"That was when the rot set in… In the Bunker. When they took Uncle Hermann out and shot him, my own life was altered, in that minute. When the grown-ups began to frighten me with their strangeness I ran back to the only people I could understand – the children. Then they were taken away from me and I knew they were dead too. With nowhere to run next, I felt the whole of the earth moving under my feet, and I knew that the soldiers were coming. But there had to be something I could reach for and trust in. Not my mother, because she was like the other grown-ups, strange and tormented, and I'd seen her coming out of that room where the children were, and knew what had happened. Only someone very powerful could help me now, someone who could never die and who would always be there to help. The only god I had ever been told about was the Fuhrer."

Suddenly she was looking down at me and because of the angle of the light from the street the lower part of her face shadowed her eyes, and I couldn't see their expression.

"It's called a trauma, isn't it? A psychic injury setting up a neurosis."

It seemed she really wanted an answer, so I said:

"I prefer the simpler phrase you used."

"What was that?"

"The rot setting in."

"It's the same thing."

"But a different attitude. The thing is to keep your feet on the ground instead of up on a couch."

"I don't go to psychiatrists any more."

"Then you're the only one in all Berlin who doesn't."

"I tried them."

"Gave them up?"