A Time to Love and a Time to Die

SWALLOWS were flying around the bomb-torn tower. The first of the sun sparkled on the broken edges of the roof tiles. Graeber unpacked his alcohol stove. He did not know whether cooking was allowed, but he decided to follow tne old soldier's rule: act before anyone can forbid you. He took his mess kit and went to look for a faucet. He found one behind the station of the crucifixion. A man with mouth open and red stubble on his face was sleeping there. He had only one leg. His unstrapped prosthesis lay beside him. In the early light its nickel supports glittered like a machine. Graeber glanced through the open colonnade into the cloisters. The sexton had been right; the sexes were separate. On the south side there were only women sleeping.

As he was coming back Elisabeth woke up. She looked fresh and rested, not like the sallow faces he had seen in the cloisters. "I know where you can wash," he said. "Go there before the crowd collects. Religious organizations always have inadequate sanitary arrangements. Come, I'll show you the washroom for cathedral canons."