There were people everywhere, on bicycles, in carts, on foot, men carrying satchels home from work, women with groceries, children darting out after hoops or balls till the street was like an obstacle course—and dogs too, dogs popping up to chase along, disappear and pop up all over again. The tram. An automobile. A wagon laden with beer kegs. Herr H. was wearing the loden jacket she’d helped him on with not five minutes before and she struggled to keep sight of it, weaving in and out of the traffic. She was pedaling with everything she had but she didn’t seem to be gaining on him, and were they racing now, was that it? But wait, there he went, darting down a side street and into a scrum of bicyclists who were all but dressed identically to him, so that for one frantic minute she lost sight of him and wound up homing in on someone else altogether until she saw her mistake, her legs churning, her heart thumping in her chest, and where was Herr H.? Where was he? She pedaled on, frantically scanning the road ahead, until a figure separated itself from the scrum—loden jacket, pale cap, the hard-muscled V of his back—and she shot after him.

It wasn’t until they were on Bottmingenstrasse, with its long vistas and thinning crowds, that she finally caught up with him. He hadn’t slackened his pace, not for a minute, and it was only fear and adrenaline that kept her going, because what if he had an accident, what if he ran off the road into a ditch and broke a leg—or worse? She was responsible. She was the one he’d cried out to for help and no one else. Of all the people extant—his colleagues, his intimates, his wife—she was the only one on this earth who knew he wasn’t in his right mind, that he was poisoned and in danger, mortal danger. As she drew even with him, fighting for breath, she called out, “Herr Hofmann, slow down, will you, please?”

The wheels whirred. The breeze fanned her sweat. He didn’t turn his head—just kept pumping and pumping as if she weren’t even there. “Herr Hofmann!” And then, her lungs burning and her legs like rubber, she lost all control and began shouting at him—or no, shrieking, actually shrieking. “Stop it, will you? Albert! Albert!”

That was when he turned his head. “Fräulein?” he gasped, slowing now and giving her a puzzled look. “What on earth are you doing here?”