Apple Trees<br >1 was three years old when my mother and father diw)rced. We<br >left the ski lodge in the Krkonose Mountains and moved into a<br >single room in my mother s childhood home， the room overlook-<br >ing the tennis court.<br > That court was the last vestige of mv mother s family estate，<br >where she had lived when she was young， with a nanny to take<br >care of her. They once had thirty acres， stretching from lush fruit<br >arbors on the hillside to rich farmland along the Berounka River.<br >After the Communists took over Czechoslovakia in I948， my<br >mother s family lost ahnost everything except the red-clay tennis<br >court and the cement family home， which they now shared with<br >other people.<br > From our bedroom window， I could see the tennis court<br >falling into disrepair， later used mainly for our socccr games. And<br >from that same window， I could see a grove of fruit trees that had<br >once belonged to mv family.<br > 1 have never told this to anybody before， but I used to sneak<br > across the street and take apples from the grove. I would eat as<br > many as I wanted and share the rest with my friends. I felt the<br > apples were part of my heritage. Almost all Czechs and Slovaks<br > felt we had suffered a loss from the takeover in i948， and my<br > mother s family had lost more than most. The least I could do was<br > recover some of the family apples.<br > Sometimes when 1 was little， I d see my mother looking off<br > into space with a sad look on her face and I would guess she was<br > daydreaming about the time when she was little， before the war.<br >