“Putti, look out, du spritzt schon! Now you're splashing!”
“I know, Mommy, but I'm being careful.” Mrs. van D. casts about for another topic.
“Tell me, Putti, why aren't the British carrying out any bombing raids today?”
“Because the weather's bad, Kerli!” “But yesterday it was such nice weather and they weren't flying then either.”
“Let's drop the subject.” “Why? Can't a person talk about that or offer an opinion?”
“Well, why in the world not?” “Oh, be quiet, Mammichen!” Mr. Frank always answers his wife.
Mr. van D. is trying to control himself. This remark always rubs him the wrong way, but Mrs. van D.'s not one to quit:
“Oh, there's never going to be an invasion!” Mr. van D. turns white, and when she notices it, Mrs. van D. turns red,
but she's not about to be deterred: “The British aren't doing a thing!” The bomb bursts.
“And now shut up, Donnerwetter noch mal! For crying out loud!”
Mother can barely stifle a laugh, and I stare straight ahead. Scenes like these are repeated almost daily, unless they've just had a terrible fight.
In that case, neither Mr. nor Mrs. van D. says a word. It's time for me to get some more potatoes.
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