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Brandenburg Dance (World War II background text) Wedge
I believe that life is like a cycle, where everything begins, where it has to end.
In June 1992, I set foot again on this land, the gray and black buildings as they were then, solemn, solemn, like deep love.
I followed a procession of laughing tourists through Alexanderplatz to the ruins of the Berlin Wall.
A half-century had passed, and I smiled, all the torment was over, Adrian, and your homeland had been freed from the bitterness of partition, and I thought we could start again.
"Berlin is here, Master Dominic." The gray-haired coachman pulled the door open for me, and the old, obsolete carriage pulled up at 147 Bodhi Tree Street, shaded by an unusually cold forest.
In April 1931, I left the small eastern town of Cottbus for this legend-like metropolis.
Ah, Berlin, London and Paris, in those days the world was just those three cities. Open, rich, artistic and romantic, with two women kissing passionately on a street corner.
The coachman took my trunk and helped me lift it up the steps. "Thank you, Uncle Cyan." I stood on tiptoe and rang the doorbell. A withered, yellow-haired maid stepped out and opened the door, rubbing her hands uneasily on her apron. ......
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