It is 1am. My last night in the barracks, and I can't sleep. I toss and turn, envisioning a tragic future. A future without Leida. I want her with me. I feel so much anguish about her. She is gone—unrecoverable.
Barracks roommate Bill White softly snores in his bed as I pace back and forth now in our room.
I also feel the dread of departure, leaving Anja. I have fearful imaginings about her. She is in the East—she is in trouble. She is not with Horst. I cannot help her. I cannot get to her. Her magic is flowing to me—over the Wall, washing me in a love that can never be.
I lay down on my bunk and fall asleep, briefly, have a short, fitful dream. I am singing to Leida, and she and Anja are singing to me. It is like a poem. The music is hauntingly beautiful, but so so sehnsucht—evoking a deep, unresolved longing. In the song, I tell Leida I will always love her. She replies that time will heal, but her love for me still overflows.
Anja says our love languished. Why? She left me, at her doorstep.
Leida says we made—What, love?—to share and carry us on. But I don't see how. It is over. My tears run down my face and wet my pillow.
YOU ARE READING
The Wall Crossers
Kurgu OlmayanStep 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...
