"This is not California. . ."

"Before he could answer, the door from one of the other adjoining rehearsal rooms swung open.  A plump man came in dragging a small child and a cello, one in each hand.  'Now here's Dr. Munte,' said the fat man to his son.  'Ask him how long you need every day.'  He turned to us and said, 'Getting the little devil to practice would try the patience of a saint.  All he thinks about is American jazz.  Talk to him, Dr. Munte.  Tell him he's got to practice.  Tell him he must play real music, German music.'

'If the interest, is lacking, the child will never love music, Herr Spengler.  Perhaps you should let him do what he wants.'

'Yes, that's the modern way, isn't it,' said the fat man, not bothering to hide his annoyance at Munte's lack of support.  'Well, I don't believe in the modern way.  This is not California. . . .'  He studied my appearance and seemed to guess that I was not an East Berliner.  But, having decided that I was not a foreigner, he continued: 'We are Germans, aren't we?  This is not California -- yet.  And may the Lord protect us from the sort of things that go on over there in the West.  If I say my son is going to practice the cello, he'll do it.  Do you hear that, Lothar?  You'll practice every night for an hour before you go out to play football with your friends."

'Yes, Vaterchen,' said the boy with affection.  He held his father's hand tightly until the man unclasped it in order to get his keys from his pocket.  The boy seemed reassured by his father's dictum.

That fat man put the cello into a locker and closed the door.  Then he locked it with a padlock.  'You're not strong enough for football,' he said loudly as they went out.  The little boy grabbed his father's hand again.

'We Germans find reassurance in tyranny,' said Munte sadly.  'That's always been our downfall."

-- Len Deighton, Berlin Game