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Apple Trees 1 was three years old when my mother and father diw)rced. We left the ski lodge in the Krkonose Mountains and moved into a single room in my mother s childhood homeï¼Œ the room overlook- ing the tennis court. That court was the last vestige of mv mother s family estateï¼Œ where she had lived when she was youngï¼Œ with a nanny to take care of her. They once had thirty acresï¼Œ stretching from lush fruit arbors on the hillside to rich farmland along the Berounka River. After the Communists took over Czechoslovakia in I948ï¼Œ my mother s family lost ahnost everything except the red-clay tennis court and the cement family homeï¼Œ which they now shared with other people. From our bedroom windowï¼Œ I could see the tennis court falling into disrepairï¼Œ later used mainly for our socccr games. And from that same windowï¼Œ I could see a grove of fruit trees that had once belonged to mv family. 1 have never told this to anybody beforeï¼Œ but I used to sneak across the street and take apples from the grove. I would eat as many as I wanted and share the rest with my friends. I felt the apples were part of my heritage. Almost all Czechs and Slovaks felt we had suffered a loss from the takeover in i948ï¼Œ and my mother s family had lost more than most. The least I could do was recover some of the family apples. Sometimes when 1 was littleï¼Œ I d see my mother looking off into space with a sad look on her face and I would guess she was daydreaming about the time when she was littleï¼Œ before the war.