Volunteers were sent home and, after the search parties, so went the rest. The pine forests remained quiet in autumn, the boys lumbered through them. The bloodhounds barked no more, and no border patrol boats wandered the bay. And everywhere they went, it was as if the void itself, its spirit, had been released. Everything hung still, useless: the changing cabins, the sparse half empty beach. At the tram stop, the trams rolled empty, then half empty again, the doors slamming shut and opening. The last to go were the ill-fated divers, three weeks later. And so they saw the long surrender begin all around them. What it meant they knew very well, though they never dared to say the word to each other.