The photo was so fragile it could have disintegrated in my palm.
The blond, pale woman's eyes were tired, but saturated with adoration for the two equally blonde, equally pale daughters in matching sundresses on either side of her. One girl, around seven, was focusing on a handful of chocolate. Her sister, about two years younger, hid bashfully under the protective arm of her robust Teutonic father. Nearby, a wolfhound lazed in a puddle of explosive sunshine.
The handwriting (translated into English) on the back read “Colonel Jürgen Knoblauch and family, recently arrived in Asunción. January 1948.”
The blond, pale woman's eyes were tired, but saturated with adoration for the two equally blonde, equally pale daughters in matching sundresses on either side of her. One girl, around seven, was focusing on a handful of chocolate. Her sister, about two years younger, hid bashfully under the protective arm of her robust Teutonic father. Nearby, a wolfhound lazed in a puddle of explosive sunshine.
The handwriting (translated into English) on the back read “Colonel Jürgen Knoblauch and family, recently arrived in Asunción. January 1948.”
