Tears of Beauty
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About this ebook
This story tries to look inside a multicultural soul.
Cornelia Fontane
Cornelia Fontane was born in England and went to school in North Dakota in the United States, where her father was stationed as a pilot for the US Air Force. After many travels across the world, the family settled in Germany. Fontane studied applied science in Cologne, and for more than twenty years has worked as a social worker for the Red Cross Intercultural Department. She is married and lives with two beautiful children in Germany.
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Tears of Beauty - Cornelia Fontane
© 2017 Cornelia Fontane. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Published by AuthorHouse 02/01/2017
ISBN: 978-1-5246-7749-7 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-5246-7750-3 (e)
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,
and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
ENGLAND, 1979
O n a foggy afternoon in the month of November, a teenage boy with an instrument case on his back strolled along a medium-sized canal. It was a place that was devoid of population, somewhere in the middle of England. Simon kicked some stones into some water, and he got angry when his stomach started to rumble. He couldn’t get in. All doors at home were locked up. Dem, Mother, again? You forgot to put the key in the hidden place only me and you know, and now I have to carry this heavy case around.
He could not see any snack bar nearby. He found only a red telephone booth and a pub with an open door. Inside he saw some men sitting on barstools, yelling after a goal in a football game, but Simon was not allowed to go in. In this quiet town, he did not have many options. There was only a gas station and a small grocery store, and a Closed sign hung in its window. So he walked and grumbled inwardly. His mother advised him to stay calm no matter which bad situation he was in. Her voice still sounded in his head even when she was not there – and that’s why Simon always had a sunny face.
He had to acknowledge that even though this place had an appealing landscape (even on a foggy day, and even for a boy like Simon), sometimes he felt a bit lost and lonely. He and his parents had just moved to this place, and he didn’t have that many friends yet. For most people, there were not many employment opportunities, except at a few military bases and the colleges in Cambridge, which were more than a couple miles away. His father had found a job at King’s College.
There had been a time when there was more industrial production going on, but the factories had moved out. And something burned down the beauty of this community and life in this place like a church candle.
Now a lot of people, including his parents, had to shuttle to the big cities for work. As a result, Goodwild-Chester had developed into a sleep-in village. On the bright side, it also became a place with affordable housing for families with children. The consequences were that fewer people had time to watch television in the afternoon. Because of that, Simon had to stop. Through one flat’s front window, Simon saw pictures of a fire and explosion in London. Out here in this little village, everything remained as it was. Apart from the blue light flickering on TV, he was worried about his parents.
In the meantime, Simon passed the weeping willows. The autumn winds had finally combed out the leaves. Their bare branches stretched up to the sky. Because of the continuous rain, they sported a wet, black look. Not too far from this village, he walked by a manually operated sluice. Two modern boats waited on the left-hand side of the floodgate. In the lock, there was a small freighter loaded with scrap and small iron parts, waiting for the water level to drop. When this process was finished, the floodgate opened. Because of the strong, heavy steel walls, the process took time. It went so slowly that people on the yachts became nervous. But those who stayed