Carla knew her parents were about to have a row. The second she walked into the kitchen she felt the hostility, like the bone-deep cold of the wind that blew through the streets of Berlin before a February snowstorm. She almost turned and walked back out again.
Archive for June, 2012
“I am dead. They killed me as well.”
The old woman’s words cut straight to my heart.
“Please tell me what happened that day.” Maria spoke so softly I had to strain to catch the Spanish.
“I kissed the little ones and left for market.” Eyes down, voice toneless. “I did not know that I would never see them again.”
At one time or another, it happens to everyone. A call comes late at night, bringing news of the death of someone close, and with it a nightmarish sense of unreality. You entertain selfish thoughts: Why is this happening to me? Then you immediately feel ashamed because tragedy has not actually struck you. You, after all, are still alive, healthy, and reasonably sane.