pinned beneath a great snowball, struggling for breath. Finn tried desperately to free him, but the snow was too heavy. In the end, he ran for help. Yet by the time his small legs carried him up the hill and into his mother’s arms, precious minutes had slipped away—too many for Tom to be saved. Eva and the summoned paramedics did everything they could to bring him back. But the crushing weight of the snow had pressed the air from his lungs, and he had suffocated on his own vomit. A tragedy—a senseless, unforeseeable misfortune no one could have imagined. How could such a thing happen? The heavy fog of guilt spread through the village, sparing no one. Filiz Dogan, German Psychoanalytical Association; Karl Abraham Institute Berlin On April 1, a little old lady moved into the apartment next door. I knew without having to count that she was the fourth tenant to move into the apartment across the hall since I've lived here. For 12 years, I've had the ground floor apartment, which was actually only supposed to be temporary when I came back from my year abroad and stayed with my best friend, but it quickly became too much for me. It was the first apartment I looked at—I took it even though I always thought I would never move into a ground floor apartment. The little old woman was the last to arrive, only after all her belongings were in the apartment. She came with two young men, perhaps her grandsons. I thought she was someone who also never wanted to live on the ground floor, but—like Mrs. W., the tenant before her—could no longer climb the many stairs. Roland Zag ON APRIL FOOL'S DAY, A SMALL OLD WOMAN MOVED INTO THE APARTMENT NEXT DOOR. Strange, I thought, I hadn't even noticed the previous tenants moving out. To be honest, I was a little disappointed, as I thought I had built up a personal relationship with the teenage daughter, whom I had helped with math. Now she was gone, along with the whole terrible family, within which Daisy, as I called the teenager, had desperately needed support like mine. While there had been no mention of Daisy's family moving out, the old lady's move-in was all the more dramatic. One moving company after another bustled about, and the meticulous renovation work heralded a major change in the house. This was clearly a lady who left nothing to chance. One specialist company after another was busy in the premises, which I hadn't actually found to be that spacious during my few visits next door, but which now apparently kept interior designers, kitchen builders, tilers, and so on busy for weeks before the little lady showed up for the first time. What surprised me most was that she was wearing a hat. An Englishwoman, I thought at first, as something
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