In the shade of beech trees, diners carried giant steins of beer and paper plates that sagged under roast chicken, ribs, potato salad. Even the litter the breeze blew his way smelled good enough to eat. The lapping of the conversation and the steady pace of consumption had an unanticipated, sensual languor. Munich was still unreal to him. He had the sudden apprehension not that he was walking in a dream, but that he was someone’s nightmare visiting the real world.

He had feared he might not recognize Irina, but there was no mistaking her. Her eyes were a little larger, seemingly darker, and she still possessed a quality that selfishly gathered light only for her. Her brown hair was redder and cut shorter, a starker frame to her face. She wore a gold cross over a black, short-sleeved sweater. No wedding ring showed.

“You’re late.” She gave Arkady a handshake.

“I wanted to shave,” he said. He had bought a disposable blade and used it at the train station. Cuts on his chin tracked his haste.

“We were about to leave,” Irina said.

“It’s been a long time,” Arkady said.

“Stas and I have a newscast to get ready.” She didn’t appear to be excited or nervous, just pressed by a heavy schedule.

“Not quite yet.” A man, all bones wrapped in a loose sweater and baggy pants, with bright, tubercular eyes, arrived with three foaming steins of beer. He was Russian, Arkady knew immediately. “I’m Stas. Do I call you Comrade Investigator?”

“Arkady is fine.”

The skeleton in the sweater sat by Irina and laid his hand over the back of her chair.

“May I?” Arkady took the chair facing them and said to Irina, “You look wonderful.”

“You look good, too,” she said.

“I don’t think anyone is thriving in Moscow,” Arkady said.

Stas raised his stein and said, “Drink up. The rats are leaving the ship now. Everyone’s coming for a visit. Most of them are trying to stay. In fact, most of them are trying to get work at Radio Liberty; we see them every day. Well, who can blame them?” He watched a buxom girl collecting empties. “Waited on by Valkyries. What a life.”

Arkady sipped for politeness’ sake. “I heard you—”

“So, Arkady, you’ve had rather a checkered career,” Stas interrupted. “Member of Moscow’s Golden Youth, member of the Communist party, rising star of the prosecutor’s office, hero who saved our dear dissident, Irina, years of Siberian exile atoning for that single act of decency, and now not only the prosecutor’s pet but his ambassador to Munich, able to hunt down your lost love, Irina. Here’s to romance.”

Irina laughed. “He’s just joking.”

“I understand,” Arkady said.