“We’re going on one of our own,” said Gail.

“That’s nice,” said Russ.

Martha’s face tightened and I said impulsively, “Actually, it would be fun to join you, Russ, if you don’t mind. The four of us?”

Martha said, “Yes, wonderful idea—let’s do that right now.”

Russ couldn’t have been happier and said this was just the ticket. Gail gave me a look, but it didn’t matter. I knew I was doing the right thing for her.

She glowered. “You’ve become as much fun as shooting monkeys in a barrel, Ray.”

I told Gail she was confusing her metaphors, and she replied that she meant exactly what she’d said.

It was a splendid afternoon, the turnout beyond everyone’s expectations, the crowd festive, the bunting colorful. The German band was as good as that sort of thing can be, while the wursts and sauerkraut and warm potato salad were absurdly delicious. The Linden beer was cool, the Kabinett wine was only mildly sweet, and both flowed at ten cents a glass. It was as delightful a day as you could have while hearing that your life would soon be controlled by Nazis.

The Heritage Picnic started out amiably enough. Russ introduced us to Carl Brauner. It was easy to see why Russ liked him, because the two were so similar in size, shape, and demeanor. Brauner was a red-faced fellow in his mid-fifties who was speaking enthusiastically to a group of dour, dark-suited men. I was a bit alarmed to see another one of them, a little fellow named Gunther, outfitted in a silver shirt, a black tie, and breech pants, the uniform of the Bund, which had been suspected of sabotage and espionage. But it was certainly not yet illegal in our country to dress inappropriately, or they would have locked up Cab Calloway years ago.

Brauner himself seemed delighted that the picnic was going so well and said that he was looking forward to the speeches that were going to be made from a grandstand he’d had built for the occasion. He also seemed very excited to meet a jazz musician from a band he admired. He asked if, were he to come to the Claremont for our last performance on Saturday night, I would autograph the recordings he had of my arrangements. I said I’d be glad to do so during any of the band’s breaks. Brauner said he’d see me then. All in all, he struck me as a decent fellow saddled with the difficult task of convincing the public that there was an understandable reason why Germany was currently behaving the way it was.