Footsteps Echoing

I walked the length of Laisves Aleja a few too many times to count. It’s a broad boulevard that traverses the length of Kaunas from the Nemunas River to the ancient heart of the medieval city. I grew quite fond of that street, despite the howls of protest from aching knees. I walked its length in sunshine and rain. Walked for hours to meet a friend, see the sights, digest a dinner, metabolize alcohol and, above all, to breathe the air and...feel.

And it was there, on the west side of that boulevard, that I noticed the pavement had embedded bricks carved with the word “Tulpe” (“tulip” in English). These bricks extended for a full block but bespoke no connection whatsoever to the adjacent storefronts. The “tulips” were a mystery.

I came to learn, from that dear friend, that these stones marked the location of a street side café that was once home to the actors and artists who would gather there each evening.

Before the War. Before the horrors.

How to describe the emotion upon realizing that my grandfather and grandmother had spent many an evening there? Before the War. Before the horrors.

Reflexively, I stepped a bit more gingerly. Quite a bit more pensively.

No, I didn’t hear footsteps echoing...

I felt them.

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