Otto von Heisenberg was the son of a domestic worker and a farmer. Your father always encouraged you to wake up early to take care of everything that would one day be yours. At 10, Otto knew every bit of his father's farm, knew where each machine was, and knew the exact location of each tool. He knew even more, the right time to plant and harvest each crop, as well as the name and type of each grape. His mother, despite being a domestic worker, taught him many things. I said "despite being a maid", not because a maid has no things to teach or has no culture (my mother is a maid), but due to the lack of time: Otto's mother spent all day at the neighboring farmers' house, who were richer and able to pay. When she got home, she prepared dinner that night and lunch for the next day. But Ann, she taught him a lot; with its Otto not only learned to read and write in his mother tongue, German, but he also learned English and French. At the age of 10, without ever having stepped in a school, he spoke three languages ​​fluently, had great knowledge of geography, science, history, literature and also mathematics. In fact, the boy was, in fact, good at math.

Otto sat every afternoon waiting for his father to bathe and come and tell him good stories. Otto's grandfather, Karl's father, had fought in the First World War and Karl himself was 15 years old when he had to enlist. Karl did not like the national socialist regime at all, did not share the same thoughts and ideas as Hitler, but he was forced to enlist, just as his father was not interested in the issues of war either. Karl had just bathed and went into the living room. The room was beautiful: it was composed of many books, two large sofas, a huge stone fireplace and a piano. Karl did as he did routinely in the afternoons: he sat in his own corner of the sofa and lit his pipe. I said "his own corner", because Karl made only one requirement inside the house: that his corner on the sofa was always free whenever he wanted to sit there. When the crops or crops were going well, he lit his pipe and told jokes, talked and played with his son and his wife. When things went wrong, he did the same, he never let work change his mood inside his home, within his family. Otto waited for his father to settle, took a glass of wine for him and asked:

- Dad, how did you and my mom get to know each other?

- Ah! This is quite a story.

- Tell me dad!

-Not now, after we have supper, your mother and I will tell you.

- Dad, I did some math. You were 15 when World War II broke out. You never tell stories of World War II.

- I speak a lot about the First War, don't you like it?

- Grandpa Wilhelm fought there. But I would like to know about the War in which you fought!

- After dinner you will hear my best story from World War II.

- But you told me you were going to tell me how you met my mother. - And I will, but I'll tell you, too.

They had dinner with the same happiness as it used to happen every night. Karl spoke of the new planting areas and how the grape production was doing. Otto was responsible for milking the goats and with milk Karl made great cheese. That day, the boy was happier to have milked a few more liters. After they had finished their dinner and washed the dishes and pots, they went to the living room where Karl prepared to start telling his best memory of the war; the best memory of your life:

- I was born in the year 1923, just four years after the end of the First World War. My father served in the First World War, but that is another story for another day. I spent my childhood here, on this very farm, doing the same things you do, Otto. When I was 15, World War II broke out, and every German was forced to enlist. Neither I, nor my father nor my brother Göthe wanted to participate in the war: me for the first time and my father for the second time. We continued to work here on the farm, until the day when two officers came here and intimidated us to participate. My father, who had knowledge on the front, was sent to the border between Germany and Poland. My brother was very intelligent and was sent to work with Joseph Goebbels, who was the second most important man in the Third Reich, the minister of advertising and leader of the German film industry. I flew the plane here from the farm, and when they saw it, they joined me in a pilot school. In less than a month I was already driving the Landa De-40. In the year 1941 they sent me to bomb London. I was crossing the English Channel and a thick fog took over everything, I couldn't see anything after a foot from the end of the plane. At that time a very sadness hit me, so I started to come up with a plan to not kill anyone, or almost anyone. I was going to throw the plane overboard. When the fog passed, the plane was already on the continent. I took the plane to London and before I could land, I was shot down. The shot did not bring down my plane, but it destroyed the first engine and the left flapp. I managed to take the plane to the field, and thank God the plane that had shot me down did not follow me. I saw a field on a farm and there I posed. I was very happy to know how to speak a little English, as I was received by several men armed with rakes, sickles and pistols, so I managed to say that I was not their enemy. The people on the farm checked the bullets on the plane.

- Your story really hits. You did not use any warfare from your plane, you are welcomed into my home. We will repair your plane and you will come home.

- I don't want to go back until the war is over.

- I can say that you are well received in my house, you can stay until the war ends.

- Thank you, sir ...

- Do not call me sir, because our Lord is in heaven, just call me Charles.

- Thank you very much, Charles.

The next day, I got up with Charles and went to show him what I knew in the field. He was very happy with my knowledge and we helped each other a lot. At lunch he asked me to lunch at the table.

- Woman, this is my German friend who crashed here yesterday.

- Are you German? - She asked.

-Yes, but I'm a friend.

- It is difficult to see a German who is a friend.

During all the time I spent on that farm, that woman was suspicious of me, if I was a spy or if I really was a friend. There was more: that first lunch I was warned. Charles told me:

- Karl, I stayed at my house and you can stay here until the war is over, but I will warn you: my two daughters will arrive tomorrow.

- That won't be a problem. I will have all respect and give you my word that I will do nothing wrong to lose your confidence.

- I hope so, my son.

Charles treated me exactly this way: like a son. That night, he told me that he had lost two children to war. I told him that my father was on the border with Poland. We worked together and it was from him that I learned the craft of wine. The other day, the girls arrived early. The oldest seemed to me to be about 16 years old and the youngest was about 11; later I found out that the oldest was 15 and the youngest 12. They were staying on a neighboring farm, which belonged to Charles's brother. I couldn't notice anything about the youngest, because I fell in love with the oldest. I had promised that I would stay there until the war ended and that after that I would return home, but as long as I remained there, I would never break the trust of that man who welcomed me so well, he had welcomed me so well and I would not be ungrateful. There, at that moment, two things became clear: the first was that I was at an impasse and the second was that Charles had realized this. He didn't realize that I had fallen in love with his daughter, but he realized that something had changed. He and I talked a lot, after his daughters arrived, I distanced myself and became quieter. A year went by and I was still there. I remember exactly the date: January 23, 1942. The oldest girl was turning 16, we were celebrating when a group of German officers arrived at the farm. They started cursing and hitting me. I just hung my head and kept quiet, but they didn't stop and things got worse: they started drinking and got more and more aggressive and started grabbing the girls. One of the officers grabbed the older one by the hair and pulled her out of the room, while two others tried to rip the girl's clothes off. Charles flew at them like a dog, but he was hit by a bruise on the eyebrow, which opened on the spot and started bleeding. Brigite, the girls' mother, cried copiously. When I saw them beating Charles, Brigite crying and the officers wanting to hurt the poor girls, I was furious and shouted:

- Get your filthy paws off her, you motherfucking sauerkrauts!

- Who are you to talk to a German officer like that?

- Ich bin der Teufels son.

The only weapon I had at my fingertips was the fireplace poker. If I grabbed him, I would have to fight those eight men, if I kept quiet, I would have to leave the farm because I was a coward. The younger girl was already naked, and the man was already undressing. I took the poker and shouted:

- Wieder sie für die Hölle!

I was furious. I was not going to be able to see that unscrupulous scene: I punctured the chest of that maniac who was undressing. At this point, Charles took out a gun, but he can't do much. It felt like I was being dominated by a taming spirit. Man, I ran through that whole room and in a few seconds all those men were down, with their skulls pierced. Charles dropped his gun and if he could go along, his arms would follow. He asked, not wanting answers:

- What did you do?

I didn't know, and I didn't want to answer either. We counted seven, one was missing and also the oldest girl. We ran into the garden and saw the headlights of the German Jeep light up. The girl screamed. The old man aimed the gun, but he was shaking a lot. That's when I took the gun out of his hand and shot it. The Jeep spun on the dirt track and stopped. I had hit him right in the chest, we ran to the car. The older girl was naked, tied up, and badly hurt. The officer had not yet died, and despite being seriously injured, he laughed and said:

- Other patrols will come and you will not escape, you bastards. When Germany wins the war, deserters like you will be hunted around the world.

He pulled out a Walter and fired. I looked at Charles and he looked at me, but the shot hadn't caught him and I didn't feel anything. Charles, before hitting him on the head with an ax said:

- Hey kraut, tonight you sleep in hell.

He knocked about 10 or 12 times just to make sure that he had killed him. Charles and I took the bodies and threw them into the river, the women cleaned the room and made soup. We were finishing the soup; we were all silent when Brigite said:

- God! You are bleeding Karl; you have been hit.

- I didn't even feel the bullet, it's the adrenaline.

They made me sit on the couch. The girls brought whiskey, needles, threads, clean cloths and tweezers. I took a sip of the drink and Brigite threw a little at the wound. It felt like I had gone to hell and returned so badly that it hurt. She was quick and pulled the bullet out while I felt the alcohol burning in my flesh. Brigite's eldest daughter stitched up the dressing. I looked her in the eye for the first time: she really was beautiful. She had gray eyes, wavy brown hair and white skin, so beautiful that I fell in love even more, I felt that she was born for me and me for her. But I had given my word, I was not going to break it. I had to keep silent, because a comma can change a sentence, just as a word can destroy a great friendship. When Charles and I came home from work, after I got better from the gunshot wound, I received, we overheard the two girls talking. Not that we stopped behind the door and listened, but we were sitting on the porch ripping off the dirt-soiled shoes and they stopped in the living room and the older one said:

- I love Karl, but I don't know if he loves me and I don't know if our parents would let me marry a German.

- He's almost English. Has he said anything to you yet?

- He never spoke to me more than thank you or good morning. Either he doesn't like me, or he doesn't care about me. What is wrong with me?

The old man swarmed and the girls flushed. We all had lunch in silence and when Charles and I went back to work, he said nothing.             

Then, when we got home, he apologized:

- We shouldn't have overheard their conversation.

- I feel really guilty.

- Calm down, my son. This will not interfere in any way with the stay that I offer you at my home, you have already proved that you are trustworthy.

- Even though I'm German?

- For me, you are called Charles Jr. Did you know that Karl in German is Charles in English?

- It's true.

- Well, you're Charles Jr. A son for me.

It destroyed me inside. I didn't want to be his son, not because I didn't like him, but because I loved his daughter. It was at that time that I made a very difficult decision: I would leave. When I got home after work, I packed my bag with the few things I had and announced that I was leaving. Charles asked me: