Henry, the sombre local postman, is always to be spotted on his bicycle as he goes about his business in a nonchalant fashion day after day. His dark brows cast a deep shadow on his stubbly cheeks that makes him look older than his juvenile twenty-four. One Sunday, as he rides past a hardware store, the postman catches a momentary reflection on the mirror left outside; that of a blond man with Aryan features wearing a starkly contrasting woeful face and a tattered uniform.
Henry puckers his forehead, clearly disgusted by his handsome look that makes it difficult for him to blend into the busy Berlin crowd of 1940’s. Lost in his thought, he suddenly finds himself crashing to the ground as a German convoy zooms past, blaring harsh siren. As he lies on the road, Henry notices the passport that flew out from his pocket. Now lying three meters away on the pavement, its pages flutter revealingly. As the postman attempts to crawl towards it, a passer-by turns around. The stride of a pair of red heels makes Henry break into a cold sweat. Continue reading