At breakfast, Apu announces that he wants to visit Mrs. Lackner again. During the night he decided that there were simply too many similarities in their stories. He now believes she is the woman who served him that egg sandwich. Can we prove this beyond a reasonable doubt? No. But I point out that it doesn't matter. For Apu, Mrs. Lackner represents all the good people who gave him food. She is a symbol. And for Mrs. Lackner, my father represents all the laborers she gave food to. He is not the first survivor to contact the people of St. Anna. Others have written to the mayor. But he is the first to ever return in person. The first to come back specifically to say thank you. Apu's visit has brought back many memories for Mrs. Lackner. Now he has decided there is one more thing he has to tell her. Mrs. Weinhandl agrees to make the arrangements.
During the morning, we visit various historic sights with Mrs. Weinhandl, Dr. Lappin and Mr. Schober. Most interesting is a deeply wooded area where we are told Jews were buried in a mass grave. Mrs. Weinhandl points out that the grass growing here is different from the grass growing anywhere else in the region. A thick, hearty grass that grows tall and almost has the rigidity of bamboo. This grass doesn't grow anywhere else, she says. She calls it Judengrasse. Now the idea that a burial site for Jews who fell victim to wartime atrocities should be marked with a special grass seems mystical. It stretches the bounds of credibility. And yet, as we drive around the region the rest of the day, I try in vain to spot a similar type of grass growing somewhere else. I can't. It would appear that type of grass is truly unique to that one spot where there is a mass grave of Jews.
And that special place inspired Ron to express his thoughts in poetic form: