Data for a Natural History of Small Nations Small Nations as a rule peep out of the pockets of big ones and there they rave and wave their arms about: 'vile usurper!' or 'dearest friend!' at times of historic hurricanes they fall into hoof-prints brimming with water heavy cavalry clatters over them they are rolled flat by caterpillar tracks but those who survive tattered and torn and maimed and half-paralysed go on raving and waving – in disbelief the giants shake their heads: 'what resilience!' 'who would have believed it?' these small nations can take quite a lot Conversation in Jerusalem What's the news? Nothing unusual. Yesterday – Friday – three criminals were put to death by the Romans. Two robbers, and a batty would-be prophet accused of incitement against the State. How? The usual way: you know, crucifixion. Towards evening, yes, a small earthquake occurred, causing cracks in the wall of the Temple, but no damage to people or property. Tomorrow, by the way, the Proconsul is giving a great dinner and everyone who's anyone is invited. He's bringing a chef over – so they tell me – from Alexandra, no less! So while nothing unusual happened this weekend, the dinner should be an exceptional event. The Garden of Exile This garden is unlike all others: English, well-tended French, or charming Japanese, open or closed, lawn-covered, flower-rich; this is a garden I was banished to for opening my mouth too wide, just once, and boldly speaking out. It isn't nearly as depressing as some imagine, neither is it as colourful or scented or luxurious as the view from a grim tenement makes it seem. There are two fruit-trees that adorn this garden: the trees of freedom and of memory. From either tree you must pick an equal burden, but never should forget its history: that while you made the garden as your own, the two trees there belong to God alone. Translated by Clive Wilmer and George Gömöri Cover photograph by Otto Kaiser | 
