Martin Amis - Golo's conversation with Aunt Gerda (201-02) lyrics

“No, I love it here, Tantchen—it's like a holiday from reality.” “Just plain old family life.” “Quite.” There was Adolf, twelve (named after his godfather), Rudi, nine (named after his godfather, ex-Deputy Leader Rudolf Hess), and Heinie, seven (named after his godfather, Reichsfuhrer-SS Heinrich Himmler). There were also three daughters, Ilse (eleven), Irmgard (four), and Eva (two), and another boy, Hartmut (one). And Frau Bormann, that Christmas, had special news to announce: she was pregnant. “Which will make eight, Tante,” I said as I followed her into the kitchen—the bare pine, the dressers, the kaleidoscopic crockery. “Are you going to have any more?” “Well I need ten. Then they give you the best medal. Anyway it'll make nine, not eight. I've already got eight. There was Ehrengard.” “Indeed there was.” I went on boldly (Gerda being Gerda), “Sorry, old thing, but does Ehrengard count? Can I help with that?” Oh yes.” With gloved hands and quivering forearms Gerda hoisted a tureen the size of a bidet from oven to hob. “Oh yes, the dead ones count. They don't have to be alive. When Hartmut was born and I applied for the gold Mutterkreuz—what were they going to say? No gold Mutterkreuz for you. One of them died so you've only got seven?” I stretched in my chair and said, “Now I remember. When you moved from silver to gold, Tantchen. With Hartmut. It was a proud day. Here, can I do anything?” “Stop being ridiculous, Neffe. Stay where you are. A nice gla** of—what's this?—Trockenbeerenausles. There. Have a rollmop. What are you giving them?” “The children? Cold cash as usual. Strictly calibrated by age.” “You always give them too much, Neffe. It goes to their heads.” “ . . . I was thinking, dear, that there might be a slight difficulty if your tenth is a boy,” I said (such babies were automatically called Adolf, and a**igned the same godfather). You'll have two Adolfs.” “That's all right. We're already calling Adolf Kronzi. In case.” Very wise. By the way I'm sorry I called Rudi Rudi. I mean I'm sorry I called Helmut Rudi.” Rudi's name was changed, by court order, after Rudolf Hess, the noted mesmerist and clairvoyant (and number three in the Reich) flew alone to Scotland in May 1941, hoping to negotiate a truce with somebody he'd vaguely heard of called the Duke of Hamilton. “Don't apologize, said Gerda. “I call Rudi Rudi all the time. Call Helmut Rudi, I mean. Oh and remember: Don't call Ilse Ilse. Ilse's now called Eike. Named for Frau Hess, so Ilse's now Eike.”