“‘Nanette,’ yes? From the finger puppets, the young lovers, that romantic story. Surely you could name the boy after the other puppet. Why not?”

Lee had to stop himself from trying to reach through the wire and removing the dogs from Harry, who continued talking reasonably, as if they were on the same side.

“Have you managed to find a pregnant animal?”

“No.”

“You must. And then return with them to America as soon as possible.”

Lee stepped backward and folded his arms.

“Have I said too much?” Harry asked.

“You keep telling me things I need to do.”

“I should say they might survive without mother’s milk, but the girl in particular will never be robust. She might be prone to infections and colds. In America, they still have veterinarians to help you. Not so much here.” For a moment, Harry’s diction had become more Teutonic and fractured, as if his concern had overshadowed rules of grammar. “So, Corporal, what exactly do you want? Afterward?”

He didn’t need to explain what “afterward” meant—it was all anyone talked about.

“I’m not mocking you. You seem like a good fellow. We both seem to be interested in dogs, which is a start. I’m curious about their future.”

“Who are you?”

Harry considered this. “I always wait to see if a puppy will survive before naming her.”

Since this wasn’t what Lee had asked, he decided to play a game of patience. Finally, Harry smiled at him.

“It’s a courtesy of war. Speaking about oneself can so often go badly. Let us just stipulate: I know dogs reasonably well. I’ve trained dogs to be sentries and couriers and scouts and guard dogs. If I’d trained with chemicals, or munitions, I could be a millionaire when this is over, but, sadly, I know dogs and only dogs. And wine, of course.”

“Of course,” Lee said. It had been Harry’s vineyard. He considered telling Harry that the main building of his vineyard was on fire the last time he’d seen it. It struck him as wrongheaded, so instead he just watched how Harry handled the pups. He put Nanette up to the light and sighted down her side as if he were checking a pool cue for bowing. “She is truly going to be a fine dog,” he whispered. “At two months she will be as coordinated as a six-month-old puppy. At a year—well, I can hardly imagine.”

Lee threaded his fingers through the wire. “I wanted to be famous.”

Harry regarded Lee as if checking him, too, for bowing. “You ‘wanted’ that. In the past. Why?”

“I don’t know.” He watched the puppies breathing in Harry’s lap. He heard a strange, primal chirping sound. “They’re hungry,” he said.