Book 1, Shequere Avxhiu
Chapter 9AVXHIU WAS WAFTED INTO consciousness by the sounds of late morning. Beside her, the German slept peacefully on the sagging bed, large feet protruding from under her old yellow cover. If there ever was a dawning of a new age, this was it. Waking up was easy.
She squirmed with the delight of a new hot day, so different in its familiarity. The same old sun played with the empty glass jars that held her onion plants in winter. They split the morning sunlight across the flaking window and soaked the mildew on the tattered lace curtain with color. The sun had worked diligently to erase the fine print of communism from old brown newspapers used to soften the advances of winter through the warped window frame. Faded news from a fading era.
Avxhiu was happy. Her
