“He sat under luggage like mountains, crags of leather, falls of belt. Everything smelt of other people instead of the outside.A man was eating meat sandwiches out of greaseproof paper and his fingers shone. He was reading a newspaper. Nicholas wanted to show that he could read too, but Lucia kept him back.Then they were in Berlin.He remembered how open his eyes were, stitched open by sights. There were more people, more floors, more streets, more cars, more noise than he’d ever imagined could b...e in one place. He’d always been in a small town, his territory was a garden with geraniums; he could run down the street and be a shadow in the woods.He knew this city was somehow his mother’s place, not his. She held on to his hand.There were flags everywhere, and people smelt strong. He might say, nowadays, that they smelt good, but he didn’t know what expensive soap and French perfumes were meant to smell like at the end of a long day.Their first apartment was not at all grand: five rooms.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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