City of Women

The grandpa just stares backward at a world that no longer exists, or forward at a world beyond his comprehension.

Certainly she no longer thinks of the future, because every day the future proves itself to be a duplicate of the present. So instead she roots through the past.

I saw your face, and I knew that I simply had to hear the sound of your voice.

It was the sort of cold that followed you inside, that searched your clothes for gaps and penetrated you slowly, until it crept into your heart and chilled your blood.

Take hold of kettle, broom, and pan, then you’ll surely get a man! Shop and office leave alone, Your true life’s work lies at home. —COMMON GERMAN RHYME OF THE 1930S

Frau This and Frau That. They will remove

So you mean to say that you’ve become an accomplished thief.” “I mean to say that stealing is sometimes a moral imperative.

It’s said that if you can hear a bomb whistle, then you’re safe. It’s the bomb you don’t hear that rips the roof from your building, pulverizes the walls, and buries you alive in a heap of smoldering slag. Still, the whistling builds up inside you like a scream. You can’t help but hold your breath.

Thin and threadbare as a ghost, she wears only mourning black. Looking into her eyes is like staring through the windows of a bombed-out building.

She has given him her breath and the pulse of her body. Given him her passion, her hatred, and her love, her past and future. Given him all that is essential in her, so that she will never be whole without him.

I thank God that the human spirit is not dead.