

They seized me during a raid on beggars in the harbour district.

Thirty-eight beggars arrested in one day.

I was one of them.

We were interrogated with the barbed whip.

They said: "Admit you're a beggar, then."

And I said: "Yes, I am one."

Fetch me a cognac, please.

A cognac for the gentleman upstairs.

How shall we redeem the world?

Through sheep's wool, sheep's leather,

sheep's milk -- and through knitting.

Wherein lies the world's salvation hidden?

In sheep.

Why won't you be the Holy Lamb

in my new religion, you silly boy?

I would make you great, rich,

and they would kneel before you in even smarter hotel halls.

Go away, you're too silly.

At least 17 women, old and young, are searching for you.

Clear off quick, here comes another.

Love, my boy -- I've never known what it is.

They'd have poisoned me if they'd only summoned up the courage.

They called me "such a thing shouldn't be born".

Is there any more to the story?

Do you want to hear it?

Ferdinand Progulske, apprentice, born on 1st May 1917 in Cologne,

was beheaded today at 7.30 a.m.

The Minister-President has rejected the appeal for a reprieve,

since this was an ambuscade

organised by the communist underworld.

He had slipped into Vacano's apartment,

had thrown the bomb at his feet.

Vacano only had burns on his feet.

You're still coming to the Cafe Zons, as arranged?

Are you coming, or aren't you?

I had done it.

I'd gone with Schrella to the little Cafe Zons in Boisseree Street,

where the lambs met,

and I had sworn to a young girl called Edith,

sworn to her face,

never to taste of the Buffalo Sacrament.

And then held a speech in the dark back room,

with dark words which didn't sound like lamb,

but like blood, like rebellion and revenge.

Nettlinger was waiting for me outside,

and they took me to the Wilhelmskuhle.

Nettlinger lashed out.

And he came into my cell at daybreak, and said:

"Clear out. Run away.

"But I can only give you an hour's start.

"In one hour I shall have to report it to the police."

I ran right round the city to the harbour.

Hey, sonny, that road leads nowhere.

- To your house. - Come down here.

Oh, you're... I know who you are, but I've forgotten your name.

F�hmel.

Of course, they're after you.

It came this morning with the early news.

So you have to go flinging bombs about!

You have to plot together...

Yesterday I already packed one of you up

and sent him across the border.

Yesterday, whom?

Schrella, he hid himself here,

and I had to force him to leave on the "Anna Katharina".

What on earth is it, what's wrong with you?

- More milk, boy? - No, thanks.

Don't worry, Alois will come the day after tomorrow.

Monday or Tuesday you'll be in Rotterdam.

They'll kill you.

Don't forget us, sonny.

- What can I do for you, Mr...? - Nettlinger.

I must speak to Dr F�hmel.

Urgently. At once. Officially.

Available only for my mother, my father, my daughter,

my son -- and for Mr Schrella. Nobody else.

I know he's here.

I want to see the manager.

Left round here, then second door on the right -- Management.

I wish to be announced.

The manager, please. Porter speaking.

Sir, a Mr... What was the name?

Mr, sorry, Dr Nettlinger, wishes to speak to you urgently.

Yes, thank you.

The manager is expecting you.

- Did you take part in the war? - Yes.

What did you do?

I was a demolition expert.

Does that mean anything to you?

I have seen them blowing up rocks

in the quarry behind Denklingen.

That's exactly what I did,

only I didn't blow up rocks.

I blew up bridges and apartment blocks,

churches and railway viaducts,

villas and crossroads.

And at the end of the war I was attached to a general

who had only one word in his head: "field-of-fire".

Do you know what "field-of-fire" is?

Look, if I wanted to fire now at the bridge

which is behind St Severin,

the church would be in the field-of-fire, too,

so St Severin would also have to be blown up

so I could fire at the bridge,

and I would blow St Severin sky high.

I had a good team with me, physicists and architects,

and we blew up whatever stood in our way.

The last one was St Anthony's Abbey,

which had been built by my father.

It lay right between two armies,

one German and one American.

I provided the German army

with its field-of-fire, which it didn't need at all.

The manager asks if you will receive a Dr Nettlinger.

- Would you receive someone called Nettlinger? - No.

Schoolfellow of Robert's?

Ministerial councillor, director, manager?

And you sent him to the Prince Heinrich Hotel!

He doesn't like it, my son Robert, when people disturb him.

But, my child, he won't do anything to you on that account!

Come...

Let's go and eat...

...and celebrate my birthday a little.

Municipal Prison

Where would you like to be taken to?

The station.

Are you thinking of leaving this hospitable city already?

No, I'm not thinking of leaving this hospitable city yet.

It was a damned accident your name was still on the wanted list.

Attempted murder becomes superannuated after 20 years.

Attempted murder?

Yes, what you tried against Vacano then comes under that heading.

You probably don't know I had absolutely no part in it.

I never once gave the affair my approval.

Well, so much the better. All I could do was vouch for you,

and arrange for your provisional release.

Now the rest will be merely a formality.

Are you actually still a German citizen?

No, I'm stateless.

Pity! If you could manage to prove you had to flee

not for criminal but political reasons,

you could get a tidy amount of compensation.

Tell me if you need money.

You won't get far with what you've got.

Thanks, I don't need anything.

May I at least invite you to eat?

Fine, let's go and eat.

Chicken.

I'll take the entrecote.

And smoked salmon?

No, thanks.

I'll have it.

You're missing something really delicious.

To drink?

- I'll have Beaujolais. - Beer.

Ruthless political hatred between schoolfellows,

persecution, interrogation, hatred, drawing blood...

But 20 years later it is, of all people, the atrocious persecutor

who rescues the returning refugee from jail.

I'd be sorry if you thought I doubted

the sincerity of your motives and feelings.

I don't even doubt your remorse.

But the roles you played then and play today are the same.

Perhaps you don't know what I did for your sister.

You protected Edith?

Yes. Vacano wanted to have her arrested.

He put her on the list again and again,

and again and again I struck her name off.

Your good deeds are almost more frightful than your misdeeds.

And you are more merciless than God.

We are not God,

and can lay no more claim to His mercy

than to His omniscience.

Are you by any chance going to let that marvellous salmon go back?

Of course.

But you can't!

Listen to what the son of a waiter has to tell you:

A really fine man never submits to the tyranny of waiters.

By the way, is Vacano still alive?

Of course, he's only fifty-eight,

and... he's one of the incorrigible ones.

And you?

If you could only understand me.

I'm a democrat -- a democrat by conviction.

- What became of Trischler? - Trischler?

Old Trischler who lived in the lower harbour.

Don't you remember Alois either, who was in our class?

Oh, now I remember.

We searched for Alois for weeks without finding him,

and Vacano himself interrogated Old Trischler,

but he got nothing out of him, nothing at all,

nor out of the woman.

The district down there was often bombed.

Good God, what's the matter, what are you going to do?

Would you please have this wrapped for me

so that the fat doesn't leak out?

- Certainly. The potatoes too, sir? - No, thank you.

Would you rather I killed you? I can't stand it any longer.

The fat won't leak out, it's all wrapped in cellophane.

Thank you.

How many breakfasts in the Cafe Kroner?

Ten thousand, twenty thousand? I never added them up.

Good morning, sir. Breakfast?

Yes, please. A small pot of coffee,

but with three cups of coffee.

Toast, two slices of black bread, butter,

marmalade, a boiled egg,

and paprika-cheese.

Paprika-cheese?

Yes, cream-cheese mixed with paprika.

Very good.

And listen, waiter, I shall have breakfast here tomorrow,

the day after tomorrow, the day after that...

...in three weeks, three months and three years, you hear?

And always at the same time, around nine.

Very good.

I had rented a room and studio for half a year, paid in advance.

There were three ahead of me.

Every child knew their names:

Brehmockel, Grumpeter, Wollersein.

"Final deadline for St Anthony project today.

"Have our young architects no spirit?"

-- said the newspaper.

I should like to hand over a design to the notary.

St Anthony Open Competition.

The reputation of having been beaten only by

Brehmockel, Grumpeter and Wollersein

would have been enough for me.

But the abbot liked my plan.

Will you hold out?

Yes, I'll hold out, Reverend Father.

Him, gentlemen? Nothing but work.

Eight o'clock in the morning goes to Low Mass in St Severin.

Breakfast in the Cafe Kroner till ten-thirty.

From ten-thirty till five, stays up there in his studio.

Won't speak to anyone.

Lives up there on pea soup which he cooks himself.

Has the peas and the pork sent by his old mother.

Even the onions.

From five till six, a stroll through the town.

From six-thirty to seven-thirty, Reserve Officers' Club.

Paprika-cheese? Very interesting!

And he draws, even at breakfast, like a man possessed.

I didn't know my wife yet.

I ask you for your daughter's hand.

The unforeseen struck me hard.

We'll find the culprit.

The Emperor's Speech:

I no longer see parties among my people.

There are only Germans among us.

And whichever party may have turned against me,

I forgive them all with my whole heart.

Now it is for us all to stand together as brothers,

for God to lead the German sword to victory!

I let my son Heinrich play with the lancer's helmet

which his uncles had given him.

And I put up with what the garrison commandant told me.

I'm so sorry, F�hmel,

that we can't do without you yet,

that you can't play your part in it,

but we also need people at home,

we need people exactly like you.

Construction of barracks, fortifications, hospitals.

The fool of a Kaiser.

The fool of a Kaiser, the fool of a Kaiser...

Court of honour.

And I did not say what I ought to have said,

that I agreed with my wife.

"Pregnant, gentlemen, due in two months;

"a little daughter lost,

"two brothers fallen on the same day:

"Captain Kilb of the Horse Guards, Officer Kilb."

And I couldn't summon up the courage

to tear up the poem

that Heinrich had to learn by heart for school.

Spoke Peter, Heaven's doorman:

"I'll take the matter up in higher places."

And lo, not long thereafter he came:

"Most Excellent Bl�cher, you are in luck!

"On leave for an indefinite time,"

said he, and opened Heaven's door.

"Go, old warhorse, and strike there.

"Good old God will be with you."

It was Bl�cher who came down

To lead us from victory to victory.

Onwards with hurrahs and Hindenburg,

Eastern Prussia's saviour and mighty fortress.

As long as the woods of Germany stand,

As long as the flags of Germany fly, as long as...

I ought to have done what Johanna did then,

I ought to have spoken to the boy.

In his fever, he pieced his lines together.

"Good old God will be with you."

Johanna tried to drag him out of his delirium,

to shake him awake,

but he never came back again.

"Onwards with hurrahs and Hindenburg"

-- only this single, solitary line was alive in him.

Robert was not yet two, and Otto not yet born.

You must forgive me, Robert; I couldn't bear it any longer.

I had to go to Dr�scher to obtain an amnesty for you.

It was too much for us -- Father, myself, Edith.

Your son was already born.

We found your tiny messages in the letter-box:

"Don't worry, I'm studying hard in Amsterdam."

"I need money. Give it wrapped in newspaper

"to a man called Groll,

a waiter in the "Anchor" at the upper harbour."

And all at once Otto was no longer Otto.

He brought Nettlinger and the sportsmaster home with him.

You know the conditions Dr�scher obtained for you:

no political activity,

and straight into the army after your exams.

Kl�hm, the statist, will examine you,

and save you as many terms as he can.

Must you absolutely study statics?

Very well, as you wish.

Isn't he sweet, your little boy?

You must adopt him immediately after the wedding.

I'll furnish an apartment for you.

You should try to be reconciled with Otto.

Please, do try. Please, go.

Even the news of his death did not bring a reconciliation.

Fallen at Kiev!

Sons of the same parents,

born and grown up in the same house,

gone the same way to school...

And suddenly not even strangers any more.

Behind Otto's pale, wide forehead

was power in its simplest form.

Power over frightened schoolfellows,

over passers-by who did not salute the flag.

He would have delivered his mother to the hangman.

Well? Did you speak to Otto? No good!

I knew it, but one must always keep trying,

again and again.

Perhaps there's only one way to set him free.

I shall do it, Robert. I shall be the Lord's instrument.

I have patience, time doesn't press me.

One shouldn't use powder and wadding,

but powder and lead.

Firecrackers do not kill, my boy.

You should have asked me.

Now he has become Chief of Police.

Don't think I'm mad.

I know exactly where we are.

It's war.

Time can be read off in promotions.

You were a Lieutenant when you left.

After two years, First Lieutenant.

Aren't you a Captain yet?

This time they won't do it in less than four years,

perhaps it'll last six,

and you'll be a Major.

Don't go too far with those formulas in your head,

and don't lose your patience,

and don't accept any privileges.

We won't eat a crumb more

than we get on ration cards.

Edith is agreed.

I didn't want to allow your children

to enjoy any privileges, either.

They should taste the truth on their lips.

But they took me away from the children.

I watched how time went marching by.

It seethed, it struck.

It paid a billion for a sweet,

and then lacked three pfennigs for a roll.

I did not want to hear the name of the saviour,

but they stuck his image on their letters,

and recited their litany:

Respectable, respectable, earnest, honour-loyal.

defeated and yet undefeated, order.

Dumb as earth, deaf as a tree.

And he, my little David, slept; only woke up

when he saw how it could cost a life

to pass a package of money,

wrapped in newspaper, from one hand to another.

Loyalty, honour, respectable -- then he saw it.

I warned him about Gretz, but he said: "He's harmless."

"Of course," I said, "you'll see yet what

"harmless people are capable of.

"Gretz would betray his own mother."

He did it, Robert.

Just because the old woman kept saying:

"It's a sin and a disgrace." She didn't say anything else,

only always this phrase.

Until one day her son declared:

"I can't stand this any longer, it's against my honour."

They dragged the old woman away,

stuck her in an old people's home.

Certified her insane, just to save her life,

and that was exactly what killed her.

They gave her an injection.

They came to fetch Edith, too,

but I didn't give her up.

I kept Edith until the fluttering bird killed her.

Forgive me, I couldn't save the lamb.

Step inside, bring some happiness in, old David!

Come, we'll say our "do-you-still-know" prayers,

and remind ourselves of the years

when we lived out in Blessenfeld.

You had released me from that dreadful house.

They were already growing up,

those to whom I was to be thrown:

cap-wearers, beer-drinkers, guardians of the law.

I saw their hands, their eyes,

and I prayed for him who would set me free,

I prayed and saw you over there at the studio window.

If you knew how I loved you, if you had any idea.

Have you got tickets?

Yes, but we've still got time. Sit down.

A beer, please.

I'd very much like to give you something for your birthday, Father.

To show you...

Well, perhaps you know what I'd like to show you.

I know, you don't need to say it.

Have you told Ruth we wanted to go to St. Anthony?

Yes, she's coming. Is the abbot still there?

- Which one? - Gregor.

No, he couldn't get over the Abbey's being destroyed.

And you, could you get over it?

After all, one can rebuild buildings.

And for your boy, it was a great opportunity

to get some practical training,

to learn coordination.

You know he has a girl, don't you?

No.

I don't want to know what mission Edith gave you,

Only -- you did carry it out?

Yes.

Good.

I laughed at your childish conspiracies,

but the laughter stuck in my throat

when I read that they had killed the boy.

And later I knew that it had still been almost human.

I had thought I loved and understood your mother,

but only then did I understand her and love her,

and understand you all, and love you all.

Only later did I grasp it all,

when one day the British commanding officer

came to apologise to me

for their having bombed the Honorarius Church

and destroyed the twelfth-century Crucifixion,

when I would have given

all the Crucifixions down the centuries

to see Edith's smile once more,

and feel her hand on my arm.

What did pictures of the Lord mean to me

compared to his real emissary's smile?!

And for the boy who brought your little messages

-- I never saw his face, or learnt his name --

I would have given St Severin,

and known it would have been a ridiculous price.

We can go on to the platform now, Father.

Your Honour, it must be years since you were last here!

Ah, Mull! How are you?

This is my son, haven't you met him yet?

F�hmel -- pleased to meet you.

Mull -- pleased to meet you.

Every child knows you here, Your Honour.

Everyone knows you built our Abbey,

and many grandmothers can still tell tales about you.

How you ordered whole truckloads of beer for the bricklayers,

and danced a solo at the builder's party.

Is your mother still alive?

No, Your Honour, we had to lay her to rest.

It was a huge funeral.

She had a full life:

seven children, thirty-six grandchildren,

eleven great-grandchildren.

A full life.

Those are splendid people.

And are you not scared of them?

Scared of Mull? Now?

While you were away,

and we were waiting for news of you,

I was scared of everyone.

Are you scared of Mull?

I ask myself with everyone

whether I would want to be delivered up to him,

and there are not many with whom I would say yes.

Over here, Father, over here!

He soon came out of prison and took us to the city,

although Grandfather protested,

and said that it would be better for us

not to grow up among the ruins.

We were all living then in Grandfather's studio,

because our house was uninhabitable.

There was a huge town-plan hanging on the wall in the studio.

Everything that had been destroyed

was marked in heavy black crayon,

and we often listened

while doing homework at Grandfather's drawing-table,

as he and Grandfather and other men stood in front of the map.

They often quarrelled, for he always said:

"Away with it -- blow it up!"

And he drew an X next to a black spot.

And the others would say:

"For God's sake, we can't do that,

"there are the remains of a lintel from the sixteenth century,

"and there's part of a chapel from the twelfth!"

And he threw the black crayon down, and said:

"All right, do as you wish, but without me, then."

And the others said: "But dear Mr F�hmel,

"you're our best demolition expert, you can't leave us in the lurch."

And he said: "But I will leave you in the lurch

"if I have to worry about every chicken-run from the Roman Age.

"Blow things up and make space."

Grandfather laughed when they'd gone, and said:

"My God, you really must understand their feelings."

And Father laughed: "I do understand their feelings,

"but I don't respect them." And then he said:

"Come, children, we're going to buy some chocolate."

And he went with us to the black market.

He always bought, but never sold.

Whenever we got bread or butter from Stehlingen or Gorlingen,

we had to take his share to school with us,

and he left it to us as to who we wanted to give it to.

And once on the black market

we bought back butter which we had given away.

Mrs Kloschgrabe's note was still on it.

She had written: "Sorry, only one kilo this week."

But he only laughed, and said:

"Oh well, people need money for cigarettes, too."

You'll like him, little lamb.

Fine. But what did he do

that made you suddenly lose interest in building?

Why won't you tell me?

Because I don't understand it yet myself.

Perhaps I'll be able to explain it to you later...

Here they are!

Another lemonade?

No, thank you. But five cigarettes, please.

That'll be 90 altogether, please.

Do we really not know each other?

No, I'm sure not.

- Are you looking for somebody? - Yes, the Schrellas.

Don't they live here anymore?

No, they never lived here.

Thank you. Would you like a groschen?

My official speech will not stand as a mark of indictment,

but of reconciliation,

reconciliation also with those powers

who in their blind zeal destroyed our home.

May I therefore extend an invitation to you,

with the sincere hope

that you will do us the honour

of coming to the inauguration?

Many thanks, Reverend Father.

Very pleased to have met your son.

I have sinned, I have greatly sinned.

I did not want to see any recognition

light up in Erika Progulske's eyes,

or hear Ferdi's name from her mouth.

Yes, Huberts, clear the tea away,

and the bread and the cold meat as well.

I wonder whether the head-gardener could bring me a few flowers?

He's out, off duty till tomorrow evening.

And no one except him is allowed into the greenhouse?

No, Madam, he's terribly particular about it.

Then I suppose I must wait till tomorrow evening,

or I'll get myself some outside.

You want to go out, Madam?

Yes, probably. It's such a fine evening.

I'm allowed to, aren't I?

Of course you are allowed.

Or should I telephone His Honour or Dr F�hmel?

I'll do that myself, Huberts.

- Good evening, Madam. - Good evening, Huberts.

The exchange, please.

FIGHTERS' PARADE

Assembly in front of the Prince Heinrich Hotel.

Departure, 19.00 hours.

Prince Heinrich Hotel.

Oh yes, Madam!

Certainly, Madam. Room 212, with balcony.

Do you really think that they might be useful to us?

- I'm sure of it. - Without doubt.

But won't we antagonize more voters than we win

through such a show of sympathy?

The Fighters' League is known as non-radical.

You can't lose anything, only win.

How many votes are there?

Under optimal and least favourable circumstances?

Optimal, around 80,000.

Under least favourable circumstances, around 50,000.

What will foreign circles think?

Yes?

Speaking.

Good.

Show sympathy.

I'll go down and draw the parade leader's attention

to your balcony.

Go to our room, boy, and pack your things.

What will the old man say when I present him for his birthday

with a grandson who has Edith's smile on his face?

You're right. The voice of blood is false,

only the other is true.

Don't you want to live with us?

No. The hotel room is just right.

Once I shut the door behind me,

this town becomes as strange to me as all others.

There I can imagine I must soon set off

and give my language lessons somewhere.

The people I meet...

Am I deceiving myself in finding them

no less bad than those I left behind then?

The list of stereotypes has dwindled.

Nobody would've thought of calling your father a communist.

Even Nettlinger wasn't that stupid.

Today they wouldn't be able to classify him as anything else.

- Do you remember Enders, the ginger-haired boy? - Yes.

He's become a priest.

They've stuck him in a village that's not even reachable by train.

He's suspect because he made the Sermon on the Mount

the subject of his own sermons too often.

I was thinking about whom I'd like to see again.

But I'm scared of meetings, after having seen Ferdi's sister.

You saw Ferdi's sister?

Yes, she runs the drinks stall at the terminus of the number 11.

- Haven't you ever been there? - No.

What are people like Schweugel doing now?

Are you really interested?

Yes, why do you ask whether I'm really interested?

Did you think about Enders and Schweugel

in your hotel rooms and pensions?

Yes, and about Grewe and Holten. Drischka, too.

What are they doing? Are they still alive?

Holten is dead, killed in the war.

But Schweugel's still alive. He's a writer.

Always talks about bourgeois and non-bourgeois,

probably regards himself as the latter.

What for? It just doesn't interest me.

He has also sometimes asked me about you.

And what's become of Grewe?

He's a party-member, but don't ask me which party.

It's not important to know, anyway.

And Drischka is making "Drischka's Auto-Lions",

a patented article which brings in a lot of money.

While I was sitting downstairs waiting for you,

some people were just assembling for a banquet.

And I heard something about "opposition".

They kept whispering in awe to each other

the name of the star they were expecting: Kretz.

Kretz is a sort of star of the Left Opposition.

I saw him, he arrived last.

If he's hope,

I'd like to know what despair could be.

We must go to my father soon.

Or would you rather not go to the celebration?

Yes, I'll come with you.

We just have to wait for the boy.

Are the Trischlers really dead?

Yes. Alois, too.

He was taking them to friends in Holland on the "Anna Katharina".

The boat was bombed.

Alois tried to get his parents out of the berths,

but it was too late.

The water was already rushing in from above,

and they never got out.

Where did you hear about it?

In the "Anchor".

I went there every day,

and questioned all the boatmen until I found one who knew.

I'm scared, old man.

Not even in '35 or '42

did I feel such a stranger among people.

Just what do you want to do with that thing?

I want to shoot the fat man on the white horse down there.

Do you still remember him?

Do you think I would ever forget him?

All the same, I wouldn't shoot him.

Look there, our old friend Nettlinger.

I anyone, I'd rather shoot him.

But perhaps you'll consider:

your grandson's murderer

is standing on the next balcony.

Do you see him?

I'll rely on paragraph 51, dearest.

You probably don't know that all this

is thanks to Father's zeal for blowing-up.

When they were blowing up the old guard-house,

one of the vaults below collapsed.

Long live dynamite!

Remember how happy Father was

when he could still blow things up?

How do you find him, Marianne?

Do you like him?

Yes, I like him very much.

Am I hungry!

I'm sure Grandfather's ordered something good for us.

You don't know yet, then?

Something dreadful must have happened.

Your grandfather has cancelled the party.

They just called from the Prince Heinrich.

I can't help it, children, I can't be sad.

She'll be coming back now to stay with us.

He wasn't dangerously wounded,

and I hope the great look of astonishment

will not disappear from his face.

Translation by Misha Donat

Edited by steyskal for KG