Sarah Selden

14 Short Story

Walking the streets of Leipzig, Pauline was struck by the newness of the city. Gone were the prodigious cathedrals and thatched roofs that had checkered all other German towns. Gone were the intimidating stone walls that had surrounded the city for hundreds of years, and gone was Wagner’s house, the only remnant being the bars of “Ride of the Valkyries” painted on the all-glass walls of the three-story building that rose in its place.

Pauline continued walking through the city, her eyes scrambling to find a focal point between the towering modern buildings and the artfully weathered brass quarternote pavers in the cobblestones. The pavers lead Pauline to the next historical landmark that had been knocked down and rebuilt. She wandered past Starbucks and bratwurst stands, through shopping malls that were tucked into what were once Renaissance galleries. She passed a set of grand basalt stairs leading down to Goethe’s favorite pub, Auerbachs Keller, which had been overtaken by the American Eagle Outfitters in the space above it.

As she came through an arched opening in one of the galleries, an old stone church filled her view. It seemed to be the only historical evidence in the city left untouched from previous centuries. Music began to wisp through the air, barely distinguishable, drawing Pauline’s feet across the uneven stones. As she came around St. Thomas Kirche, she spotted an iron statue of J.S. Bach glowering in front of the wooden door. Beneath him sat a man playing Toccata and Fugue on his electric accordion. Its poignant points and counterpoints propelled her forward until she was standing a foot in front of him.

“Aren’t you angry?” Pauline asked. “You’re playing in front of a Burger King!”

“No,” the man said, continuing to play. “Leipzig is here! You need only to listen.”