They could hear them in the night. From the communal garden came a rasping, booming sound like an electric coffee maker empty of water.
“What the hell?” Martha said.
“It’s the hedgehogs,” Klaus answered.
“How do you know?”
“I know.” He muttered as he turned on his side.
She got up and opened the door to the balcony to hear better.
“Have you any idea what I do for a living?” Klaus shouted from under the covers.
Martha sighed and returned to bed. She lay down on the very edge, trying not to touch him. When he spoke to her like that, angrily and loudly in German, she punished him by increasing the distance between them. At times, in the middle of the night she’d ask herself: Are we really sharing the same bed? Are we really Martha and Klaus? She’d reach out with her hand, touch his knee to double-check and then immediately pull her hand away. The closeness they’d shared at one time now seemed unfathomable. READ MORE…