His mood remained dark, and the panoramic spread of hospital trains stabled side by side in the yards outside Anhalter Station did nothing to lighten it. He wondered how Thomas, who took this train to work each day, and whose son Joachim was fighting in the East, coped with this daily reminder of all too possible loss.The previous day he and Effi had tried to leave the war behind and enjoy a normal pre-war Sunday. The effort had been a dismal failure. The outdoor cafe where they had once shared breakfast and newspapers had been closed, the tables folded away and the terrace littered with shrapnel. The Tiergarten was sunny for once, but it was impossible to ignore the wretched monstrosity of a flak tower, which seemed to loom above them whichever way they turned. Those of their favourite restaurants which remained open displayed menus that repelled rather than enticed, and Thomas and his family, whom they often visited on Sunday afternoons, had selfishly refused to answer their telephone.
