“But we have to trust each other!” Silbermann implored, thinking that he understood things very clearly. “Ten thousand for each, right away. I’m guessing that’s about fifty thousand francs…”

If they could only see each other’s face, he thought. Then they would surely come to an agreement.

“That’s enough,” said the guard on his right. “One more word and we’re taking you to Herbesthal.”

Silbermann was silent. They had reached the forest path and stopped.

“Eh bien, Monsieur,” the guard with the suitcase said very crossly as he put it down. “You’re back in your fatherland. Don’t come back under any circumstances! That would be very dangerous for you!”

“Gentlemen,” Silbermann begged them once more. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I assure you. But think about it…”

“If you show up here again…” the guard growled.

Silbermann turned around, cut through the forest, and tripped over a root as he stumbled back into the German Reich.

SEVEN

Silbermann stopped his ears with his thumbs. Utility poles look exactly alike, utility poles look exactly alike, when one is in flight. Utility poles look exactly alike … I’m starting to lose my wits, he feared. The monotonous singsong of the rails was more than agonizing.

How am I supposed to get any sleep? he wondered, and reached with his left hand to move his briefcase, which he had wedged between his back and the cushion, so that its lock kept digging into his spine. After his failed attempt to cross the border, Silbermann had stowed all the money in his briefcase and left his suitcase on the country road. He was in no shape to haul it around any longer.

That night he had hiked for another hour and a half before flagging down a large truck, which took him to Mönchengladbach. The two disgruntled drivers reminded him of Franz, and their occasional wry remarks, and their overall grumpy-but-positive outlook had done him good and lifted his spirits a little.

Now he was once again sitting in a train on his way back to Berlin. His unsuccessful venture had depressed him so much that he no longer wanted to try crossing into Belgium. He lacked the strength of purpose such an undertaking would require.

Having the whole compartment to himself, he opened the window and leaned out to get some fresh air. The sharp wind did him good. Then a bit of dust flew into his right eye and it took him nearly five minutes to get it out. By the time he closed the window the compartment had become cold. He ate a piece of chocolate and made another attempt to fall asleep. But the rattling of the wheels and the gentle swaying and rocking of the train brought him to the brink of despair.