Act One: Berlin and Prague
Immanuelkirchstrasse 29 is a short walk from my house in Berlin. The five-story corner apartment went up in the early years of the twentieth century, when Prenzlauer Berg was a mixed-class district of workers and upwardly mobile Jewish immigrants. Like most buildings in the neighborhood, the façade suffered damage in the Second World War and was neglected during the four decades it stood in the capital of the German Democratic Republic. It has since been immaculately restored, with a fresh coat of cream paint and a new set of angel-faced mascarons above the turquoise window sills. There is a decent trattoria on the ground floor as well as a wine bar with outside seating where it is pleasant to sip Silvaner and wile away an endless July afternoon, yet there is no plaque near the entrance that would inform passersby that the building was once the site of one of the more remarkable episodes in the history of the German postal service.