Look Who's Back

by Timur Vermes

I had to buy some time, weigh up my options. I needed to find somewhere to stay. Then I realised, all too painfully, that I had not a pfennig on me.

perhaps I could build a parade ground or a section of autobahn.

I recalled that this alternative to coffee had been known as “ersatz”, and immediately I thought of the sugary grain bar which now took the place of good German bread. This unfortunate newspaper seller was embarrassed in front of his guest because the stranglehold of the British vermin allowed him to offer nothing better. It was an outright scandal. I was overcome with emotion. “It’s not your fault, my good man,” I assured him. “In any case, I’m not much of a coffee lover. But I would be very grateful for a glass of water.”

What irritates me most of all about these morning people is their horribly good temper, as if they had been up for three hours and already conquered France.

“This is your last warning, Frau Catarrh-Throat. You will issue these contract documents at once or you and your family will find yourselves in Dachau.

dumbfounded. “What will I do until then?” “I don’t know,” she said, laughing as she turned to go. “Touch of Blitzkrieg, perhaps?” “I will remember that!” I said, frostily.

It is in times of crisis that the true Führer is revealed.

The Führer is nothing without his Volk.

You can sign a piece of paper in all innocence, but the next day someone else will paste a declaration above it, and suddenly you find you have given away Transylvania to some corrupt Balkan entity.

“So who is the baddie, then?” Sensenbrink groaned. “Himmler?”

have to say, I had not been applauded like that since the Anschluss of Austria in 1938.

once again I noticed just how much quieter a city is without the fire of anti-aircraft guns.