Bone and Blood by Margo Gorman

felt like it.
    Brigitte looked at her suspiciously, ‘Monika was here earlier.’
    â€˜I know. She popped in to say hello. She said there may be a bit of a wait for the cremation,’ Aisling replied.
    â€˜So she drags you into this now too.’
    In spite of the words of disapproval, Brigitte looked pleased at Aisling’s surly tone. ‘I suppose she told you that she wants to send my daughter to an oven in Poland. To think that I carried her away from the camp and fought for us to live through the end of the war to have such a death. I asked her was it done in Auschwitz still or did they have a new place now?’
    Aisling couldn’t help smiling and turned away before the aunt could see it. There was no longer any doubt in her mind now about the wicked strain in the aunt. She could certainly pick something that was bound to make Monika suffer more. She took a matter-of-fact tone for her reply, ‘Apparently it could take three weeks at least here in Berlin and it would be quicker in Poland.’
    â€˜Yes and cheaper too.’
    Aisling decided to ignore the Monika wind-ups and do a side kick of her own. ‘I suppose she could have done it without asking you. You´d never have known,’ she paused before adding, ‘I wonder what Katharina would think about it?’
    The aunt’s mouth worked in silence like she was chewing her tongue.
    Aisling persisted, ‘If the funeral is not for another three weeks, I’m sorry but I’ll have to go back. I have to start back at Uni.’
    â€˜Uni?’
    â€˜University. I could manage two weeks maximum. Maybe Dad would come over for it.’
    Brigitte was silent for a while. Aisling helped herself to some juice from the fridge. She’d buy herself an energy drink when she went out. When she went back into the living room, the aunt muttered in her direction, ‘That Jules should never have asked me about Poland. Why is she waiting? Katharina told her to make the arrangements, so that I wouldn’t have to suffer: still she comes round here with her questions that have no answers.’
    â€˜Why don’t we ring her and tell her to go ahead and arrange the cremation as best she can and just let us know when the funeral is arranged for. I’ll do it if you like.’ A nod was enough for Aisling to lift the phone and dial the number before the aunt changed her mind.
    She struggled with how to name her but it came out before her mind engaged, ‘Aunt Bridget has decided that you should go ahead with the cremation wherever you think. Oh, and could you let us know what is happening when.’ The aunt nodded her approval at this last request.
    â€˜Enough of this,’ Aisling told herself. She could hear the escape, escape, escape alarm in her head. She mumbled about fresh air and headed out before the aunt could ask her when she would be back. She would try out the S-Bahn. Just hop on and see where one stop would lead her. No ticket to give her a buzz. Maybe here they fined you on the spot. Maybe she could get away with playing innocent tourist.
    She got out at Oranienburger Tor and let Oranienburger Strasse roll on her tongue. Seedy and smart intermingled with the smell of fried onions and spices and a dream beer under a palm tree. She licked the edginess of the street from her lips when she reached the entrance to a little courtyard with delicate brickwork that reminded her of marquetry. She’d seen pictures of the courtyard at Hackesche Höfe – and examples of tasteful restoration of Berlin after the Wall – was it from an Internet search or her guidebook or was it somewhere else? She was impatient because she couldn’t work out where the boundaries were before and after the Wall came down. There was less of a contrast than you would find north and south of the Liffey.
    Wandering in a confusion of streets Sophienstrasse and big hamburger street with OMG an Irish shop! Window of icons,