I could see indecision in her eyes. Before she could speak, Granny appeared in the door, as if she’d been listening all along.

“I think he is old enough now,” she said, looking at my mother gravely. “He needs to know.”

Mother looked from her to me, silent for a moment. “Ludzio, you won’t say anything, will you?”

I shook my head, suddenly jerked out of my sadness. She looked at her watch. “Come on, then.” We went into her room, where Granny closed the door behind us and shut the window and drew the curtains. It was still light outside, and children were playing hopscotch in the street below, hopping and skipping across the pavement.

“First of all, you need to be quiet,” said Granny, pointing at the wall we shared with the neighbors. “And don’t ask any questions until it’s over. Just listen.”

She walked to the dresser and lifted the protective cover off the radio, revealing its compact body, the dark, smooth wood glistening in the light. We placed three chairs around it and sat down. Mother pushed the black button and carefully adjusted the indicator. At first there was nothing but a low crackling. Then there was music, a flute playing a jolly tune. Then the music ended, and I could feel Mother’s and Granny’s bodies tense. A voice began to speak:

“This is Radio Free Europe, broadcasting live from Munich, West Germany. News at 8 o’clock. Monday, the twenty-first of June 1968.”