Tony Marino sat in Gertrude Manstein’s parlor, enjoying a cup of tea. He had gone to the pharmacy to pick up her prescriptions and then delivered some groceries. Their casual conversation, originally focused on the present and the fabulous future Kirstin would have once she got to West Berlin, wandered to the past, offering images that neither wanted to see.
“It was the worst day of my life,” Gertrude said sadly, a vacant look in her pale blue eyes.
“Kirstin told me about it briefly,” Marino said. “I can’t even imagine.”
“I always felt responsible,” she continued, the heavy burden she bore visible in the wrinkled recesses of her face. “I asked her to go to the store, just in case the owner had something to sell.” She paused to sip her tea, her eyes misty. “There wasn’t much to eat after
