Hej kære læsere! (Hello dear readers! in Danish) Call me Elke Lehmann, a name I choose, for this telling, that echoes through the corridors of my memory like a half-whispered secret. Today, as I sit here, surrounded by the muted sounds of Lake Bagsværd Sø, I am a woman of 73 years. Yet, the Elke of the story that's about to unfold before you was a mere 23, her life a tapestry of unwoven threads against the backdrop of a divided Germany.
I remember declining the author's request for an interview, not out of spite, but out of fear. Fear that unveiling my actions during those tumultuous times would unravel the delicate peace I've since woven around those I love. Who can be the judge of what should have been, in the hazy glow of hindsight?
Life has been kind to me. My heart has found its rhythm in the quiet contentment of family life, and the love that has endured through the years remains the most profound of my treasures, along with our son, Sascha. Yet, even now, the Cold War whispers to me, its shadows flickering in my mind like the last embers of a dying fire.
The Berlin Wall, that monolith of division, loomed large in our lives. We, the West Berliners, afloat in a sea of Soviet dominion, yearned for unity, for the freedom to weave the broken strands of our nation back together. And amidst this turmoil bloomed love stories, intertwining like vines against a war-torn Wall. My own love story, a thread of gold, spun silently amidst the cacophony of an era that pulsed with rebellion and a yearning for change.
I hold the blue stone, a shard of the sky from days gone by, and let its cool surface press against my skin, a balm to the silent aches of yesteryears. It holds the essence of a time when the world seemed both vast and confined, a paradox that lived within the very marrow of our bones. As I gaze across the tranquil waters, a single tear escapes, a silent sentinel for those lost moments. A tender smile graces my lips as the laughter of my family caresses the breeze, a reminder of the life that blossomed from the ashes of a fragmented past.
In my hand, the stone's weight is a testament to the gravity of my silent apology to Olivia. The words I am sorry, though unspoken, dance on the wind, a quiet wish that her journey has been as gentle as the ripples upon the surface of this lake before me.
And so, with these words, I offer you a fragment of my soul, a prelude to the tales that will be spun by others. For now, I must return to the embrace of my family, to the love that has weathered the storms of time. Know that the Elke of then and the Elke of now are one and the same, forever entwined with the history that we all, in some way, share.
I will mail these notes to her so she will know the essence of my feelings—to that one who has undertaken to write the full story at long last.
YOU ARE READING
The Wall Crossers
Literatura FaktuStep into the captivating world of "The Wall Crossers," a spellbinding tale set against the backdrop of Cold War-era West Berlin in 1971 and 1972 to the latter half of the 21st century, from Berlin to Bhutan. This narrative weaves together the lives...
