In the middle of the night he woke, aware that Irina was in the room with him. She was in a raincoat, her feet bare in the thin milk of moonlight that covered the floor. She said, “I told Max I was leaving him.”

“Good.”

“It’s not. He says he knew as soon as you came to Munich this could happen.”

Arkady sat up. “Forget about Max.”

“Max has always treated me well.”

“We’ll go someplace else tomorrow.”

“No, you’re safe here. Max wants to help. You don’t know how generous he can be.”

Her presence was overwhelming. On her shadow he could have drawn her face, eyes, mouth. He smelled her and tasted her in the air. At the same time he knew how tenuous his hold on her was. If she caught his slightest suspicion about Max, he would lose her in a moment.

“Why don’t you like Max?” she asked.

“I’m jealous.”

“Max should be jealous of you. He’s always been good to me. He helped with the painting.”

“How?”

“He brought the seller to Rita.”

“Do you know who the seller is?”

“No. Max knows a lot of people. He can help you if you let him.”

“Whatever you want,” Arkady said.

She stooped and kissed him. Before he could stand, she was gone.

Orpheus had descended into the underworld to save Eurydice. According to Greek legend, he found her in Hades and led her through endless, slowly rising caverns toward the surface. The only stricture laid by the gods on Orpheus for this second chance was that he not look back until they had reached the surface. On the way, he felt her start to change from a wraith to a warm, living body.

Arkady thought about the logistical problems. Orpheus, obviously, had gone first. As they maneuvered along the ledges of their subterranean route, had he held her hand? Tied her wrist to his as if he were stronger?

Yet when they failed the fault wasn’t Eurydice’s. Even as they approached the light of the mouth of the cave through which they could make their final escape, it was Orpheus who turned, and with that backward glance condemned Eurydice to death again.

Some men had to look back.

At first Arkady couldn’t tell whether Irina’s visit had been real, because outwardly nothing seemed changed. Max led them to breakfast at a hotel on Friedrichstrasse, praised the renovation of the restaurant, poured the coffee and laid out newspapers by importance of reviews.