She stood facing him and took off her clothes. He liked her to do this, he said, even though it never gave him a hard-on. She had learned that paralyzed men rarely got psychogenic erections, the kind caused by sexy sights or thoughts. All the same his eyes followed her with evident enjoyment as she unfastened her bra, slid her stockings off, and stepped out of her panties.

“You look great,” he said.

“And I’m all yours.”

“Lucky me.”

She lay beside him and they caressed each other languorously. Sex with Bernd, before and after his accident, had always been about soft kisses and murmured endearments, not just fucking. In that way he was different from her first husband. Hans had had a program: kiss, undress, get hard, come. Bernd’s philosophy was anything you like, in any order.

After a while she straddled him, then maneuvered so that he could kiss her breasts and suck her nipples. He had adored her breasts right from the start, and now he enjoyed them with the same intensity and relish as before the accident; and that aroused her more than anything.

When she was ready, she said: “Do you want to try?”

“Sure,” he said. “We should always try.”

She moved back, so that she was astride his withered legs, and bent over his penis. She manipulated it with her hand. It grew a little, and he got what was called a reflex erection. For a few moments it was hard enough to go inside her, then it quickly subsided. “Never mind,” she said.

“I don’t mind,” he said, but she knew it was not true. He would have liked to have an orgasm. He wanted children, too.

She lay beside him, took his hand, and placed it on her vagina. He positioned his fingers in the way she had taught him, then she pressed his hand with her own and moved rhythmically. It was like masturbation, but using his hand. He stroked her hair fondly with his other hand. It worked, as it always did, and she had a delightful orgasm.

Lying beside him afterward, she said: “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Not just for that.”

“What, then?”

“For coming with me. For escaping. I can never tell you enough how grateful I am.”

“Good.”

The doorbell rang. They looked at one another in puzzlement: they expected no one. Bernd said: “Maybe Heinz left something behind.”

Rebecca was mildly annoyed. Her euphoria had been shattered. She put on a robe and went to the door, feeling grumpy.

There stood Walli. He looked thin and smelled ripe. He wore jeans, American baseball shoes, and a grubby shirt—no coat. He was carrying a guitar and nothing else.

“Hello, Rebecca,” he said.

Her grumpiness evaporated in a flash. She smiled broadly. “Walli!” she said. “What a wonderful surprise! I’m so happy to see you!”

She stood back and he stepped into the hallway.

“What are you doing here?” she said.

“I’ve come to live with you,” he said.