“I’m just browsing through some old stuff,” he said. “Do you see this map? It’s from the airport. I stole it from the Germans.”
Not true. It’s a copy of a map made by a modern copyer, probably fifteen or twenty years ago. But who cares? I know that during the war, as a child, he did break into German offices in the village, and that he did steal maps from them. But now, at the age of 96, all these memories are fading into a thick fog. Sometimes elements from different memories come together into a new story that is almost true. Almost. And that’s more than enough now, for him as well as for me.