Saturday, 22 September 1984. Douaumont near Verdun, France.
There are about 130,000 dead.
Germans? French? Other nationalities?
No longer to be determined.
Up front, there is a coffin. It is covered in both their flags: blue, white, and red; black, red, and gold.
Before it, there are two wreaths. And two statesmen.
The president who fought in World War II. The chancellor who lost his brother in this war.
Loneliness.
So many people, but all of them are lonely.
A trumpeter plays. The eyes of the people are on him.
His aren't. Ludwig sees the president reach out.
Kohl looks at Mitterrand in surprise. But he takes the hand.
Mitterrand keeps on looking straight ahead. And holds Kohl's hand.
Ludwig feels a touch, light as a feather, at his right hand.
He knows it is Francis.
He also takes the hand. Holds it.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Sunday, 11 January 2015. Paris, France.
Again, they are standing next to each other, mourning the dead.
This time, the circumstances are different.
A terrorist attack on Wednesday. Twelve dead.
A policewoman, shot on Thursday.
A hostage-taking on Friday. Four dead.
This time, it is Ludwig who reaches out and Francis who takes his hand.
Again, it is a gesture of friendship, of solidarity.
They will not permit anyone to destroy their liberty and freedom.
No one will succeed in this. Not the terrorists. Not the right-wing parties.
For there is something that has changed: This time, the gesture is a matter of course.
They are standing here together. Both live in democracies.
No matter what happened in the past: They are friends today.