When An Airplane's Engines Fail,

...i Had To Point At Hanna. But The Finger I Pointed At Her Turned Back To Me. I Had Loved Her. I Tried To Tell Myself That I Had Known Nothing Of What She Had Done When I Chose Her. I Tried To Talk Myself Into The State Of Innocence In Which Children Love Their Parents. But Love Of Our Parents Is The Only Love For Which We Are Not Responsible. ...and Perhaps We Are Responsible Even For The Love We Feel For Our Parents.

It Was More Dangerous Not To Go; I Was Running The Risk Of Becoming Trapped In My Own Fantasies. So I Was Doing The Right Thing By Going. She Would Behave Normally, I Would Behave Normally, And Everything Would Be Normal Again.

So I Was Still Guilty. And If I Was Not Guilty Because One Cannot Be Guilty Of Betraying A Criminal, Then I Was Guilty Of Having Loved A Criminal.

I Can't Say I'm Thankful About Being German Because I Sometimes Experience It As A Huge Burden. But It Is An Integral Part Of Me And I Wouldn't Want To Escape It. I Have Accepted It.

It Wasn't That I Forgot Hanna. But At A Certain Point The Memory Of Her Stopped Accompanying Me Wherever I Went. She Stayed Behind, The Way A City Stays Behind As A Train Pulls Out Of The Station. It's There, Somewhere Behind You, And You Could Go Back And Make Sure Of It. But Why Should You?