Herzlich Willkommen
I first met Britta in the late 1990s, when she was only eight. Her father had died the year before. Her mother, Veronika, had been friends with my wife Yvonne since they’d met in Munich when Yvonne worked there in the mid-1980s. But it was my first time in Germany, and also the first time for our infant son, whom Britta loved to entertain.
Britta’s face looked unmistakably German: round and pretty with rosy cheeks, curly blond hair, and–despite her loss–joyous, blue eyes. Britta spoke virtually no English but she took pleasure with her older brother, Johannes, in teaching me a few words of German—most notably lecker, which means “yummy.” The two kids laughed deliriously whenever I said it. I’m still not sure if they laughed out of delight in having taught me the word or because of the way I said it. …