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“It’s not right,” he said. “Those people coming here after what they did. I sometimes walk past Sauerkraut Hill and there are some real nice houses there. It really worries me that the families in those blocks around them might not realize who their new neighbors really are. And besides, why have those men been given such cushy jobs working with the very Army that lost so many good men defeating them?”
“I know, Henry,” I sighed.
“Why did they come here, anyway?”
“The men didn’t have a choice in the beginning,” I reminded him. “They were brought to America as prisoners. But they do have it pretty good here now. Why would they leave?”
He sighed too and rolled away from me, staring at the wall again.
“It’s just not right,” he murmured. “It’s just not right.”
I agreed, but as I left his apartment, I was only grateful that Henry didn’t know the half of it.
