Speaking of gasps from the audience, Veidt said, and went on to tell them the first story they’d heard of the poet Else Lasker-Schüler: her scandal the year before in the company’s production of The Moor’s Seraglio.

She’d maneuvered herself an extra’s role as one of the lovers carried onstage in pairs and reclining on litters during the climactic scene in the courtesans’ quarters. Each night her litter was deposited against the back wall of the set, as downstage a swordfight was staged in front of a dazzling corps de ballet. In the middle of the play’s run, she’d informed Veidt that on her litter every night she made love with her partner, a young masseuse from the Saar named Anni, who wore an appliance she warmed and lubricated beforehand. Each night Anni opened her robe and they began while still being carried on, held above their slaves’ heads.

Veidt and his pals Granach and Lubitsch had appeared at the next performance armed with the best opera glasses they could find. They confirmed her story. They then attended performances on seven consecutive nights, bringing with them an ever-increasing group of theater lovers. Lasker-Schüler and her Anni mounted each other throughout the scene, concealed by the fact that the other pairs of lovers were miming the same activity. Later, she told Veidt that each night when the curtain came down, they separated, flushed and focused on their own pleasure, changed side by side in the chaos of the extras’ dressing room, absorbed in their mirrors, not allowing themselves to touch. Then they rendezvoused in the basement costume-storerooms, nesting on gowns and hussars’ capes arranged in a crate.

Reinhardt had finally noticed, and fired her. In her poems afterwards she’d referred to her “Turkish Anni.”

Upon hearing the story, Hans resolved that she should attend one of his parents’ soirées.

After Reinhardt’s party the new recruits went out to certain clubs of Veidt’s choosing. Wilhelm and Hans hesitated, but were titillated by what they might see, since Berlin, for them, meant Boys. Before leaving for school, Wilhelm had spent sleepless nights flipping through an underground guide to Berlin, subtitled What Baedeker Won’t Tell You.

The first club was in an unmarked subbasement on a deserted street. Veidt led the way, their scoutmaster. Granach, Müthel, Hans, and Wilhelm followed. Inside the outer door was a heavy leather curtain; Wilhelm was the last one through once Veidt swept it aside. The group stood around like a hiking club that had stumbled onto a ladies’ tea.

The cement floor had been painted black, the lights blue. The effect was that of an aquarium twilight.

The patrons returned to what they were doing. What they were doing, Veidt explained as his charges crowded into two high-backed benches separated by a filthy wooden table, was violating §180, §74, and §183 of the Criminal Code.