Marlene Streeruwitz

OLD WOMAN: Worse. It’s getting worse and worse with him. Gabor. Ha! Dear cousin Wilhelm, who now has to call himself Gabor. Since 56. Thank God at least he now sticks with Gabor. – After Saigon fell! These Vietnamese names! – Why are they taking so long – Gabor. But at least he can’t read aloud anymore now. During meals on Tuesdays and Thursdays: Rilke. Fair enough. Saturdays and Sundays: de Sade’s love letters. Touching. The whole perversion. And Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. My struggle. During meals! My god! What kind of German. Destroying all appetite. A true anorexiant. This Hitler. If you see it like that, it’s almost a blessing. Meals on wheels. Each gets their portion in their room. – If only he doesn’t die before me. He was always first. Always.

OLD WOMAN: He never got over it. The end of war. He really believed everything. That was teacher Neumaier’s fault. A true fanatic. A true illegal. Not like the others, after. Like Küchelbeck, who borrowed the badge from Traut from the book shop. When the Nazis came. And Gabor was always on the wrong side. And the way he… and the weapons. But then, at least he earned something. In Congo. And then. In Vietnam. Despite that, he always took it personally when it went wrong. I didn’t want the Nazis anymore, the way they were there and then. And, of course, father was right. But who would have admitted that. Then. Well. You never experienced any of that.