THE OPPERMANNS way of pouncing on every fault, on every tiny little weakness. Whenever he had to rneet her, even when he read one of her letters, he had the sensation of being before a judge. He held the letter in his hand, reached for the paper-knife, and cut it open with a single strake. His thick eyebrows drawn sharply together, deep vertical furrows above his powerfully rnoulded nose, tension in ever line of his big face he read the letter. Anna sent hirn her best wishes in a few cordial words. In her beautiful, even handwriting, she informed hirn her holi- days would begin at the end of April and she would be glad to spend its four weeks with hirn. If he would like to see her, please to advise her where. Gustav's face relaxed. He had been uneasy about that letter. It was a good letter. Anna's life was not an easy one, She was secretary to the board of directors of the electricity works at Stuttgart, extrernely absorbed in her work. Her private life was limited to her four weeks' holiday. The fact that she had offered to devote those four weeks to hirn proved that she had not given hirn up. He read the letter a second time. No, Anna had not done with hirn. She was saying "yes" to hirn. He hurnmed, carefully and out of tune, the rnorning's difficult rnelody. He inspected, half consciously, half mechanically, the picture of Immanuel Oppermann. He was sincerely delighted. 2 M ar tin Oppermann, rneanwhile, drove to his office. Gus- tav's hause was in Max Reger Strasse, on the boundary between Grunewald and Dahlern. The original office of the

BOOK ONE: YESTERDAY Oppermanns was in Gertraudten Strasse in the centre of the city. Franzke, the chauffeur, would need at least twenty-five minutes to get there. In favourable circumstances, Martin would get to the office at ten minutes past eleven. If he should have bad luck with the traffic lights, not until after a quarter- past eleven. He had an appointment with Heinrich Wels at eleven. Martin Oppermann did not like to keep people wait- ing. And to keep Heinrich Wels waiting was doubly undesir- able. The interview would not be a pleasant one in any case. Martin Oppermann sat stiffiy in the car, bolt upright, in a not particularly easy or natural attitude. The Opperrnanns were heavily built. Edgar, the doctor, was slighter. Gustav, too, had reduced his weight to some extent by training. Martin had no time for that sort of thing. He was a business man, the father of a farnily, and had responsibilities of all kinds. He sat upright, his big head thrust forward, his eyes closed. No, the interview with Heinrich Wels would not be pleas- ant. Pleasant occasions in business were rare nowadays. He ought not to have kept Wels waiting. He ought to have pre- sented the picture to Gustav that evening at dinner. It had not been absolutely necessary to take it to hirn that morning. He was fond of Gustav, yet he envied hirn. Gustav had an easy time of it, too easy. Edgar, the doctor, had an easy time, too, He, Martin, was the onIy one who had had to succeed Imman- uel Oppermann in the business. It was damned difficult in these times of crisis and rising Anti-Semitism to make that succession a meritorious one. Martin Oppermann took off his top-hat, ran his hand through his scanty black hair, and sighed a littie. He should not have kept Heinrich Wels waiting. They had reached the bustling Dönhoffplatz. In another moment they would have arrived, at last. There was the build- ing already. It stood, jammed between its neighbours, narrow, old-fashioned but solid, built generations past for generations to corne. It inspired confidence. The car passed the four big