At this point, the pimply dramaturge pipes up to say that a story like this contains the elements of Greek tragedy—namely, an ethically and morally unresolvable conflict in which all involved must perish, engendering pity and terror. Clamorous protest from the bankers, who can’t agree to such a pessimistic outcome. Stoffel sides with them. (“The moviegoers will stay away in droves after the premiere.”) Astrid objects that, however the conflict is resolved, she still doesn’t know how to “visually conceive” the end of the film. Nagel growls that it’s very simple: you’ll see the woman either being untied or dangling from a branch. He’s become quite grouchy. Trying to help my friend out, I say you have to leave it up to the viewers to sort out the clash of two ethical principles. Let them talk it through in the pub after the movie’s over. You can’t ask more of a film than that. Again, I’m met with blank stares. “Whaddaya mean? What kinda clash?”

I say, “Imagine yourself in the following situation. All of you have a highly developed sense of the need for moral improvement and at the same time a lively feeling of responsibility for correct rules of engagement in war. So let’s assume you’re a missionary—in Borneo, say—and have spent long, weary years laboring to persuade a tribe of Dayaks to solemnly forgo head-hunting. A great ceremony has been planned to mark the historical importance of their pledge. Just at the culminating moment, a commissioner of the colonial government appears and promises the Dayaks five pounds per severed Japanese head. They’re at war with Japan and fear an invasion. How would you react?”

That remark unleashes a paroxysm of enthusiasm. None of them is willing to see that my story was nothing but a sort of inversion of Nagel’s, with the same dramaturgically insoluble outcome: no ending is able to be completely satisfactory to those involved. Stoffel loudly and illogically announces, “That’s exactly the solution!” And even the bank stiffs nod in agreement. “Solution to what?” I ask in confusion. Stoffel’s meaty hand wallops me on the shoulder. “For the movie, man! We’ve got you to thank for how to get this done. Aside from making the awkward parallel to Germany’s fate much harder to see (do we have to be condemned for our past even now, when the world has moved on in a totally different direction, toward freedom and democracy?)—I say aside from that, your version makes a tangible product so real I can taste it.” He waxes visionary, starts to show off for the bank guys. “Borneo sounds like a long way off, but it’s under British administration. Our occupiers will certainly have a more lively interest in it than in Mato Grosso or anywhere else in South America. I could imagine involving an English company in a coproduction. Astrid has good connections to Rank Films through her old friend Billy Fletcher. I’ve got an exchange between occupation zones in mind too: I think we could shoot in the studios in Munich-Geiselgasteig. The Yanks won’t find anything to object to in a film like this. Hamburg doesn’t have big enough studios and besides, in Munich we can interest American distributors. And Borneo is just a spectacular location: jungles, the safari experience, and so on . . .”—I can already picture him running off to the tailor to get measured for bush jackets—“Although, the weather in Borneo is unpredictable. We’d be in trouble if the rainy season started too soon. I see that I’ll need to go out there myself . . .” To do what? Teach German punctuality to the clouds in the sky?