On My Great-Grandfather, My Grandfather, My Father, and Me

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the Rhine; it is after all only fifteen minutes from our house. There is a park there and a path along the river. On the German side one can even walk or bike all the way up it to Basel; but on the French side it gets lost in a steppe in front of an industrial plant, and we are, after all, on the French side. Shortly before reaching the steppe, we sat down on a bench and looked across the river; over there is Germany. I said to Peter, Now we don't really know any more where we belong; but Peter answered, That isn't really important to me. We simply belong at our writing desks. The trees rustle because a wind is blowing. On the bench beside us sits another family; their children are playing ball. The wind carries the ball away and it falls at our feet; we throw it back and the child throws it again to us, and it goes on like this for a while, and then we are talking, first to the child and then with its parents. They are Turks. They used to be in Germany; now they have a shop in Strasbourg, not too far from us. We really must go there some time.