“I won’t die before Mary is in her place again!” It sounded quiet and sure from Erna’s mouth. It was autumn. The pneumatic drills hammered on the street and a sweet, biting smell of tar lay in the air. This was the house of Erna’s parents. She had lived here since she was a small child. She could still remember this place when the horses and carts used to be the mode of transport and then, later the first trams! She hung on to this place which was filled with memories.

But mostly she loved the fountain in the centre, the fountain with the statue of the Virgin Mary. The marketplace had been extensively pulled up. The workers had carried the fountain away. Experts had first carefully marked each stone so as to be able to rebuild it exactly as it was. When the new year came, the square was newly plastered. And finally the fountain with the statue of the Virgin Mary also returned to its place.

For a couple of days Erna enjoyed the new and yet long-familiar view. Then she was ready.

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