WORKER, PEACETIME MILLIONAIRE, and once again, worker. That was and is the life of Herr Deutsch.

Well, to be precise, he isn't really a worker today. Getting on in years a bit, and, like all others with neither income nor money, he has to brave the crowds and go to the welfare office to withdraw some of the heavy taxes that he paid to an earlier state. But, as one who was self-employed, he doesn't receive any unemployment support. He fights — quite understandably — with the welfare office and squabbles about politics with his children and a few other people who see the world differently than he does. Still, he spends his time writing admiring letters to the former Kaiser, living in exile in Doorn.

Once, before the financial crisis took his car, he drove across the Dutch border, down the clean, brick streets, as far as the Doorn estate's gate. The gatekeeper, not surprisingly, didn't let Herr Deutsch in. Later, though, Herr Deutsch did receive a letter:

His offspring, brought into the world in great numbers by Herr Deutsch owing to his earlier wealth, have only one comment: Pitt Deutsch is a fool. Incomprehensible. Such a pity, too. Twenty years ago he had such a good head on his shoulders.

The first name, Pitt, is the only thing left the family from those “founder” years. One of the good things about Herr and Frau Deutsch was that they didn't put on high-class airs like a lot of people who made their fortune during the war. They remained in wealth what they had been earlier: a simple, hardworking, and somewhat too stingy Berlin family. They stayed true to the city's northern districts, and had no interest in a villa in Grunewald, a French governess for the children, or gold utensils for their daily use. But, when it came to his name, Herr Deutsch wanted to be called “Pitt,” not “August.”