"They are fighting to get the whole world under an iron heel--to
crush--to grind--to destroy. My father reads it and weeps. He is an
old man, Fraeulein, and his mind goes back to the Germany which sang and
told fairy tales, and made toys; do you see?
"Yet there are people here who do not understand, who point their
fingers at him, at me. Who think because I am Ulrich Stoelle that I am
not--American. Yet what am I but that?"
He got up and walked around the room restlessly. "I am an American.
If I was not born here, can I help that? But my heart has been moulded
here. For me there is no other country. Germany I love--yes, but as
one loves a woman who has been led away--because one thinks of the
things she might have been, not of the thing she is."
He came back to her. "Will you sell me your elephant, Fraeulein?"
She held out her hand to him. Her eyes were wet. "I will lend him to
your father. Indeed, I cannot sell him."
He took her hand in a strong grasp. "I knew you were kind. If you
could only see my father."
"Bring him here some day."
"He is too old to be brought. He sticks close to his chair.
Pages:
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176