it.
So that’s me.
Yes.
That I’ll be asleep soon, me, too?
Yes.
OK.
What do you think?
It sounds good.
It’s more than good, Telemann.
I suppose so.
I would even go so far as to assert that this is the reason why I love Germany.
Would you go that far?
Yes.
Right.
I want you to understand how good this is. Are you capable of sharing my passion?
Perhaps I wouldn’t go quite that far.
Some of the way though?
Yes.
But you’re still a bit sceptical?
A tiny bit.
Why?
Errr, Goethe was probably quite a fella, and it’s beautiful and it’s sonorous and rhythmic and all that, but did it stop them becoming Nazis, eh, Nina? And is it theatre? That’s what I keep asking myself. When you get down to the nitty gritty, is it theatre?
Nina, I’ve been thinking.
What about?
You read German and you speak German…
Yes?
But you don’t write German.
Well, I do, a bit.
But you don’t like to.
That’s true.
Why don’t you?
I don’t know.
Is it something to do with self-confidence?
Could be.
In which case is there something deeper underlying this?
And what might that be?
Could it be that you’re basically an insecure person?
I don’t think so.
Do you consider yourself self-confident?
Yes, fairly.
I notice you are always shilly-shallying
That’s not how I see it.
There, you did it again.
Did I?
You shilly-shallied.
No, I didn’t.
Yes, you did, and that makes me begin to wonder if that’s what attracts you to all this German stuff.
Eh?
You’re insecure. Germany’s insecure. And that’s why you appeal to each other.
Honestly, Telemann!
Germany’s been cowed. It’s had to take being held in contempt. It’s had to walk around with its back broken for more than sixty years. And you’ve had it a bit like that inside yourself.
Now, please, give me a break.
You should go to the theatre more.
You what?
Insecure people can learn a lot by going to the theatre.
What?
Germany should go to the theatre, too.
I mean, I ask you.
You should go to the theatre, both of you.
Nina, I’ve begun to make a list of the people we know who’ve had cancer. Do you want to see?
Could do.
I’ve divided them into three columns.
OK.
Those who have died, those who have survived and those where it remains to be seen whether they pull through or not.
I see.
It’s not a simple task, if that’s what you’re thinking.
That’s not what I’m thinking.
First of all, it’s emotionally challenging, and secondly it’s not so easy to remember all of them. The whole lot of them seem to have had cancer.
Mhm. A lot have anyway.
All of them.
No, Telemann, not all of them.
Cancer is theatre, too.
Is it?
Oh, yes, too true. There’s not much that is more akin to theatre than cancer.
In other words, it means a lot to you to make lists of this kind.
It’s extremely important, Nina. And it’s high time, too. It can’t wait.
I got on really well with the Baders on the trip to Zugspitze.
Oh, yes. With both of them?
Yes, actually. But maybe especially well with him.
OK.
He’s a teacher.
Same as you?
Yes.
How nice.
And he thinks I’m good at German.
I do, too.
He said that at first he thought I came from somewhere around Berlin. He would never have guessed I was Norwegian. He said.
He said that, did he?
And he’s coming for lunch today.
Today?
I forgot to tell you.
OK. No problem. I’ll sort something out.
Great. But I don’t think you should talk about the war.
What? Not even the attempted assassination on Hitler?
No.
But that was the resistance movement who did that?
I don’t want that. And nothing at all about the Nazis.
Oh.
Nothing about what happened between 1939 and 1945, anywhere in the world.
What about the First World War?
No.
German unification and the formation of the German Reich in 1871?
No.
The Berlin Wall?
I think not.
But you don’t want me to be completely silent, do you?
No.
Can I talk about the theatre?
Preferably not.
Food?
Food’s