The sergeant looked at Karolin’s card and said: “You’re seventeen! What are you doing with this child?”

This made Walli recall the row with his father, and he said angrily: “I’m not a child.”

The sergeant ignored him. “You could go out with me,” he said to Karolin. “I’m a real man.” The other two Vopos laughed appreciatively.

Karolin said nothing, but the sergeant persisted. “How about it?” he said.

“You must be out of your mind,” Karolin said quietly.

The man was stung. “Now that’s just rude,” he said.

Walli had noticed this about some men. If a girl gave them the brush-off they became indignant, but any other response was taken as encouragement. What were women supposed to do?

Karolin said: “Give me back my card, please.”

The sergeant said: “Are you a virgin?”

Karolin blushed.

Once again the other two cops sniggered.

“They ought to put that on women’s identity cards,” said the man. “Virgin, or not.”

“Knock it off,” Walli said.

“I’m gentle with virgins.”

Walli was boiling. “That uniform doesn’t give you the right to pester girls!”

“Oh, doesn’t it?” The sergeant did not give back their identity cards.

A tan Trabant 500 pulled up and Hans Hoffmann got out. Walli began to feel frightened. How could he be in this much trouble? All he had done was sing in the park.

Hans approached and said: “Show me that thing you have around your neck.”

Walli summoned up the nerve to say: “Why?”

“Because I suspect it is being used to smuggle capitalist-imperialist propaganda into the German Democratic Republic. Give it here.”

The guitar was so precious that Walli still did not comply, scared as he was. “What if I don’t?” he said. “Will I be arrested?”

The sergeant rubbed the knuckles of his right hand with the palm of his left.

Hans said: “Yes, eventually.”

Walli ran out of courage. He pulled the string over his head and gave Hans the guitar.

Hans held the guitar as if to play it, hit the strings, and sang in English: “You ain’t nothing but a hound dog.” The Vopos laughed hysterically.

Even the cops listened to pop radio, it seemed.

Hans pushed his hand under the strings and tried to feel inside the sound hole.

Walli said: “Be careful!”

The top E string broke with a ping.

“It’s a delicate musical instrument!” Walli said despairingly.

Hans’s reach was constrained by the strings. He said: “Anyone got a knife?”

The sergeant put his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a knife with a wide blade—not part of his standard-issue gear, Walli felt sure.

Hans tried to cut the strings with the blade, but they were tougher than he thought. He managed to snap the B and the G, but could not saw through the thicker ones.

“There’s nothing inside,” Walli said pleadingly. “You can tell by the weight.”

Hans looked at him, smiled, then brought the knife down hard, point first, on the soundboard near the bridge.