The theater lights did not rise immediately when the film ended.
For several long seconds the screen remained dark, the last echoes of the orchestra fading slowly into silence.
The audience sat still in their seats, as though no one wished to be the first to break the spell the film had cast.
Claire found herself staring at the black screen, her hands resting motionless in her lap. The final image of the movie lingered in her mind: the letter in Petar's lifeless hand, crushed beneath the boots of the German soldiers as smoke rolled through the gas filled streets of Belgrade.
It had not been a triumphant ending, nor had it been a patriotic ending. It had simply been… tragic.
Slowly the lights rose.
Around them the older men in the theater began to stir. Some stood stiffly from their seats, adjusting their coats or the medals pinned upon their chests.
A few spoke quietly to one another as they made their way toward the exits, their voices low and thoughtful.
