I found the photograph inside an old book. It showed two young men in a field. They were laughing. I did not know them, so I showed it to my grandfather. He looked at it for a long time. Then he put it on the table and did not speak. "Who are they?" I asked. "Me," he said. "And my brother." I did not know he had a brother. Nobody in the family ever talked about him. "He went to Germany in 1971," my grandfather said. "We wrote letters for six years. Then the letters stopped." "Did you look for him?" "I wrote to twelve addresses. Nothing came back." He picked up the photograph again and held it near the lamp. "He was funnier than me," he said. "Everybody liked him more." Last year, my cousin found a family with our surname in Hamburg, so she sent them a message. Somebody answered after three weeks. It was a woman. Her father, she wrote, had a brother in Turkey.