A Trace of Smoke Excerpt 18

A tiny scrap of red silk stuck out from under the flap of the box, and I stroked it with my fingers.  One of Ernst’s handkerchiefs.  I’d taught him to sew.  We’d hemmed many handkerchiefs together, always red and always, when he could afford it, silk.

 

A cold wind brushed my face, and I turned up the collar of my coat.  I tucked the corner of red silk out of sight.  “Do you know the Nazi boy’s name or address?” I asked Rudolf.

 

“Certainly not.”  Rudolf sniffed again.

 

I wondered if he’d been sniffi