KITTY: We oughta have a stage like this.
FELIX: It’s a bit too windy for me.
KITTY: But it’s not hot and stinky like the movie houses. (She ties herself into a knot.)
FELIX: And we’ve just composed a poem up here.
KITTY: What do you mean we? Oskarnello and Roswitha made it up.
FELIX: But we helped out when they were stuck for a rhyme.
KITTY: Just one word is missing, then it’ll be done.
FELIX: Oskar wants to know what those spikes in the sand are called.
KITTY: ‘Cause he needs them for the poem.
FELIX: They’re too important to leave out.
KITTY: Won’t you tell us, Mr. Corporal? What are they called?
FELIX: Maybe he’s not allowed to. On account of enemy ears.
KITTY: We promise not to tell anybody.
FELIX: It’s for art.
KITTY: Oskarnello has gone to so much trouble.
FELIX: And how beautifully he writes. In Sütterlin script.
KITTY: I wonder where he learned it.
FELIX: Oh, Oskar’s educated. He knows everything, except what those spikes are called.
LANKES: I’ll tell you if the captain has no objection.
BEBRA: But maybe it’s top secret.
FELIX: But Oskar needs to know.
KITTY: Or the poem will be ruined.
ROSWITHA: And we’re all so curious.
BEBRA: You might as well tell us. It’s an order.
LANKES: Well, we put them in as a defense against tanks and landing craft. They look like asparagus, don’t they? Well, that’s why we call them. Rommel asparagus.
FELIX: Rommel…
KITTY: …asparagus? Does it fit, Oskarnello?
OSKAR:—It fits!
(He writes the word on the paper, hands the poem to Kitty on top of the pillbox. She knots herself still more and recites the following lines like a schoolchild.)
KITTY: On the Atlantic Wall
(All applaud, including Lankes.)
LANKES: It’s low tide.
ROSWITHA: That’s time for breakfast.
(She brandishes her big basket, which is decorated with bows and artificial flowers.)
KITTY: Oh, yes, a picnic in the open.
FELIX: Nature has whetted our appetites.
ROSWITHA: Oh, sacred act of belly-filling that will unite the nations as long as men eat breakfast!
BEBRA: Let us feast on the concrete. Let us have human rituals built on solid foundations!
(All except for Lankes climb up on the pillbox. Roswitha spreads out a bright flowery tablecloth. From the bottomless basket she produces little cushions with tassels and fringes. A pink and bright green parasol is opened, a tiny gramophone with loudspeaker is set up. Little plates, little spoons, little knives, egg cups, and napkins are distributed.)
FELIX: I’d like some of the pâté de foie gras.
KITTY: Have you still got any of that caviar we rescued from Stalingrad?
OSCAR: You oughtn’t to spread the Danish butter so thick, Roswitha.
BEBRA: I’m glad to see you looking out for her figure. That’s the right spirit, son.
ROSWITHA: But I like it and it’s good for me. Oh! When I think of the cake and whipped cream the Air Force served us in Copenhagen.
BEBRA: The Dutch chocolate in the thermos bottle is still nice and warm.
KITTY: I’m just crazy about these canned American cookies.
ROSWITHA: But they’re only good if you spread some of the South African ginger preserve on top.
OSCAR: A little moderation, Roswitha, I beseech you.
ROSWITHA: What about you? Look at the big thick slices of that nasty English corned beef you’ve been helping yourself to.
BEBRA: What about you, my dear corporal? May I offer you a paper-thin slice of raisin bread with plum jam?
LANKES: If I weren’t on duty, sir.
ROSWITHA: He needs an official order.
KITTY: Yes, do give him an order.
BEBRA: Very well. Corporal Lankes, you are hereby ordered to accept a slice of raisin bread with French plum jam, a soft-boiled Danish egg, a spot of Soviet caviar, and a little cup of genuine Dutch chocolate.
LANKES: Yes, sir.
(He joins the others on top of the pillbox.)
BEBRA: Haven’t we another cushion for the corporal?
OSCAR: He can have mine. I’ll sit on my drum.
ROSWITHA: Mustn’t catch cold, precious. Concrete is treacherous, and you’re not used to it.
KITTY: He can have my cushion too. I’ll just knot myself up a little, it helps my digestion anyway.
FELIX: But do eat over the tablecloth or you’ll get honey on the concrete. We wouldn’t want to damage the defenses! (All giggle.)
BEBRA: Ah, the sea air! How fine it makes us feel.
ROSWITHA: Feel!
BEBRA: The breast expands.
ROSWITHA: Expands!
BEBRA: The heart casts off its crust.
ROSWITHA: Crust!
BEBRA: The soul is reborn.
ROSWITHA: Reborn!
BEBRA: The eyes soar aloft.
ROSWITHA: Aloft!
BEBRA: Over the sea. the endless sea… I say. Corporal, I see something black down there on the beach. Whatever it is, there’s five of them.
KITTY: So do I. With five umbrellas.
FELIX: Six.
KITTY: Five! One, two, three, four, five!
LANKES: It’s the nuns from Lisieux. They’ve been evacuated and shipped over here with their kindergarten.
KITTY: I don’t see any children. Just five umbrellas.
LANKES: They leave the children at Bavent. Sometimes they come down here at low tide to pick up the crabs and shellfish that get stuck in the Rommel asparagus.
KITTY: Poor things!
ROSWITHA: Shouldn’t we offer them some corned beef and cookies?
OSCAR: I suggest raisin bread with plum jam. It’s Friday; nuns aren’t allowed to eat corned beef on Friday.
KITTY: They’re running now. They seem to be gliding on their umbrellas.
LANKES: They always do that when they’ve finished picking. Then they begin to play. Especially Agheta, the novice, she’s just a kid that doesn’t know which way is up. Maybe you could spare another cigarette? Thank you, sir. And the one back there, the fat one that isn’t running is Scholastica, the mother superior. She doesn’t like them to play on the beach, she thinks it might be against the rule of their order.
(Nuns with umbrellas are seen running in the background. Roswitha puts on the gramophone: “Sleigh Bells in St. Petersburg.” The nuns dance and shout.)
AGNETA: Yoohoo, Sister Scholastica!
SCHOLASTICA: Agneta, Sister Agneta!
AGNETA: Yoohoo, Sister Scholastica!
SCHOLASTICA: Come back now, child! Sister Agneta!
AGNETA: I can’t. It carries me away.
SCHOLASTICA: Then you must pray, sister, for a conversion.
AGNETA: A sorrowful one?
SCHOLASTICA: A merciful one.
AGNETA: A joyful one?