The director finally let him in, but on one condition: officials from the town hall and an expert from the local museum had to be present. They were afraid the old man might damage the structure or claim ownership of the building. The next morning, the delegation climbed the creaky stairs to the dusty attic.
It was empty. Just wooden beams, insulation, and old boxes of Christmas decorations for the kindergarten. The museum representative, Dr. Novak, sighed sympathetically. “Mr. Schlattner, it has been 70 years. Looters likely took everything right after the war.”
Rudi walked in circles, tapping the walls with his cane. His heart was pounding. Had his memory failed him? Had his father lied just to give his son hope in the refugee camp? The old man leaned against a beam, ready to weep with despair. And then, his finger brushed against a tiny, loose knot in the wood.
[readalso]