“I shouldn’t have kept it,” he said. “It was all right for Fisha to have. He could use them, he deserved them. I should’ve put this back in the pile. Put it back with its fellows. That bin of gold teeth was a monument. Or like the famous Egyptian tomb that was opened back in the twenties, all full of treasure untouched but now men were digging through it and taking ownership. All the treasure stripped away from those camp prisoners, it belongs together. I should’ve left this tooth in peace, but I know why I took it. Because I wanted to be like you.”

He took his father’s hand and had him feel where a bit of shrapnel made a lump in Kennet’s earlobe. “Just like your leg. But I wanted gold. Like yours.”

Emil patted Kennet’s ear. Then he clasped his fingers on the table top and looked at the tooth a long time. “Here’s how I see it,” he finally said. “You took this tooth. You stole it. It wasn’t right, but now you have it and it troubles you. I could tell you to throw it in the river, sacrifice it to Old Nick, but somehow I don’t think it’ll be enough. You’ll still feel its memory in your pocket. So you need to turn its meaning around. You’re thinking it’s a constant reminder of bad things you did in the past. I say, it needs to be a reminder of what to do in the future.”

“What do I do?”

“Good things,” Emil said. “That’s all. Do good things. You can’t just have gold in your pocket and expect it makes you good. You need to be the gold. Be golden. Do golden things. Simple, kind, decent things that make the world better.”

With a fingertip, he delicately slid the tooth back toward Kennet. “Keep this in your pocket and when you’re faced with a tough choice, rub it in your fingers and ask, ‘What’s the golden thing to do?’ All right?”

“All right.”

Emil reached behind and unclasped the square-linked chain around his neck. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to do this. Seems the moment is here.” He slipped off one of the gold fish and slid it aside. “This is Major’s and was only on loan. The rest, however…” He held out each end of the chain, now with just the one fish and the St. Birgitta medal. His hands reached toward Kennet. “Come here.”

“Paps, no. It’s yours.”

“It was mine and it served its purpose. The war is over and I’m giving it to you. Don’t argue with your old man. Give me your goddamn head.”

Kennet leaned, feeling rather like a man about to knighted. The chain was clasped around his neck. It was still warm from Emil’s skin.