Liesel's gaze trailed along the blurred landscape as she neared her next destination, the Wayne
train station. It was a blinding white outside- the snow dipped and sloped, shadowed and
illumined. Animpression in the snow sped by among the mass of ice, and this one was hewed
most peculiarly...like the slight figure of a boy curled and stiff, bitter with frost like that January
day in 1939...Oh, it was an unbearable, blinding white outside-
The train jolted to a stop. The illusion dissipated.
She was jolted out of her thoughts by a gruff voice. A man, of medium height with dark
circled eyes and a bone-weary gait hovered by the table. He wore a loose-fitting striped shirt and black leather jacket. Liesel had to blink a couple of times, for the faded black and a
white striations held an uncanny resemblance to the uniform of penury that came in droves.
The man offered a feeble greeting as they shook hands and he introduced himself as Arthur.
Art took a seat. The next few minutes passed with small talk of where they came from and
their travels, family in Germany and Poland, lives in Sydney and Queens. They spoke of how
they knew the host of that afternoon, a very old, beloved friend. With baffled amusement,
they both remarked how strikingly familiar the decorations of the restaurant were, in their
pale green and milky luster. The conversation found its spirit wander to where Art’s
passions lay.
Liesel slipped inside where it was wonderfully warm and inviting. Under the dim light of a black wire
chandelier, she offered the name of her host, and from the entrance illuminated by string lights, she
was brought to a table by a window laced with fresh snow. A table for three. Three? The extra chair
stood across from Liesel with an aberrant, vaguely mocking glare. But for now, Liesel did not mind
the quiet, and shifted her gaze to the front of the restaurant andmelted into the jaunty piano playing
at the front. She thought about how wonderful its melody would sound alongside an accordian.o
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Liesel supposed her feet had been carrying her all the while as she wallowed in her reverie,
weaving in and out of the crowd. Thank God, she had reached her destination, for the cold air
and abject reminiscence was becoming unbearable. Haven Street. Heaven. Himmel...she
whispered under her breath and chuckled forlornly into the cold air as she turned left into the
restaurant at which she was to meet.
Liesel exited the train and shuffled out of the station in a daze. It was not until her foot struck a
patch of crisp snow with a crunch that the memory truly returned in full, grimly winged detail. The
wind stung at her cheeks, cold like frozen tears, and the snow continued to fall as a staggered
onslaught of thoughts followed suit. Her brother was carried away into the silver afternoon
sunlight. Liesel could feel the imprint of The Gravedigger’s Handbook in her shoulder bag.