“That’s horrible,” she said, and her eyes lit up more than ever. “How can you possibly stand it?”

She leaned forward a little and observed him with great interest. It seemed to Silbermann that her facial expressions alternated between compassion and curiosity, sympathy and a tension that verged on excitement.

“That’s a question to ask someone who’s decided to be a hunger artist by choice,” he retorted, somewhat gruffly.

Now that he had aired all his troubles he felt overwhelmed by them, and his situation appeared more hopeless than ever. He struggled to regain his equilibrium.

“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you with my question.”

“I know I’m being impolite, just that it’s been three days…”

“I understand,” she replied quietly, and he detected a flash of warmth in her eyes.

A hope began to grow in him. Don’t let go, he thought, hold on to this woman, escape with her, break away. The only way to be rid of all the besetting circumstances is to ignore them.

He observed her searchingly and solicitously at the same time, without having any specific intentions.

“Isn’t anybody helping you?” she asked. “Don’t you have some contacts who could offer protection? Connections can still do quite a lot.”

“My so-called friends didn’t leave me with the kind of money I’d need to acquire new ones,” he said, immediately ashamed of how that sounded. I’m still trying to impress, he thought.

“Did they extort money from you?”

“They fleeced me! But that hardly matters anymore. Corpses get eaten by worms, that’s the rule.” He laughed harshly.

“My husband’s a lawyer,” she said eagerly. “He’s also a member of the party and well regarded, but unfortunately we’re not on speaking terms. Otherwise he would do something for you right away.”

“Unfortunately,” Silbermann interrupted, having recovered his calm, “I have to confess that I know the reasons better than I ought to. Without intending to, I overheard your conversation.”

This unsettled her, and for a moment she was silent. “I see,” she said. “Well … my friend has the worthy habit of lecturing me every time we part, which winds up benefiting others more than it does me.”

“In any case I am sorry I had to learn I’m not the only person with worries,” he hastened to counter.

“You feel sorry?”

“In your case, madam, I truly do. Although presumably I owe the privilege of your presence to those same worries.”

“If at least I could help you.” She steered the conversation back from her affairs to his.

“Please believe me that being able to speak with you is already a great help.”

“Do you mean that?” She seemed prepared to believe him.

“Absolutely,” he assured her.

“I don’t understand why the members of your faith are being attacked like that,” she said, and her words showed a measure of kindness toward him. “Earlier I used to have a Jewish friend. If I’m not mistaken she emigrated to Palestine. But that’s not at all what I wanted to say. You look so Aryan. Doesn’t that help?”