“Simply put, Patrick, I’m not going to share any part of the big picture with you because I don’t want to. And I don’t want to because I’m old. This isn’t the only thing in my life. I have a marriage to enjoy, grandchildren to watch, a yard to weed, and old-people sex to attempt, along with all the other rewards and hernias that come from a life spent learning to not explain things to you punks. So just trust me and do as your told.”
“But… but…”
“Patrick,” Grandfather said plainly, “Say you are sorry for failing me.”
“…I’m sorry for failing you.”
“Thank you. Now, we move on.”
Grandfather walked over to a desk where a flagon of spirits sat, and poured each of them a drink. Patrick was still quite upset, but he knew better than to show it. If Grandfather was willing to let such a mistake go, well, Patrick would do well to take him up on it. Still, he wasn’t satisfied. He had asked for the meeting with every intention of walking out on the project. The only thing keeping him honest right now was the fact that he had so wronged his beloved Case Officer. How could he go about pushing the issue, without risking his ire once more?
“It was Dragon Lady’s idea,” Patrick attempted.
“I know it. That doesn’t excuse you.” he responded as he handed over a glass.
“She’s a cancer… she’s a liability to the unit.”
I know who and what she is.” Grandfather said, calmly. “She is many things that I like even less than you do, but she isn’t a liability. I can trust her to do exactly as I say. She only suggests bad ideas to you because she knows you will follow through on them—so she doesn’t have to.”
“But… isn’t that…” Patrick stuttered. He knew it was true. Still, there was more to it. “I just… I really don’t want to work with her anymore.”
Grandfather sipped his drink idly, staring off into the distance. He was considering something complicated. Something that had many implications on varying levels. It was something Patrick respected about the man—he took everything into account, no matter how small. He was the one who had orchestrated the operation against the fat French dignitary. He was the one who had figured the top-secret documents Lord Piggy possessed as counter-intelligence forgeries, figuring that even the French refused to trust him. He was the one who had noticed The Dead Weights and their potential to the GDR, and he was the one who devised the plan to use Lena to bring him over the Wall, both physically and politically. And he was the one who had factored in Dragon Lady’s part to play in the near future.
“Let me give you some advice,” he finally began. “And I say this knowing that you aren’t going to take this advice until long after its usefulness has past. When an apple falls from a tree unpicked, most of the time, it will just sit there on the ground rotting. There, it becomes food for rodents, maggots and perhaps worse. It’s a disgusting, unhealthy thing that spreads disease and ill health—not at all something you would think to profit from. Yet that rotten apple contains seeds that might very well go on to create an entire tree.
“Remember though: it’s not the fact that the tree sprouts from the rot that matters; it’s where the seed sits when it takes roots. If your tree has room to blossom, it will bear fruit, no matter how rotten its origins. But if it grows in the same space as its parent tree, it will grow stunted and malnourished, stealing nutrients from the tree it spawned from and destroying both.” Looking Patrick square in the eyes with a knowing look, he finished, “Don’t be dismayed by how disgusting the rotten apple is. You don’t need to eat it… you just need to make the best use of it.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Patrick started.
“Oh, I very much do,” Grandfather interrupted him. “You have your rotten apples, Patrick, but I own the orchard. Trust me, and give me the time I need to nurture it, and you will watch that rotten apple create a fruit-bearing tree.”
Patrick began to fume. Grandfather just didn’t understand. He didn’t grasp the suffering that Patrick experienced at the hands of that vile creature and her despicable desires. But his internal rage was interrupted by Grandfather, who now wore a particularly evil look.
“And never forget…” Grandfather smiled with a dire note of foreboding, “Sometimes you grow trees for their fruit. And sometimes you grow them for their firewood.”
Übertragungen
“Hrmmph”
It seemed to be the only sound that decrepit little Kraut was capable of making. It was a mix of snoring, grunting, and wet snuffles, and it was a sound he made loudly and often during their journey. At first, Lena had watched him intently. Yet, as she began to realize her efforts were better spent helping the elderly Mrs. Schroeder down the steep steps, Lena simply set Kraut here or there, and the rotund, furry old dog would sit without complaint or opinion. She helped Mrs. Schroeder climb down the fire escape, and then helped her through the window, each time setting Kraut on the ground somewhere. And every time she returned to scoop him up, he seemed oblivious to the world.
She wasn’t entirely sure the dog had registered the direction of gravity, let alone the passage of time. Perhaps he didn’t even register basic senses like hunger. Their certainly weren’t any reasonable signs of life that required meaningful nourishment… perhaps he only required enough energy to make those ridiculous snoring noises. Lena was quite sure that she could place this poor little beast in the middle of the woods, and come back a year later to find him stuck in the very same spot, contentedly oblivious. Only, he would likely be covered in ivy and grass, with the topsoil having found its way into his many rolls and lumps to sprout shoots and leaves.
“I sure do thank you for your help,” Mrs. Schroeder said, as the two made it to her front door, “Kraut does tend to get away.”
“Oh, yes,” Lena agreed sarcastically. “Take your eye off of him for one moment, and he’ll practically escape over the Wall himself.”
“You would be surprised! Introduce a vacuum cleaner into his life, and he’ll move.”
“What does that look like?” Lena boggled.
“It’s not pretty. I don’t think he quite realizes that his hind legs are attached to him anymore.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes… he’ll take off walking straight enough, I suppose, but once those back legs start moving, the best he can manage is flouncing sideways.”
“My god.” Lena laughed. “Well, it was wonderful seeing you all tonight, but I best be getting back to my home.”
“Oh nonsense! Come in for just a moment. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. It’d do my heart some good to hear how you are actually doing, free from the ramblings of those idiots.”
It wasn’t that Lena didn’t want to… well, perhaps that’s exactly what it was. Nevertheless, she didn’t have a particularly good reason to refuse. Vivika was likely enjoying the brief solitude, and Mrs. Schroeder could certainly use a little winding down. Thus, Mrs. Schroeder unlocked the door, and the two entered.
Her house was almost exactly what Lena figured an old person’s apartment would look like. It had couches that didn’t match precisely, but were tasteful enough. Old wooden chairs sat collecting an amount of dust that suggested a cleaning habit not well maintained. A disgustingly multicolored rug sat in the middle of the floor with fraying edges, clashing with the carpeting which seemed… hairier? Pictures were absolutely everywhere, and the room was littered with strange knick-knacks and trinkets, large jewelry beads, gaudy bracelets, and pincushions filled with many-colored bobbins and whatnot. And everything had a brownish tinge.