— That’s quite all right. No one’s short of sleep here. We hibernated the whole first winter, and I’m still withdrawing sleep from that account.
— I’ve put on weight? Perhaps… it’s certainly true that… after all, until recently things couldn’t have been more peaceful here. The local inhabitants were friendly, the British pulled back to their great North African desert and dug in there, the Russians were falling apart — there was no one to make any trouble. And the air here gives you an appetite…
— Yes, Grandmother. First it was Stalingrad that gave us a bit of a jolt. Then came the invasion of Italy, and now it’s the landing on that beach in France… what’s it called?
— Exactly, that’s it. So you see, as remote and peaceful as it is here, we’re waking up little by little. Shall we start out?
— No, it’s absolutely necessary. Please, Grandmother, I’m sure it is. I’m not trying to get away with anything. I’m ready to answer all your questions, and with that dreadful old honesty of ours. You know your grandson: would he insist on this hike if he thought it was possible to get to the bottom of things without a view of them from on top? Because it’s not just a view, Grandmother, it’s a character in my story. And we’d better hurry before it starts getting dark. Not that we’re frightened of the dark, you and I — it’s just that lately there are all kinds of hostile elements around and we have orders not to go out after dark in groups smaller than five… and a quintet, Grandmother, no matter how you count us, is more than the two of us will ever be…
— Yes, it gets dark quickly here. Don’t forget how far south you’ve come, Grandmother. In fact, this is the southernmost point of the Reich, and here, at thirty-five latitude, the twilight is quick and insubstantial. None of your soulful, copper-colored, everlasting sunsets in the bogs and woods of Schlesing that at first I was so desperately homesick for. How I missed our merry little hunter’s lodge!
— Burned?
— And the little bridge? No, don’t tell me… I don’t want to know…
— But why did they have to bomb them? Well, what does it matter… we’ll rebuild them…
— Of course I do. How could I not believe it? But enough! Come, Grandmother, let’s start out. Everything is ready. It’s a good, gentle path, a little winding, to be sure, but with an easy grade. I checked it again this morning, trying to see it through your eyes and judge it by your capacity. I even took a shovel to fill in the rough parts, and pulled out some weeds, and made three special steps, and chose our rest stops. An hour’s walk, Grandmother, and we’ll be at the top, and there’s a bench up there in an old Turkish outpost that you can sit on pretty comfortably — it’s protected from the winds if there are any, but there won’t be — and look out at the sunset… See, I’ve even got a binoculars for you in this knapsack. You yourself said how clear the air is, the view on a day like this is too good to miss. Just imagine, Grandmother, if it wasn’t you but old Opapa Sauchon who had the good fortune to be here — don’t you think he’d jump to his feet, all eighty-three years of him, and be up that hill in no time? Do you think he’d miss a chance for a panoramic and strategic view of the place where our Europe was born? Think of it that way, Grandmother. Tell yourself it’s for Grandfather and try being his eyes…
— Thank you. Thank you, most wonderful Grandmother…
— Yes, Europa. The young maiden. Together with Zeus…
— Easy does it. Yes, I know. I’ve even tied a rope around my waist and made a loop you can easily hold onto to make sure you don’t slip. Oh, someone will yet write about you — if, that is, anyone will want to write about us at all — and tell how, at the age of seventy-four, Frau Andrea Sauchon, the widow of the hero of the Battle of the Baltic, reached the southernmost point of the Thousand-Year Reich — which won’t last a thousand years but may hold out a thousand days, although I’m afraid that each day will be worse than the one before it — and skipped right up a hill by the airport to look down on the Gulf of Heraklion…
— Sunglasses? Of course.
— I have a canteen.
— Yes. It’s loaded.
— You won’t be needing it.
— All right, we’ll take this coat. But let me carry it.
— No, there’s nothing crazy about it, you’ll see…
— Things have gotten much worse this past month. Everyone listens to the BBC. It’s reached the point that you sometimes think that the very earth is broadcasting in English under your feet. Not that the British are in any hurry to get here. Why should they be? If they wait long enough, we’ll leave by ourselves…
— Just to shed more blood, Grandmother? What for? There’s been enough bloodshed here already. Three years ago seven thousand German soldiers lost their lives on this island, and now you want more? No…
— But defend it how, Grandmother? A man sitting naked on his front porch couldn’t be more of a sitting duck than we are. Every little fishing boat that you see down there in the harbor is spying for the enemy. Every little boy playing ball near our headquarters is a secret agent…
— Exactly.
— Every boat… never mind…
— That little one down there too. Why not? Anything is possible…
— It could be. The local inhabitants are trying to give themselves a clean bill of health to make up for their three years of cozying up to us. Before we’ve made a move, the English already know about it on Cyprus. Which is why, Grandmother, as you can see down there, no, over there…
— Exactly. They’re trundling your little plane off the runway and covering it with branches. Not that it will do any good, because the fishing boats are already signaling each other, and in an hour from now all of Cyprus will know that someone important has arrived in Crete, although the description of her will cause great confusion, ha ha… What can be the military purpose of such a grandmother? They’ll have to call a staff meeting of all their brigadiers to decide what countersteps to take…
— No, I’m not exaggerating. I still can’t get over their bringing you here. A whole lot of people risked their lives to fly you over the flaming Reich. It’s one more proof of the legend of Opapa, which burns more brightly than ever as night falls. Who knows, Grandmother, maybe someone on the general staff thought that if you were flown over the front you might remember some old battle plan of Opapa Sauchon’s, some secret stratagem he worked out thirty years ago that might stem the tide of the rout we’re beginning to see all around us…
— No, it’s not a name that rings a bell with people my age. But as soon as Schmelling heard you were coming, why, he was so tickled pink that he couldn’t stop screaming at me for never telling him…
— Not a word.
— I didn’t want to. Since landing on this island I’ve even stopped dropping hints about the grand estate that may be mine one day…
— I’m not complaining, Grandmother. You know perfectly well…
— I simply didn’t want to arouse any military expectations that could only end in disappointment or embarrassment since the day I left the storm troopers and was posted to this garrison… and anyway… but look over there, no, more to the right, that’s it, Grandmother, look! That’s the sea over there on the horizon.