These Dreams of You

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Molly said, “Is he my father?” and Jasmine’s jaw dropped. “No,” the mother answered, composing herself, “he’s not.” The girl clutched the clipping, looking at her mother quietly. “He’s not,” repeated Jasmine, “I would tell you.” Molly handed over the clipping and the book, and her mother took them, opened the book almost absently, regarding the drawing of her on the inside front page.

Now, only after Molly has run into the mouth of the U-Bahn does she realize that she has dropped the book at the side of the man in the street aboveground. At first she dismisses any possibility of going back for it. The skinheads might return, the police might come or the beaten man might die in her arms or, rousing himself to consciousness, hurt her in some rush of adrenaline. No, she concludes, she can’t go back. She has but to step onto the train and be swept to the sanctuary of Berlin’s tunnels before the last five minutes overwhelm her like a wave.