22
Snowmen
“Ouch.”
A snowball hits Peter in the face. Its fragments trickle down his neck. He is standing on a street without his coat, facing a row of houses, with walls of white or yellow stucco and red-slate roof tiles, each fronted by fenced-in yards. A blanket of fresh snow covers everything. In the yard on the other side of the street, three boys toss snowballs at each other, squealing and laughing. Two girls are patting the rounded belly of a headless snowman.
“This is insane.”
Peter turns to the familiar voice behind him. “Lioba.”
She seems unchanged, still in her hose and jacket, her satchel over her shoulder, and a cap hiding her hair. However, her face has gotten greyer and sadder since Peter last saw her.
“Can you believe this?” Lioba scowls. “They are making a snowman.”
