“Please, Elfriede—” He cuts himself off by kissing her, with such vim she can’t escape, she’s imprisoned by his mouth and by his arms that lock around her. His kiss is nothing like she remembers. His lips are hard, his tongue’s sloppy. What’s happened to Gerhard’s tender, subtle kisses? There’s no fighting him. She makes herself limp instead, and he lifts his head and loosens his grip. She steps away, smoothing her hair. Gerhard sinks to the chaise longue, panting.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I am too hasty.”

“You’re not well enough, that’s all. Look at you, you’re panting.”

He looks up. “Can you not even bear to kiss me, then?”

“Of course I can bear to kiss you.” Elfriede sits beside him and pats his bony knee. Leans forward and places a kiss on his damp lips. “But we can’t just wave a wand and make everything the way it was before. It’s been three years. So much has happened. We’ve both been wrong.”

“Ah, God.” He sets his elbows on his knees, sets his head in his hands, his fingers in his hair.

“Don’t, darling. Don’t despair. My God, you’re like a child yourself, sometimes. Just because we can’t wave a wand doesn’t make it impossible. Of course we can be man and wife again. We already are, remember? I don’t remember a divorce. I don’t remember renouncing any vows.”

Instead of smiling or even laughing, he makes another noise of agony.

Elfriede touches his stiff, short hair. “Listen to me. Of course I want nothing but the best for Johann. I want him to have brothers and sisters to play with, to be his family when we’re gone.”

There’s a little silence, occupied only by the sound of Gerhard’s breath. “Elfriede? Do you mean this?”

“But we have all the time in the world for these things. There’s no hurry at all. I’m not going to leave you. I won’t leave my son. Never again, do you see? I’ve come home. So we have time for all of this. We have time to start fresh from the beginning, to wipe away the past and start again, two clean souls—”

“Yes, yes—”

“—forgive each other for these terrible sins and start again—”

He lifts his head and stares at her. “Yes, forgive me. Forgive me.”

“Of course.”

“Forgive me.”

“Gerhard, you’re weeping.”

“It’s nothing. It’s nothing.” He takes her hands and bends over them, holding her fingers against his lips, almost as if praying. When he straightens, his eyes are bright and wet, his pale lashes stuck together. He lifts her to her feet and tucks her arm back in the shelter of his elbow. “We’ll go into the house now. We’ll start again, our souls clean, our hearts pure. How does that sound, Elfriede?”