here, laid side by side on the pavement, are these enormous loaves of bread dough left to rise under clean white cloths—boy, is everybody hungry: the same thought hits them all at once, wow! Raw dough! loaves of bread for that monster back there . . . oh, no that’s right, that was a building, the Reichstag, so these aren’t bread . . . by now it’s clear that they’re human bodies, dug from beneath today’s rubble, each inside its carefully tagged GI fartsack. But it was more than an optical mistake. They are rising, they are transubstantiated, and who knows, with summer over and hungry winter
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