“Sure, sure ! Another reunion of the old guard. Ain’t there a chief prosecutor in the group too? Please accept my application to make it a foursome!—”

“In the name of the supply office of the Ministry of Naval Affairs, Herr Admiral Neuner has suggested provisioning the new fleet currently under development with our products,” says the retired colonel with great dignity. “We are in the process of working out our offer.”

“Excellent! Don’t be too stingy about the percentage. See you later and thanks, Kunzelmann!” He gives an affable nod to the punctiliously withdrawing colonel. “But I could do with another drop of liquid refreshment, Lottiekins—and one for our guest too, of course—I don’t have to tell you not to neglect yourself.” With a nod toward the door, he says to A., “Typical how much the good fellow was impressed by your royal origins.” (A. starts to tell him it was meant as a joke, an ironic rise in his social level, but it doesn’t come to that since Witte drones on.) “These people have blind obedience in their bones. You saw it for yourself: the little formal bows and clicking heels. They’re not free Hanseatic citizens like us: civil pride before the thrones of power. And we have at least as much sense of tradition, but it’s Hanseatic tradition: connection to the wide world, not fixated on a single point. You can see it in our eyes; they gaze into the distance, the open, the future. I never knew my father; he died before I was born. My sister, whom you’ve met, was just two years old. But we were able to have a clear image of the old gentleman from the stories of our mother, God rest her soul. You wouldn’t believe it, but as a young man he walked all over the place as a Hamburg carpenter even though he wasn’t one. He was a swabbie, a seaman, but the sea wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to learn about dry land too—he hoofed it all the way to Morocco via Spain in the traditional garb of the Hamburg carpenters: velvet bell-bottoms, a velvet jacket with white buttons, a black, broad-brimmed hat, and a stick with a bundle over his shoulder. You can still buy ’em today: ‘We suit you up swell at Arthur Capelle’—good slogan, right? Could’ve written it myself. And he was so modest he smeared black shoe polish on his ankles so they wouldn’t notice he didn’t have any socks . . . By the way, Lottie girl, you could think of me too if you’re gonna pour another glass.” The telephone purrs and he picks up. “What? It’s already one thirty? Where was I supposed to be? The Regatta Club? We’ll have to cancel it! . . . Whaddya mean, not possible? Why’s it impossible when we’ve got this washing demonstration going . . . oh, our people are on lunch break?—now listen here: if I’m working through lunch myself, maybe the little apprentice who’s s’pposed to fetch a bucket can . . . Where the hell is he, by the way? We’ve been waiting here for hours . . . Okay, just have some sausage sandwiches brought up for us—and—Bussekins, we got another bottle of champagne in the fridge? Good. Carlotta’ll be right out t’get it . . .”