Chapter Twenty-ThreeThe smell of rotting food assailed Ruth as she stood in front of the pile of rubble that had been her home before the bomb turned her life upside down. The landlord had not begun cleanup efforts, and the bricks, plaster, and thatch still lay in a tangled mess. A fine layer of dust shrouded everything, and she coughed when the wind picked up particles and tossed them into the air.
Down the street, two women swept the sidewalk in front of their houses. An older man bundled in a wool pea coat and dark trousers balanced on a ladder. His green-and-white-striped muffler flapped in the breeze while he covered one of his windows with a board, the nails ringing with every strike of his hammer. Near the end of the block, a group of children tossed a ball back and forth, their fa
