The air was crisp like glass, as Ilsa waited in line by herself to get into the Futurama. Everyone was smiling and laughing as they made their way from pavilion to pavilion, feasting on hot dogs and ice cream and having a wonderful time. She turned to look at the Trylon and Perisphere, the obelisk-like tower and huge sphere that were the symbols of the fair.

Many countries and lots of corporations had their own exhibits. Looking around, at the crowd and at all the places to explore, Ilsa, who’d taken the day off from her English classes to come here, felt a desperate longing for her family, still in Germany.

“Building the world of tomorrow,” was the motto of the fair. “But how,” she asked herself, “can people be so naive? Having hooks or knobs would help. But here there is nothing to hold onto, like in the subway. Nothing real. Only crazy dreams.”

In front of her a woman with marceled hair said to the pigtailed girl whose hand she was holding, “Sugar, a hundred years from now people will still be talking about this fair! And you can say that you were here.”

What Ilsa remembered was the sound of shattering glass. A year before, to the day, was Kristallnacht. No, Ilsa, a folded letter from her family in her purse, knew that that event had more to say about the future than anything in this sparkling fair.