Walli wanted the same thing, with all his heart, but he could not imagine how it might happen. “What do you think Kennedy will do?” he asked.

“He may say that we have to learn to live with East Germany, at least for now. That’s true, but it’s not what we want to hear. I’m hoping he’ll give the Communists a poke in the eye, if you want to know the truth.”

They watched the news after they ate. The picture was in clear shades of gray on the screen of their up-to-the-minute Franck television—not blurred green like the old sets.

Today Kennedy had been in West Berlin.

He had made a speech from the steps of Schöneberg town hall. In front of the building was a vast plaza that was jam-packed with spectators. According to the newsreader, there were four hundred fifty thousand people in the crowd.

The handsome young president spoke in the open air, a huge stars-and-stripes flag behind him, the breeze tousling his thick hair. He came out fighting. “There are some who say that Communism is the wave of the future,” he said. “Let them come to Berlin!” The audience roared their agreement. The cheers were even louder when he repeated the sentence in German. “Lass’ sie nach Berlin kommen!”

Walli saw that Rebecca and Bernd were delighted by this. “He’s not talking about normalization, or realistically accepting the status quo,” Rebecca said approvingly.

Kennedy was defiant. “Freedom has many difficulties, and democracy is not perfect,” he said.

Bernd commented: “He’s referring to the Negroes.”

Then Kennedy said scornfully: “But we have never had to put up a wall to keep our people in!”

“Right!” Walli shouted.

The June sun shone down on the president’s head. “All free men, wherever they live, are citizens of Berlin,” he said. “And therefore, as a free man, I take pride in the words: Ich bin ein Berliner!”

The crowd went wild. Kennedy stepped back from the microphone and slid his notes into his jacket pocket.

Bernd was smiling broadly. “I think the Soviets will get that message,” he said.

Rebecca said: “Khrushchev is going to be mad as hell.”

Walli said: “The madder the better.”

He and Rebecca were in an upbeat mood as they drove to the Reeperbahn in the van she had adapted for Bernd and his wheelchair. El Paso had been empty during the afternoon, and now it had only a handful of customers. Dieter in the Stetson had been less than friendly earlier, and this evening he was grumpy. He pretended to have forgotten to ask Walli to come back, and Walli feared he was going to withdraw the offer of a tryout; but then he jerked his thumb toward a tiny stage in the corner.

As well as Dieter there was a middle-aged barmaid with a big bust wearing a check shirt and a bandana: Dieter’s wife, Walli guessed. Clearly they wanted to give their bar a distinctive character, but neither had much charm, and they were not attracting many customers, American or otherwise.