Notes:

Schindler left his wife Emilie in Argentina in 1958 and returned back to Germany.
In 1962 he was allowed to plant a tree on the Avenue of the Righteous at Yad Vashem.
I made Anni up.

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There's a thin line between sober and drunk, and sometimes you're most sober when there's nothing left in your cup.

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Oskar reflects.

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"Let me tell you about my little girl.

'She's beautiful, you know. Like… like a star that glides into the sky at dusk. Glides. I thought of that myself. She has gold hair, gold, gold! Like Emilie's was; only Emilie was nineteen. Little. I like to touch it, her hair, and I tell Emilie, I tell her: 'you watch this girl, Emilie, she will be a stunner; yes, a head-turner.

'You know my wife Emilie, yes, Itzhak?

'What? I know your name is Henry. You've been Henry for a long time now, friend, why would I forget that? Eh, You've had too much to drink, not me…

'Yes, my wife. Emilie. Emilie… Sometimes she says so much. She looks and frowns, always frowns, and I say, 'Emilie, you must smile, like this,' and I show her a real smile: an American smile.

'But it is my little girl I am thinking of. I bought her a little red jacket for her; that's what started it all. I told Emilie, 'you make her wear it. I want to see her in it,' and Emilie was good and did that. Just like I asked. But then she started asking questions; so many questions! She made Anni--

'Anni? My daughter. I told you already, Henry. Eh, where was I? … Yes, she made Anni not to wear this little perfect jacket. She said it was wrong after I told her. But what does she know? I liked to see her in it, even if sometimes it made me cry.

'No, I'm not ashamed of my tears. I will tell you now, Itzhak, that--

'Henry, Henry, yes, I know… Men don't understand why women cry. But I do. I've known all sorts of women, but they've all cried. All of them; so I began to think, maybe women know more than us, eh? Maybe these tears will do some good. I learned this long ago. Yes, I know now tears are good, so I tell you, don't be afraid to cry.

'Like this glass, I am full.

'You see my stomach now? Ah, I'm not as I once was, strong and thin. Maybe I never was. But I had my women. Emilie… she understood. But not anymore. Now she is different, and she and Anni are so old. All of them. Women grow old, I know now.

'Do you think Henry, sometimes, why is this glass so thick? I think you do. We all do. So heavy, and so little drink inside. No room to grow and breathe; just trapped.

'Where are they now? Home. No, not home. I'm home now. They're there. I left them, or maybe they left me. I couldn't stay; they couldn't watch. Some of my children were there--

'Yes, my children. I call them that. But really, they're all strangers. They come up to me, their children, and shake my hand. They are happy. They like the birds that sing and the grass and they would even like you, Henry, but I didn't know them. What could I say? I thanked them, and said, 'and this is my daughter, Anni,' and I would get mad, that Emilie hadn't made her wear the red coat.

'It was a nice coat.

'You know, they've planted a tree for me. No, I planted it. I forget sometimes. Maybe it was me, maybe it was them; but it does not matter. It stands there. I've seen it twice now. I sometimes wake up at night; I worry about it. What if the leaves all fall out, and the branches get sewn off? Someone could do it. I am not so great that people would know my name. Maybe they would think it was a mistake, and decide to cut it down?

'I think of them all now, and I think, they are my list, no, my line. A long line. They grow and grow; sometimes I dream about them all. My children; all my children. I am their papa, and sometimes they forget it. But it's alright, because I forget a lot too.

'You know, I don't like the smell of this whiskey… it reminds me of something. I don't know what. Who. It reminds me of who; of someone. Yes. You know, Itzhak--

'Oh, Henry, please forgive me. Are you closing up already? So soon? You know, it feels so good to be home again. This is home. I know it. But I like to go down there sometimes, and see the trees. I count them until I get to mine. It's getting big, you should come down and see it with me next time. It will cost you though, the boats are so slow these days. But it's very nice, the Mediterranean, and the sky is blue.

'Anni's eyes are blue. Blue like you and me.

'Oh, yes, I'm leaving. Here's your glass. I'm going, I'm going. Walk me out, will you?

'I think, I think that it's dark outside. Mind if I sleep here? I'll just lay on those chairs-- no? Alright, goodnight then. I'll come around tomorrow. I'll tell you some more about my farm.

'Yes, goodnight, Itzhak."

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