“He stands in the window and watches morning come to Munich, the first pedestrians on the sidewalks, the first cars speeding through the darkened streets. As the light comes, so does the laughter and loud conversation, faint but reassuring through the thick panes of his windows. He slept only three hours, and during those hours he dreamed of Geli. Not the Geli who has haunted him for years, but the Geli he knew, the dead woman whom he touched ever so lightly so many years ago. He knows he cannot... speak of this properly, of the elongated feel to the event, as if each minute lasted a day, nor can he describe the physical reality of the smell. It had been another presence in that room, a living reminder of the reality of death. Father Pant had provided the only comfort, the only warmth, and that too Fritz cannot relay. How does he tell a girl he does not know about the faith he lost before the war? How does he explain that for a brief moment, Father Pant’s compassion revived that faith? The priest’s shock, horror, and concern revived similar emotions in Fritz, emotions he thought long dead, buried with his son, but dying since the war.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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