When I was a boy in Mississippi, I had a friend named Wolfram Varderman. His father had disappeared off the face of the earth during the battle of Stalingrad. He had not returned when the handful of Germans who had survived capture by the Soviets had been repatriated to Germany. He may have died in some labor camp in Siberia, or I suppose his bones may still lie there outside the city where the German 6th Army was encircled and destroyed.

Wolfram's mother, who was a Berliner, sometimes spoke of her former husband, Albert, as if he were still alive. Wolfram told me ...

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