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of Wall would rise briefly on the local market before plummeting throughout the free world.
    “They’ll of course try to sell entire sections as trophies in the U.S.”
    She was even willing to bet five dollars on the following scenario: A wealthy businessman would quickly step in and buy the whole wall in order to secure a monopoly (the current regime would be happy to turn a profit from what otherwise was shaping up to be a costly historical episode). Said businessman would then hire a container ship and move the wall, piece by duly numbered piece, to the suburbs of Orlando, where he would wage a terrific competitive war with Walt Disney World.
    I tried to picture what such a
Mauerland
might look like. Dismal.
    The same backhoe continued to topple the same section of wall in front of the Brandenburg Gate. As recent as it was, history was already running in a loop. Hope seemed to be assessing the weight of a piece of the
Grenzmauer
and the cost of shipping it via marine cargo. Then she spotted the comic book on the coffee table opened at the ad for the Amazing X-Ray Vision Glasses. She scanned the advertisement, raising an eyebrow. I anticipated her sarcasm.
    “I know. You’re going to say that it violates every law of modern physics …”
    “Actually, I was wondering why guys don’t try to simply persuade girls to undress instead of ordering these stupid gadgets. Though I admit that for two dollars I wouldn’t take off very much.”
    She wriggled her toes inside her woollen socks as though estimating the market value of her feet.
    The TV reporter was remembering the Wall’s 140 victims over the years when my mother appeared with a basketful of dirty laundry. As she greeted Hope, the red sleeping bag instantly flashed on her radar screen. Red alert.
    She positioned herself behind us with the laundry basket perched on her hip and pretended to take an interest in what was happening on the screen, where the sectionof wall kept tipping over. Finally, she coughed a little to draw our attention.
    “Hope, am I to understand that you’re going to spend the night here?”
    “If it’s no bother.”
    “I would be more concerned about it bothering your mother, don’t you think?”
    Hope’s almost playful response was that there was really nothing to worry about. My mother was not reassured. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her lift the receiver and dial the Pet Shop’s newly acquired phone number.
    Through an extraordinary twist of fate, Mrs. Randall happened to be at home.
    Following the conventional courtesies, my mother explained the reason for her call. She had not uttered more than a few syllables when Mrs. Randall took control of the conversation, with my mother barely managing to stammer “yes, yes” or “no, no.”
    I watched her expression shift from politeness through the whole spectrum of disbelief, to incomprehension and finally to total stupefaction. She hung up and, without saying another word, vanished with her laundry basket. But at suppertime she brought us Chinese food and a family-size bottle of Star Cola, and we ate as we continued to watch Berlin rejoice.
    I had no idea what Mrs. Randall had said to my mother, but she never again raised any objections when Hope showed up at the Bunker at all hours of the day or night to eat, sleep, work, read, shower or hang out. My favourite refugee had just been granted permanent residency status.

15. KABOOM!
    We spent the evening listening to the news reports while taking turns typing our essays during the commercial breaks. I felt uninspired and fell back on a familiar subject: concrete. I predicted the advent of a revolutionary architecture based on completely new varieties of additives. (In the vocabulary of science fiction, I felt that the word
additive
had a persuasive ring to it.)
    Hope, meanwhile—always in sync with current events—foresaw the fall of the Soviet regime and the end of the Cold War within two years. In addition, she wrote, instead of