Walls

“This place has always been divided,” my aunt said.

I was in Friedrichstrasse Station, come to help her research the old Stasi archives for a book.

“Not for a while now,” I said.

“You think?” She gestured with her stick. “Look. No cameras. Because we remember who put cameras here.”

“The wall came down years ago.”

“No it didn’t.” She sat down. Seemed older, somehow. “In the archives, I found reports. My handwriting. Information I sent them. I don’t remember that. But they’re there. I collaborated, and I don’t… won’t remember.” She shook her head. “Some walls never come down.”