All language subtitles for Nicht.Versohnt.aka.Not.Reconciled_J.M.Straub.DVDRip.XviD.AC3.MKO.en

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