The End is the Beginning -Part -6-

At the wall of slate.                                                                                      

Neither Kurt nor Helmut can make it that day.   So Hermann and I go up to the “Schlierwand”, the wall of slate. We have most successfully fished up there before, and now we have “pine apples”, American hand grenades and we can fish again.

The wall of slate rises about 5 to 7 meters above the water level and we take a position at the lowest point. Hermann brought only one of the famed pine apples. For the first time I see an American hand grenade. It is impressive in its neatness. About the size of a good sized potato, it fits comfortably into your hand, and can be hurled much like a rock. Hermann hands it to me. It’s surprisingly heavy. On one side of the ribbed exterior an L-shaped clasp is held by a ring through a cotter pin. I hold the grenade in my left hand and I pull the ring. Now I can lift the clasp. A black button which was held down by the clasp springs up and I seem to hear a hissing sound. I am so petrified; I drop the grenade in front of us. At the same moment Hermann kicks it with his shoe.

As if in slow motion the grenade spins side ways, rolls toward the wall and disappears over the lip.  Hermann and I hit the ground and cover our heads.

 The grenade is now in free fall, out of our sight. It does not hit the water. It blows half way down. I remember thinking that it’s not as loud as the German potato masher.

Still lying on the ground, we look at each other and we become instantly aware that we were mighty close to a belly full of shrapnel and likely death. I begin to shake all over my body. I cannot talk.

Hermann sits up and reaches over to help me into a sitting position. I can feel that he too is shaking.

We sit for a while, just looking at each other.

Then Hermann begins to laugh. I chime in and like two idiots we sit there and laugh. Finally I say: “That was no nine seconds.” I refer to the delay of the German hand grenade. Hermann is still laughing.. Finally we get up and walk home. We don’t talk too much on the way.

Days later, in a casual conversation with one of our American friends, we find out that pineapples have a three and a half second delay. You hold it in your throwing hand with the ring protruding through your fingers. You pull the ring and still holding the clasp in place you throw the damned thing.

The clasp falls off as the grenade leaves your hand, and three seconds later it explodes.

Now you tell me.

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