The crowd yelled and surged forward, threatening to become a mob. Herbert had seen that happen before, outside of American embassies abroad, and it was a frightening thing to behold. It was a microcosm of civilization unraveling, of humans regressing to territorial carnivores. He began to wheel back. He wanted to get to a wall, protect his flank, be able to bat at these Philistines like Samson with the jawbone of an ass.

But as he rolled away, he felt a tug on the back of his wheelchair. He scooted back faster than he was wheeling.

"Halt!" shouted a raspy voice from behind.

Herbert looked back. A skinny police officer, about fifty years old, had stopped directing traffic and had run over. He was standing behind him, holding the grips of his chair, breathing heavily. His brown eyes were strong, though the rest of him seemed a little shaky.

People began shouting things from the crowd. The police officer answered them. From the tone of their voices and the few words Herbert picked up, they were telling the officer what Herbert had done, and to mind his own business. And he was telling them that this was his business. Keeping the sidewalks orderly, as well as the streets.

He was hooted and threatened.

After the brief exchange, the officer said to Herbert in English, "Do you have an automobile?"

Herbert said that he did.

"Where is it parked?"

Herbert told him.

The police officer continued backing Herbert away. Herbert put his hands on the wheels to stop them from turning.

"Why do I have to leave?" Herbert asked. "I'm the wronged party!"

"Because my job is to maintain peace," the officer said, "and this is the only way I can do it. Our ranks are thin, spread out at rallies in Bonn, Berlin, Hamburg. I'm sorry, mein Herr, I don't have time to attend to the case of one man. I am going to take you to your automobile and so that you can leave this area of the city."

"But those bastards attacked me," Herbert said. He realized he was still holding the stick, and replaced it before the police officer thought to take it away. "What if I want to press charges against them, expose the whole damn lot of them?"

"Then you will lose," said the officer. He turned Herbert around, away from the crowd. "They say that man was offering to help you into the Beer-Hall and you struck him--"

"Yeah, right."

"They say that you caused him to spill his beer. At the very least, they wanted you to pay for that."

"And you believe all this?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe," the police officer said. "When I turned, that man was hurt and you were holding a stick. That is what I saw, and that is what I would have put in my report."