old lady move into a flat all by herself, without any help? How could she move in without any furniture? I waited all day, unable to tear myself away from the window, because this question tormented me so much. This little lady with her friendly, almost mischievous smile and her bright eyes, which flashed in my direction once, very briefly – this moment lasted no longer than a second. It could easily have gone unnoticed, it was so brief. It was just a tiny hint of eye contact, but it seemed to me as if this little old stranger had looked deep into my soul for a fraction of a millisecond. I was startled. What had she seen there? It seemed to me as if she had smiled briefly. No, not with her mouth, even though she had an enchanting rosy mouth! No, it was her eyes. Her eyes had smiled into mine. Julia Gerlach, DPG/German Psychoanalytic Society On April 1st, a short, elderly woman moved into the apartment next door. At first, I thought it was an April Fool's joke. I had been promised a young Italian man, attractive, charming, and full of life. And now this. I looked out of the window and watched her watching the removal van. She stood there motionless for a moment, then turned and looked up, directly at my window. Startled, I took a step back, but immediately stepped forward again and hesitantly raised my hand in a small wave. She didn't move a muscle, her dark eyebrows were drawn together, and she stared at me critically. Then she bent down, picked up the large basket standing next to her on the sidewalk, filled to the brim with red apples, and, slightly bent over, made her way into the house. From above, I looked at her sternly drawn gray parting and the gray hair tied together at the nape of her neck. "A witch!" I thought, startled, and listened to the slow footsteps coming from the staircase. The old wood creaked audibly. As if magically drawn, I moved through the hallway to the apartment door. Hesitantly, I pressed down the handle, opened the door, and looked into the stairwell. A ray of sunlight had crept through the backyard into the stairwell. The old woman was just turning the corner of the winding staircase, and I ran down a few steps to take the heavy basket from her. Why am I doing this, a quiet voice inside me asked. My heart was pounding with excitement. Something drew me to her. Our eyes met again, she gave me the basket, and we climbed the few steps to our apartments together. Once there, I gave her back the basket. "Nana." What did she mean? "That's my name."
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