I shake my head.

‘In the end,’ he says, looking deeply serious, ‘they had to take his bike away!’

‘Oh,’ I laugh, ‘I see the jokes haven’t improved. And are you the same boy you always were?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘So… do you still strip down to your underwear in front of girls before you swim in the lake? And, do you still get cross and stamp your feet when you can’t be the cowboy with the rifle, because you have to be the Indian with just a bow and arrow?’

‘Yes. Most certainly. And what, Miss Herta, is wrong with that?’ He swipes playfully at my arm. ‘Everyone knows it’s much better to be the cowboy with the proper weapon. And besides, it will be a very lucky girl who gets to see me in my underwear!’

Blushing furiously now, I begin to run so he can’t see my face. I call over my shoulder, ‘Race you to the big tree!’

Kuschi barks with excitement and shoots off down the path ahead of me. I focus on the tree, chin up, pump my arms and legs. But his feet thump closer and closer behind me. In a flash, he is overtaking and accelerates away, finishing lengths ahead. I might as well have been walking.

He waits by the tree, hands on hips, chest rising and falling. ‘As I recall,’ he says with a wink, ‘you never did beat me at running.’

‘Well, you obviously haven’t learnt when its polite to let a girl win!’

‘And if I had? I’d’ve let you win on purpose and you wouldn’t have liked that either.’

It’s just like being eleven years old again.

I march straight past him and he runs to catch up. ‘See?’ he says, ‘I’ve proved my point. People don’t really change as much as they think they do.’

He’s right, of course. I would have felt cheated. I give him a light-hearted thump, and without really understanding why, we are both laughing once again, and I’m glad he won. He is the boy, after all.

We follow the course of the river through a field of ripening yellow wheat. It’s waist high and grows right up to the edge of the path. Kuschi dives into it, chasing something. He disappears, re-emerging further up the path, tongue lolling from his mouth.

There is not another soul to be seen and the city is far behind us. Walter’s presence is bedazzling. So easy, but alarming. Like being with a rare and magnificent tiger. It seems tame, and I’m enthralled by its beauty, but it has the power to destroy me.

‘Is it true,’ I ask quietly, ‘what they say? About this Conspiracy of International Jewry to take over the world?’

‘Well, if there is one, I’m certainly not a part of it. Nor anyone else I know.’

I laugh at my own stupidity. Of course he wouldn’t tell me, even if he was part of it.

‘Seriously, Hetty, you can’t really believe these lies?’ He looks at me with worried eyes.